It's the last weekend in September, and deep in the heart of Co Mayo, the 2007 Knock pilgrimage season is drawing to a close. It isn't quite over yet, however, as the weekend ahead promises the arrival of some serious heavy-hitters . . . that's right, The Legion Of Mary are coming to town.

For this solitary pilgrim, by way of preliminary repose, Friday evening is spent in the television room of the Divine Mercy B&B (none of your anti-social en suite nonsense here, thank you very much) enjoying the unique ritual that is sitting slack-jawed in front of the Late Late, watching Man Of The People Kevin Myers call for a reasoned and mature debate on the immigration issue.

"The past is gone, " he says. "We have to manage the future." Wish you were here, Kev . . . the very next morning, multi-cultural Ireland can be witnessed in full effect, as a young Nigerian priest delivers a rousing sermon to a congregation comprising at least half a dozen different nationalities.

Ireland's ageing clergy, lest we forget, is being supplemented with fresh faces from across the globe, their presence a bold reminder of the new generation of devoted Christians pitching their tents in this most venerated of old-school holy territories.

Parishes are filled with new life, and new reasons for exasperated newspaper pundits to work themselves into a tizzy. The shrine at Knock might be viewed by many as a relic of a bygone age . . . instead, right now, it feels like a perfect snapshot of Who We Are Today. For those about to Knock. . . We salute you.

But what brought me here in the first place? My nana revered the shrine at Knock.

Her name was Doris Magee, she passed away in 2005, and to this day remains the finest person it has been my honour and privilege to know. Doris lived her 90-plus years in unwavering devotion to the Irish Catholic Church, and lived to see one of her daughters become not only a nun, but what might be considered a Major Player in the greater nunly scheme of things. Nothing gave her greater pride. To this day, Sister Mary Dolores . . . nee Auntie Ethel . . . remains a major source of spirituality in my life, in that she regularly strikes the fear of God into me. But that's one for another day.

Without fail, Doris took mass daily (you might say 'religiously') and did the local church collection door-to-door well into her 80s. She raised 10 children, upstanding citizens to a fault, and had no truck whatsoever with messers. Indeed, if there is such a thing as an affectionate wallop, she excelled at delivering them with deadly aim. She made you want to be a better person than you usually were, if only to avoid another wallop. It would be the sorriest of understatements to declare that she is missed.

It's fair to presume that Doris and her generation could never really get their collective heads around this whole New Ireland malarkey, a confused, confusing and chaotic place at the best of times, and one generally lacking in the reassuring certainties long taken for granted. .

Which is not to make a case for the bad old good old days, mind . . . far from it. More to suggest that it's very, very easy to forget that the freedoms and luxuries we kooky Celtic Cubs possess, and even easier to presume that the entire nation now lays in thrall to One True God . . . The Almighty Euro. And pursuit thereof. Spend a weekend in Knock, however, and you'll realise how quickly we've bought into another series of all-encompassing stereotypes. Here's the thing: Faith survives. Scratch that: Faith thrives. Faith flourishes. Doris, it's fair to presume, would have been quietly thrilled.

Since 1879, Knock always has been, and is now more than ever, a great centre of prayer. All through the pilgrimage season a continuous stream of prayer ascends to heaven. It can truly be said that Knock is a spiritual power plant for the whole country. On what is called the quiet weekday, the devotion is no less edifying than on the big pilgrimage day. Every day the chorus of prayer continues from early morning till late at night. Inside the church there is silent prayer; outside the rosary is being recited silently or aloud by individuals or by small groups. On the day of an organised pilgrimage the shrine area is thronged by thousands of pilgrims. Public devotions are held, a procession is formed, the ceremonies are carried out with simplicity and decorum without ostentation.

From 'The Glory Of Knock' by Msgr Michael Walsh It's Saturday morning in Knock. The coaches have begun to land, and the crowds are beginning to assemble in earnest. The spiritual centre of the Knock shrine remains the Apparition Chapel, which marks the spot where, in 1879, it is recorded that between 15 and 20 witnesses experienced a vision of Mary, Joseph, John and the Lamb Of God.

Here today, you'll find hordes of visiting pilgrims circling the chapel, intently rattling off one rosary after another . . . it's where the expression 'doing the rounds' comes from, table quiz fans. Look closely amidst the pilgrims and you'll even find the Most Rev Raphael Ndingi Mwana'a Mzeki, the archbishop of Nairobi, Kenya, in attendance as the Legion Of Mary's very special guest for the weekend.

Elsewhere, a constant steam of people queue to embrace the remaining portion of the original chapel wall, renowned for its healing properties. Others tackle the Stations Of The Cross, or head straight for the Chapel Of Reconciliation, a relatively new addition to the Knock complex specifically designed for confession and counselling purposes. Then there are the pilgrims topping up at the row of jumbo-sized holy water fonts, filling plastic receptacles of all shapes and sizes with enough blessed H2O to see them through any number of significant spiritual crises or emergencies. Wherever you go, a quiet, purposeful hubbub fills the air, reminding you that Knock remains, above all else, a place of pure and absolute devotion, as it was a century ago, as it is now.

While Knock's Main Street still plays host to a strip of colourful religious paraphernalia emporiums, offering the seasoned Catholic consumer a unique opportunity to stock up on as much blessed tack as they could possibly ever dream of, the grounds of the shrine manage to retain a still, serene air, one that instantly leaves the urgency of the outside world at its doorstep. Not that the common or garden tourist goes entirely uncatered for, mind: the Knock museum, located on the grounds, received a comprehensive overhaul in recent times, and now stands as one of the finest folk museums in the country . . . it's a popular destination for primary school tours, and a perfect place for a family to while away a few hours. We'd recommend it. But what else is there to do in Knock? Not too much. Ask any of the teenagers dawdling about the place, for starters. But then that's very possibly the point. It's Knock, after all. You're not there for a stag weekend. And if you are, then you might possibly want to have a swift word with whoever made the booking.

Because here's the thing: if you're going to undertake a pilgrimage to Knock, you can't do it by half measures. You certainly can't just turn up and take the mickey, as that would be an insult to all involved, and it's already been done, anyhow . . . badly. Not to mention that it's far too easy. The truth behind Knock, as is usually the case, is far more complicated and interesting than that, which means that you go the whole hog. Do it properly, or don't do it at all.

For starters, you select a B&B with a name like Divine Mercy, one that comes complete with an imposing mural of Our Lord on the side of the house. It sets the mood perfectly. Pilgrimage etiquette runs thus: You observe. You reflect. You genuflect.

You pray. Repeatedly. You participate. You drink tea. A lot of tea. You have early nights.

And, above all else, you do the masses. As many of them as possible. And won't worry if you miss one, either . . . there'll be another three along in a minute.

It's a place where the deep wellspring of faith that once defined this land runs deeper than ever. Where the sheer variety of people encountered over a single weekend does much to dispel any preconceived notions one might haul along for the duration: sure, you get what dishy Dave McWilliams might dub the Holy Joes and Bible Bettys, mainstays of a previous era on their annual jaunt.

Add to that mix, however, any number of young families keen to instill Catholic values in a whole generation, alongside Scots, Poles, Phillipinos, Nigerians, Chinese, and, well, even the odd Irish person or 20.

What brings me back? It's the call of our lady, telling me to come to Knock. And I believe that you have to answer that call. It's in your heart.

It's always uplifting; you take something with you from Knock and back to Scotland again. You're renewed, reinvigorated. Our Lady strengthens us to go back and face the pitfalls of everyday life.

It's wonderful to refresh your faith and your love and your strength . . . Our Lady gives us that opportunity. We're a community here, one that includes every nationality imaginable, and we feel united under the banner of Our Lady of Knock.

It's such a wonderful, wonderful place to be.

Raymond MacDonnell, Pilgrim, Edinburgh Over the past century, Knock's fortunes have always been inextricably intertwined (nay defined) with that of the shrine, providing a thriving cottage industry during any number of decades of economic strife across Mayo and the west.

The legacy of the late Monsignor James Horan, who passed away in 1986, still casts a tall shadow over the place . . . the driving force behind Knock airport, many of the locals speak of Horan in hushed, reverential tones, some still referring to him in the present tense.

A showman and a wheeler-deeler of reknown, Horan surely would have negotiated the vicissitudes of the Celtic Tiger with panache. Like many of the other small-tomedium sized towns on the road between Sligo and Galway, Knock itself has undergone a none-too-subtle physical transformation in recent years; new housing developments dot the landscape, expanding the existing town perimeters, and a tangible affluence is rife. A handy hint: for the real lay of the land, always place yourself outside the local newsagents of any rural town for 20 minutes upon your average Sunday lunchtime . . . these days, it's a non-stop blur of '07 reg cars, dodgy designer gear and unashamed wanton indulgence. In essence, Knock still venerates the sacred over the profane, offering an oasis for those lost in a consumer-driven society, a retreat on every imaginable level . . . one with a reinvigorated sense of purpose.

For me, it's about coming here to thank Our Lady for everything she's done for us, because she has done a lot for us, in the Legion world and in our own lives. She's a mother, and as a mother she's looking after her kids. Knock is absolutely unique, because Jesus appeared in Knock as well as Mary, and Joseph, and John . . . none of the other shrines, Lourdes, Fatima, have that. Jesus appeared here with his mother, which is quite unique. It's really one of the greatest shrines, and we really don't appreciate it.

Mary Bonner, Legion Of Mary Pilgrim, Dublin Even the most robust of Catholic advocates have had to admit that the past decade has seen the church's stock plummet, thanks in no small part to the ongoing and well-publicised series of incidents dating back any number of decades. For many of its critics, the Catholic hierarchy's ongoing inability to offer adequate and appropriate solace and council, all the while still failing to accept culpability for what might be perceived as its alltoo-apparent shortcomings, continues to drive the younger punter away. . . Call it the ultimate bad PR job.

These days, many Irish people, particularly those under 30, step into a church solely for one of three reasons: a christening, a wedding or a funeral, with the odd communion and confirmation thrown into the mix. Still . . . it's easy to disregard, however, the deep wellsprings of spiritual devotion that remain at the centre of many Irish lives.

One might feel, indeed, that in many cases the less today's church directly interjects, the better. Take the presentation to Ireland in 2001 of the remains of St Therese Of Liseux, for example, a bona fide grass roots event that became a phenomenon, one that drew tens of thousands of people of all ages to churches and cathedrals across the land. The pilgrimage experience, then, while facilitated and administered to by the clergy, offers a welcome opportunity for the beleaguered Catholic to reboot their belief, unhindered by the baggage of recent hours. Here, it's about You and Your Saviour.

Growing up, I was always a big fan of Monty Python. I used to love that bit with the two Roman centurions complaining, where your man Michael Palin is going 'What did the Romans ever do for us? Apart from the sanitation, medicine, education, wine, public order, irrigation, roads, the fresh water system and public health. . .

But apart from that what did they ever do for us?'

It's funnier when they do it. But a few years ago I realised that that sketch summed up my attitude to Jesus: 'Right, he died for us and gave us salvation and eternal life in heaven. . . But what has He ever done for us?' It had been staring me in the face all these years.

John, Pilgrim, Newry Everyone at Knock seems keen to share their own personal journey, tales of hurt and healing, all strangely similar, all resolutely different. Upon any given weekend, there are thousands of them. Take the owner of the Divine Heart B&B, the redoubtable Elsie Tulley; it transpires that she's a director of the Knock branch of The Cenacola Community, a facility for drug recovery entirely manned and maintained by the former addicts themselves, one with over 50 branches worldwide.

Several of the former addicts, many of whom arrived from different Cenacola units across Europe, have stayed clean and gone on to set up home and start families in and around Knock. She's justifiably proud of their achievements "This is the real Ireland, " she says. "For me, Knock has always been about reconciliation, it's a place where people come to make peace with themselves.

The rest of the country should take their lead from what happens here. If Knock goes, Ireland goes."

Still, if you need to know what's going on anywhere in Ireland, you still do what you always did . . . pull yourself a stool at the nearest bar. "You won't be using my name, now, will you?" says the well-heeled elderly gent, en route from midday mass, eying me suspiciously. "Sure you won't . . . I haven't give it to you." He has a baby Guinness, a whiskey, and 20 Silk Cut Purple, and treats me to a cup of tea . . . official business and all that.

"When I was young, I knew everyone in the parish, now you might just know a few neighbours. I live on the main road, and you don't know any of the people who are passing, hardly. Right now, there are five, six major developments being built in the town . . . who are all the people who are going to fill these houses? I don't know? There's retired people coming in that we never knew, there's no parishioners buying these houses. They're all strangers. And Knock was never like that before."

Half a million people gathered here to see Pope John Paul II in 1980 . . . or, as the inscription at the foot of the Papal Cross puts it, 'The greatest event in Irish history since the coming of St. Patrick'. More than a decade later, 50,000 people turned out in Knock to see Mother Teresa. The Big Question: Would a stopover from the current pontiff draw comparative numbers? Don't bet against it.

It would be easier, not to mention more comforting, to paint the pilgrims who take the trip to Knock as extremists, ageing relics of a bygone era. It would also be a major mistake. The nation simply isn't fitting into the new boxes being built by politicians, staticians and cultural commentators; at heart, we remain as stubborn, contrary and utterly contrite as ever. Possibly even more so.

Those keen to dismiss Knock as a faded totem of times long gone will be sorely disappointed . . . in the most unlikely fashion, there are times it feels as utterly contemporary as any of our major cities. "The Basilica seats 10,000 people, " says Elsie Tully.

"And it'll be standing room only by this afternoon. That's the truth about Knock.

We need it. We need it more than ever."