For the 2,000 visitors who traveled to the Mater Dolorosa Passionist Retreat Center in Sierra Madre on Friday, April 3, the chance to walk the large outdoor Stations of the Cross was a singular and heartfelt experience that touched their faith.
It was Good Friday – a solemn moment on the Christian holy calendar, devoted to reflecting on the story of Christ’s crucifixion.
But as the retreat headed into Easter, the moment was also about gratitude that 15 months since the Eaton fire, this place sill stands — a place of quiet contemplation in a world full of noise — experiencing its own gradual rebirth.
When the Eaton fire raged out of the hills on Jan. 7, 2025, the specter of destruction loomed large at this 100-year-old complex, which for generations has hosted retreats, days of prayer and other spiritual programs at its lush grounds tucked in at the foothills of the San Gabriels.
As the fire approached, its guests and staff scrambled as extreme winds gusted and the power went out. Everyone pitched in, grabbing flashlights and getting the staff and guests together. Within 20 minutes the distant glow and smoke turned into flames that were quickly advancing toward the Retreat Center.
Ultimately, the next morning, “the property looked like a war zone,” with the hermitage, employee apartments and garage burned to the ground. After they fled, firefighters arrived and saved the main building, administrative offices, kitchen and dining room.
Somehow the main retreat center was spared, and while the ground was scorched and some of the administrative center and garage suffered damage, the main edifice was left standing.
“God wants this place to be here, safe from the fire,” said the Rev. Dr. Febin Barose, CEO and center director, who welcomed busloads of people throughout the morning on Friday. “He put his arms around the building protecting it. What are the chances? The hills were on fire six feet away from the retreat center building and it did not burn.
“What are chances?” he said emphatically. “God wanted this place to be here for a purpose and God protected it.”
And as the many faithful walked the expansive layout of the retreat’s Stations of the Cross, the retreat center itself stood in sheer symbolism to the story of Jesus.
As the faithful contemplated the story of their savior making that doomed journey to crucifixion only to be reborn again on Easter Sunday, the rebirth of the center itself, which was closed for a period following the fire, has seen new life, which leaders and pilgrims see as a direct symbol of hope and rebirth.
Gladys Maddin of Pasadena comes every year to walk the stations on Good Friday.
“I like it because it’s outside,” she said. “It makes it more real — the tranquility, the peace. I find that it’s a special place because the fire did hit it but it didn’t destroy the significance of this place. I’m happy it was saved, because people come from all over to be here.”
While the retreat has a larger attendance of close to 1,500 for the evening walk, which is guided and provides interaction through staff and volunteers, the morning walk is self-guided and silent.
Because the center recently sold land near the entrance that had previously been used for overflow parking on Good Friday, this year they had to arrange for a number of shuttle buses to bring people to and fro from Santa Anita Park, which Barose said generously let them use their parking lot for worshippers.
The hills behind the retreat center still show visible signs of the fire, with some blackened trees and a few intermittent bare spots, but with the spring season the growth of green is flourishing.
Just south of the main building, the expansive Stations of the Cross weaved through a largely untouched grove of tall fragrant pine trees that scent the warm air in and around the area.
Worshippers, individually and in small groups, meditated and prayed in silence as they weaved through the area at their individual pace, the view out over the valley a reflection of the quiet, feeling like many miles from the bustle of the city.
Nearby, a deer was visible on the hill, a lizard scampered, and a large, long-eared rabbit rushed through some brush along the path, where — amidst tall cacti, agave, succulents and large jade plants — the numbered stations offered solemn statues set amidst miniature outdoor sanctuaries for worship.
The colossal Moreton Bay fig tree, also known as an Australian banyan, on the southeast end of the property, is a living reminder of the retreat’s long history, according to frequent visitor Will Cosso of Sierra Madre. Overnight retreats were held under the protection of this tree 100 years ago.
“Part of the beauty of the human experience is seasonality,” Cosso said, comparing the four seasons to the cycle of life. “They’re kind of natural periods of birth and growth, maturity and dying and death.”
Consequently, he said, the process of walking the Stations of the Cross in this bucolic setting is powerful and poignant.
“Today is a beautiful example for that connection,” he said.
Though the center was spared more significant damage, there are still plenty repairs that have been needed, with three final projects on tap.
Barose said that though the administrative offices are close to being completed, there is also work on the garage outbuilding that was lost, landscaping and specific irrigation work, and a creation of an entirely new entrance.
“The recovery is getting longer than I anticipated, with all that’s going on, and there’s rising costs,” he said. “I may not be able to replace all that we lost because of the huge gap we have between the insurance payout and the actual cost of construction.”
Still, Barose was thrilled to see the turnout for Good Friday — something he hopes is a portent of the center’s continuing resurgence.
“The fire could not destroy the peacefulness and the physical enrichment that this place can provide,” he said. “And I’m seeing a 20 to 30% higher rate of people attending, which is amazing. You’d expect less people to come with all this going on but No, this is just the opposite and that’s a miracle for me.”
Jarret Liotta is a Los Angeles-based freelance writer and photographer.