Lessons from a Pilgrimage in Southern France
It took me three days to reach Mary Magdalene.
Not because the cave was far.
Because it would not let me arrive.
I traveled from Maryland to southern France in July 2026, determined to visit the mountain sanctuary where, according to centuries-
old tradition, Mary Magdalene spent the final years of her life.
Before beginning my pilgrimage toward Sainte-Baume, I visited two of Marseille’s most significant Christian landmarks—the Cathédrale La Major and Notre-Dame de la Garde.
The journey:
Day 1 in Cassis — my Uber driver, Michel, became hopelessly lost among the winding mountain
roads of Provence. He spoke no English. I spoke only a handful of memorized French phrases. Eventually he stopped near Plan-d’Aups-Sainte-Baume, convinced we had gone as far as a car could go. Despite my repeated attempts to persuade him to try once more, he gently shook his head, turned the car around, and drove me back to Cassis.
Day 2 seemed more promising. My friend Viola, who lives near Cassis and knows the region well, generously offered to accompany me.
Then came the wildfire. The forests surrounding Sainte-Baume were closed. Pilgrims were turned away. It was Code Red. Again, Mary Magdalene remained beyond reach.
Day 3 — I was determined. The fires were still burning in the region. Roads remained restricted. Only with Viola’s help was I finally able to enter the forest and reach the sanctuary below the mountain.
We visited the Chapel des Hôtes at the base of the Sainte-Baume massif, but we never reached the cave.
Standing behind the chapel, I looked up at the tiny opening in the limestone cliffs, the cave where, according to centuries of Provençal tradition, Mary Magdalene spent her final years. It was close enough to see, yet still beyond my reach.
We never reached the cave. Looking back, I’m no longer sure we were supposed to. We begin believing the destination will change us. Instead, somewhere along the road, the journey quietly begins to do its work.
Who Was Mary Magdalene?
Few figures in Christian history have generated as much devotion, misunderstanding, speculation,
and scholarship as Mary Magdalene.
The biblical Mary Magdalene is remarkably different from the popular image many people have inherited.
The New Testament tells us she was one of Jesus’ closest followers. According to the Gospels, Jesus healed her, she accompanied him during his ministry, witnessed the Crucifixion, and became the first person to encounter the risen Christ. For that reason, many Christian traditions honor her as “the Apostle to the Apostles.”
Over the centuries, Mary Magdalene has been portrayed in many different ways. Western Christianity long identified her with the unnamed sinful woman in Luke’s Gospel, leading many to believe she had been a sex worker. Most contemporary biblical scholars reject that identification, noting that the New Testament never explicitly describes her that way. Other modern interpretations—including the suggestion that she was Jesus’ wife—have also attracted attention, though these claims remain outside mainstream historical scholarship.
Readers interested in exploring these debates further will find excellent discussions from several Patheos writers as well as Catholic and Orthodox scholars:
- A True History of Mary Magdalene (Patheos)
- Wonder Magdalene (Patheos)
- Mary Magdalene: Apostle to the Apostles (Holy Apostles)
- Was Mary Magdalene a Prostitute? (U.S. Catholic)
Beyond those texts, however, the historical record grows quiet.
According to a long-held tradition in Provence, after the Resurrection, Mary Magdalene, along with Lazarus, Martha, Mary Salome, Mary Jacobe, and other followers of Jesus, were placed in a rudderless boat and set adrift across the Mediterranean. They landed on the southern coast of France near today’s Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer. Mary Magdalene later withdrew into the cave of Sainte-Baume, where, according to medieval Provençal tradition, she spent the final decades of her life in prayer before being buried near what is now Saint-Maximin-la-Sainte-Baume.
Modern historians cannot verify these events. Nor can they completely dismiss why this tradition has endured for centuries. Over the centuries, the site has drawn countless pilgrims, as well as saints, popes, and French monarchs—including King Louis IX (Saint Louis), Francis I, and Louis XIV. Whether drawn by history, faith, or curiosity, they continue to walk the same forest paths.
Perhaps that itself says something.
Three Layers of Truth
As I write this article, I find myself thinking about three kinds of truth.
Historical truth asks what historians can reasonably document from surviving evidence.
Traditional truth preserves the stories that communities have cherished across generations—stories that shape identity even when not
every detail can be historically verified.
Personal truth asks a different question.
Not simply, “Did this happen exactly this way?”
But, “What kind of person does this story invite me to become?”
Is our personal truth helping us to become kinder neighbors, more compassionate parents, more generous citizens?
Historical truth matters. But when history reaches the limits of what it can establish, another question remains: What does this centuries-old tradition ask of those who encounter it today? For me, its value lies partly in whether it inspires greater humility, service, compassion, and love.
Sacred Places
Over the years, I have visited sacred places on several continents. Temples. Mosques. Synagogues. Churches. Monasteries. Every tradition has its own architecture.
Its own prayers.
Its own rituals.
Yet what stays with me is not how different they are. It is how similar the people are. Everywhere I go, people arrive carrying something invisible. Hope. Grief. Questions. Gratitude. Fear. Love.
No one makes a pilgrimage because life is already perfect. It took me three days to reach Mary Magdalene. Yet I never reached her cave. Perhaps that is the nature of every pilgrimage. We begin believing the destination will change us. Instead, somewhere along the road, the journey quietly begins to do its work.
Some journeys take three days.
Others take a lifetime.
