There is a story behind these pictures, one which has unfolded slowly over the past few years.  My dear friend, Rebecca, first shared with me the story of Mary, Untier of Knots, some years ago.  It came up again here and there and shortly before we left the States I found the prayers which accompany the devotion. I also shared the story with another friend.  

Coincidentally, at a farewell party thrown for us on our last day in Colorado that friend slipped me a tiny medal with the image imprinted upon it. The medal came with me here, though I didn't think to investigate where the original actually resided. 

 Some time after arriving I began to research shrines and holy places I hoped to visit and discovered that the original image of Maria Knotenlöserin was kept here in Germany.  Not only that but it was reasonably closeby, although further than a day trip. Our feis in Munich this summer would take us right by St. Peter Perlach, home of the image.  So it was settled – this summer we would make the visit. 

It was a bit of a painful pilgrimage, as I suppose all pilgrimages necessarily are. We had spent the better part of the day touring the Dachau Memorial and arrived in Augsburg to discover a festival in progress – right in the square before the church.  That meant parking was not to be found. We circled further and further out and eventually parked in resident parking on a distant street (read: sorta illegally) and hiked up the hill as fast as we could. 

The church stands apart from many we have seen locally.  It looks more Mediterranean than Gothic, with its simple, whitewashed walls and tile floors.  It resembles the mission churches of the American West and it felt like home there.  (If I could even pin down where and what 'home' means anymore ; )) 

The image is quite large in person.  I knelt down at the front of the church before it for a few stolen moments, exhausted and relieved to be there.  As I whispered a few quick but earnest prayers an elderly woman lit candles and slipped into the pew behind me, mouthing her own and smiling warmly. Our little band of travelers is clearly not German, and she may not have been either since the church is home to the Italian community locally. But, for that brief moment we were all just pilgrims, not so very different at all. 

Knowing we still had several hours to drive, the visit was over much too soon and we were trekking over those cobblestones back down the hill once more with one last look back as the chimes sang out behind us.  To date, it is one of most dearly beloved sights I have seen. 

Now to be sure, I am a rotten videographer.  Nonetheless, should you want to hear the chimes and walk with me for a second – or 21 – please join me here: