St. Theresa Parish

STORY OF LA SALETTE

La Salette.

A hamlet.

A mountain.

A visit from heaven.

A challenge.

A grace. 

Our story begins in the solitary French Alps. Those mountains are awesome. So deserted is the area that only a few young cowherds knew it well. On Saturday afternoon, September 19, 1846, Melanie Calvat, age fifteen, and Maximin Giraud, age eleven, were tending cows on a mountain above the village of La Salette. They had met for the first time just a few days before. At noon the Angelus rang from the steeple of the parish church, echoing the prophet Micah's complaint: "Stand up and let the case be opened in the hearing of the mountains: `My people, what have I done to you? Have I become a burden to you? Answer me"' (6:1-3). 

Taking their cue from the pealing bell, the two herders led their cows to drink, ate lunch, and were overcome by a deep sleep. Melanie awoke and anxiously called out to her companion: "Memin, I don't see our cows. Who knows where they might have strayed on these slopes!." They scurried up the knoll in front of them and were relieved to find the herd grazing content­edly on the opposite mountainside. As they turned around, the children were stopped in their tracks. A bright light was blazing over the stone bench, where they had left their knapsacks and the remains of their meager midday meal. The swirling radiance parted. They saw elbows resting on knees, a face bur­ied in hands, a woman seated there, weeping. In their fright, Maximin and Melanie stood riveted on the spot. The woman rose, tall and stately, and reassured them: 

Come near, my children; don't be afraid. I am here to tell you great news. 

They rushed toward her, as she herself took a few steps to meet them. The Lady was wearing a long gold apron over her pearled white dress. A garland of roses

bordered her kerchief. A dazzling crucifix, hanging from a fine gold chain around her neck, rested on her breast. The cross sparkled with light. To the left of the cross was a miniature hammer; to the right, miniature pincers. The young herders moved into their Lady's brightness. With rapt attention they looked up to her tear-streaked face. "She did not distort her features as we do when we cry," Melanie later re-ported, "but I did see her tears flow. She wept all the while she spoke to us. 

If my people refuse to submit,

I will be forced to let go the arm of my Son.

It is so strong and so heavy, I can no longer hold it back.

How long a time I have suffered for you! 

If I want my Son not to abandon you,

I must plead with him without ceasing. And as for you, you pay no heed. 

However much you pray,

however much you do,

you will never be able to repay the pains I have taken for you.

I gave you six days to work;

I have kept the seventh for myself,

and they will not give it to me.

This is what makes the arm of my Son so heavy. And then, those who drive the carts cannot swear without bringing in my Son's name.

These are the two things

that make the arm of my Son so heavy.

If the harvest is ruined,

it is only on account of yourselves.

I warned you last year with the potatoes. You paid no heed.

Instead, when you found the potatoes spoiled,you swore and brought in the name of my Son. They will continue to spoil,

and by Christmas this year there will be none left. 

In the local dialect potatoes were called las truffas . The French expression the Lady used, pommes de terre, (earth apples, literally) intrigued Melanie. She looked inquiringly at Maximin, but the Beautiful Lady had anticipated her question.  

You do not understand, my children? Let me find another way to say it.

In the dialect, she repeated what she had said about the harvest, and then went on:

If you have wheat, you must not sow it. Anything you sow the insects will eat, and whatever does come up

will fall into dust when you thresh it.

A great famine is coming.

Before the famine comes, children under seven will be seized with trembling

and die in the arms of those holding them. The rest will do penance through the famine. The walnuts will become worm-eaten.

The grapes will rot. 

If they are converted,

rocks and stones will be changed

into mounds of wheat

and potatoes will be self-sown in the fields.

Mary appeared at La Salette to bring us great news. It is indeed Gospel grace she shares. She speaks of fields and crops. We may wonder why. We are, in fact, dependent on both, although neither is part of our conscious daily experience.

The glad tidings of the Savior's birth went unheeded in the noisy, crowded inns. And so, they were brought to poor shepherds in Bethlehem's open country. Can the Lord's promise of life abundant, of growth and of nurture be heard if there is no open space, no hush, no surcease from noise and busy-ness? In the open fields of our reflection and thoughts perhaps will we see our ruined harvests, the rotted fruit of those decisions we make with no regard to their consequences, with little attention to what God wills. The Lady's words: "Rocks and stones will be changed into mounds of wheat" remind us that our God remains powerful "to raise up from stones children for Abraham and Sarah" (Luke 3:8). 

Taken with her sheer loveliness, Melanie and Maximin ate the words their heav­enly Visitor spoke, although much of what she said went beyond their youthful grasp. She wanted them to do more than parrot empty phrases, however. Because she had chosen them to communicate her heart's message to our hearts, the Lady addressed her heralds directly, inviting them to reflect on their own experience of Christ's call and our response.

Do you say your prayers well, my children? -Hardly at all, Madame, the two shepherds answered candidly.

Ah, my children, you must say them well

in the evening and in the morning, even if you say only an Our Father and a Hail Mary when you can't do more. When you can do better, say more.

In the summer only a few somewhat aged women go to Mass. The rest work on Sunday all summer long.

In the winter when they don't know what to do they go to Mass just to make fun of religion. During Lent they go to the meat markets like dogs. 

Have you never seen wheat gone bad, my children?

A stunned Memin blurted out: "No, we never have, Madame.^"

But you, my child, surely you must have seen some once. The owner of the field at Coin told your father to go and see his spoiled wheat. You both went.

You took two or three of the ears in your hands,

you rubbed them together

and everything crumbled into dust.

On your way home,

when you were about a half-hour from Corps,

your father gave you a piece of bread.

"Here, my child," he told you, "eat some

bread while we still have it this year,

because I don't know who will eat any

next year if the wheat continues this way."

"Oh, yes, Madame," an amazed young boy agreed. "Now I remember. Just then I didn't recall."

Forgetful of the true context in which we live our lives , we marvel that our God should be ever mindful of us (See Psalm 8:4).

Then, unavoidably, came the sad parting. "Well, my children," the Lady said twice as she took leave of Maximin and Melanie, "you will make this known to all my people." Thus officially and affectionately commissioned, our mountain lad and lass saw their Beautiful Lady rise in the air. Maximin's hand darted out in a failed attempt to pluck an unearthly rose from her slipper. The light grew brighter, and she vanished. The light lingered; too soon it was no more.

Down from their mountaintop these pebbles rolled - an avalanche of praise and supplication now to the lovely Lady with the radiant cross that saves. These trusty confidants of the Virgin Reconciler of La Salette never tired of telling what they had seen and heard on that unforgettable day that would mark their hapless lives forever.

Following a rigorous five-year investigation, Bishop Philibert de Bruillard of Grenoble, in whose diocese the Event had taken place, ratified the children's testimony and granted ecclesiastical approval to the Apparition.

Presiding at the Shrine church cornerstone laying in May of 1852, Bishop de Bruillard made the surprise announcement that he would found an Institute of La Salette Missionaries: "However important the building of a Shrine church may be," he said, "more important still are the ministers of religion destined to wel­come the pilgrims, preach the Word of God to them, and fulfill on their behalf the ministry of reconciliation."

Called to be "a living and lasting remembrance" of her visit to La Salette, from the earliest days until now Our Lady's Missionaries have drawn their inspiration from Mary's tearful plea and sought to be faithful servants of God's reconciling love.