Međugorje // Greater Love Hath No Man than to Fashion his God into a Cigarette Lighter

There are few things in travel as simple and predictable as being cynical about Međugorje. At this point, expressing scepticism about the famous apparition of 1981 is about as daring an opinion as saying Valentine’s Day is a commercial endeavour. Masses of people visit the town to feel something, but a growing number visit in the vain hope of revealing the whole thing to be a racket. Okay, the pandemic sort of stopped the growing, but the point is clear enough.

It isn’t difficult to see why cynicism might abound, especially in certain travel circles. After all, this began when six teenagers in a nigh-on deserted village claimed to be visited by the Virgin Mary. That’s some claim to make at the best of times, let alone in a socialist country still struggling with the death of its one and only leader. The boat can’t be rocked, and even the Yugoslav authorities rushed call the whole thing a hoax. Teenagers aren’t exactly renowned for accuracy in memory. For everyone who believes in ghosts, there will be another who lambasts the whole idea. Six of one, half a dozen of the other.

In this case, the six (or the half a dozen, take your pick) began to pick up steam in an international sense. Despite the official cynicism, pilgrims from all over the world began heading to Međugorje to see what the fuss was about, or more accurately to see this obscure place that was visited by, you know, the mother of Jesus. Hundreds became thousands became hundreds of thousands. The state couldn’t ignore Međugorje any longer. The gates were opened, and Međugorje was official.

The Pope wasn’t so sure, but hey, not everyone needs the famed blue tick. Međugorje swelled to become one of the most-visited towns in Yugoslavia, eventually becoming the most-visited in Bosnia and Herzegovina. It survived the war too, which took some doing.

You don’t have to be an expert in tourism to understand what has happened since. When the Virgin Mary supposedly visited the six kids in June 1981, Međugorje was just about as far away from the modern town as you could get. I don’t mean that in terms of location, it still sits between the Križevac and Crnica mountains after all (Međugorje literally means “between the mountains”), but what was a village of a dozen or so old people minding their own business became, well, big business. Big hotels replaced small houses, banks replaced bartering, and faith replaced farming. If you build it, they will come, but in the case of Međugorje, they were coming, so it all had to be built.

Today, Međugorje is still revered by people all over Herzegovina. I’ve spoken to people who believe in the apparitions with absolute conviction, as if it were as certain as life, death and, well, you can insert your own thing here. I’ve spoken to people who aren’t outwardly religious but will say that they feel something at Međugorje, that there is something about it. the air is different. After all, it survived the war practically untouched.

As I wandered around the grounds of the Church of St James the Greater, I too felt there was something different about it. That difference wasn’t in the air or supernatural though, that difference was in volume. Međugorje was quiet. There was no buzz of conversation in the distance, no energetic excitement. Sure, the ubiquitous barking dogs could still be heard, but Međugorje was undoubtedly more peaceful in decibels than any other town in Bosnia and Herzegovina.

This is where my personal cynicism comes in. I have no skin in the apparition game. I have no desire to plant my flag in the unbeliever column regarding the validity of the visions. None of my business. Telling somebody else that something they believe is wrong is one of the most egregious examples of individual arrogance that remains frustratingly constant in human society.

But hey, here we go. Međugorje was immensely peaceful, but I do not put that down to something intangible, something otherworldly. That is because it is a noted pilgrimage spot. Silence tends to dominate such spaces. You could also argue that Međugorje survived the war because it has no real strategic value outside of potential divine intervention, but I’ve no desire to engage with conversations of such kind.

There is something about Međugorje, about the rabid development of a tiny village into a piece of international money-making that, to me, admittedly a non-believer, felt inherently un-Christian. Međugorje is all souvenir shops, expensive (in regional terms) restaurants and swanky hotels. The original reason for its growth has been lost in that most historic of human addictions; making money. The tourist information centre is more of a souvenir supermarket than a, you know, info centre. If you want a handy brochure to navigate the town, you best get ready to fork out some money for it. Mediocre food costs more here than magnificent meals do elsewhere. A small bottle of beer in Međugorje will set you back a couple KMs more than anywhere else. In the race to the bank, Međugorje has lost its soul, its spirit.

In many ways, it has become the least spiritual place in Bosnia and Herzegovina. This is no slight on the people who come here with honest intentions and open hearts, but the rampant commercialisation of hope is more than a little depressing. The abundance of ‘Holli’ souvenir shops. The names of saints being utilised to make money in every direction. The absolute absence of a genuine community outside of masses of people being bussed in to walk around and spend money. Međugorje has been cannibalised by economic vultures. It is bloated, and it is entirely unsustainable. “Greater love hath no man than to fashion his God into a cigarette lighter.”

But, of course, being cynical about Međugorje is the lowest-hanging fruit in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Whatever hot take next John, those pyramids aren’t actually pyramids?! When those six kids encountered a terrifying apparition in the summer of 1981, I’m doubting that any of them imagined it would lead to this. Heck, if the Virgin Mary could see what has become of this, I dread what she would think. Her message has been adulterated by greed, by cheaply made but expensively sold fridge magnets, by dry chicken and by the tentacles of finance. There are even rumours that her message has been embraced by the actual Mafia, but I’m too cowardly to even countenance such a situation.

Međugorje is often described as a miracle. It is impossible to disagree with that statement, although it is clear that the miracle is more economic than anything else.

Međugorje // Greater Love Hath No Man than to Fashion his God into a Cigarette Lighter

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