The Beautiful Message of La Salette

Old French holy Card depicting the three phases of the Apparition and a panoramic view of the ShrineWhen the pilgrim, tired from the long journey, approaches the Shrine of La Salette and finally beholds it nestled in the hollow of the mountain, he immediately perceives and realizes that he has reached the mountain of contemplation. He has left behind the active valley of the Isère and the mining region of La Mure. He has climbed laboriously—as if through the trials of the Purgative Way—penetrating into an atmosphere of purer air and ever-more imposing silence.

It suffices if he has ever thumbed the works of St. John of the Cross or just looked at the frontispiece, the mountain sketched by the saint to symbolize the ascent to Carmel, for he is struck with discovering this schema, which he believed entirely theoretical, in the profile of these mountains and the spiral of the winding valleys.

Here is the mountain—he is in the realm of the mountain. In other places, the mountain is a decorative element, prime matter, a substance decked with picturesque accidentals, as trees, torrents, cascades, streams, rocks. Here, none of these accessories.

A breathtaking and awe-inspiring
panorama of nature

As one climbs up, they disappear one after another, there only remain pure slopes, only summits more or less sharp. Great austerity, religious astonishment, but devoid of sadness, in this ideal region where the eye, looking at a great distance and meeting no obstacle, falls upon these surfaces sheathed in short grass, combining a tranquil sweetness to a rigorous spoliation like unto Franciscan poverty.

Thus it is the mountain, entirely bare, pure elevation—the mountain which seems to synthesize all the mystical mountains; namely, that of the Beatitudes, that of the Temptation, that of Thabor—where “it was good for us to be here" (Matthew 17:4)—that of the Mount of Olives, the hill of Calvary, the rock of Mount Sinai and that of Mount Olivet, the place of the Ascension.

The site of the Apparition is simple and holy

Drawing of a young La Salette priest at the site of the apparition, telling the story of the apparition to the pilgrimsIn a sense this vast expanse frames the mountain of La Salette, a place of gathering and of liberation—the mountain which causes the world to be forgotten and makes one cling to the divine, the mountain, haughty and exclusive—yet ever-changing with time according to the sun and the clouds, all while God is One and Inexhaustible.

The little spring, which was begotten, so to speak, of the tears of the Blessed Virgin, irresistibly reminds the pilgrim of that living water of which one who will drink will never thirst again—streams of living water which gush forth for eternal life. This is the place where the daily recital of the Apparition is heard—a simple narrative, always the same but ever deeply moving, because these wonderful events, yet so simple, occurred many years ago in this very spot!

This is the place where the pilgrim comes to drink a cup of the water, where one prays in silence, forehead against the bars of the enclosure, where one contemplates the three statues, the three “phases” of the Apparition of the “Lady” in peasant costume, where one breathes in the perfume of the rustic flowers which abound at the edges of her robe of bronze.
The pilgrims process during the day, praying and singing hymns to Our Lady of La Salette on the slopes of Mt. Gargas
And at night, when the mountains are illumined with myriads of stars, it is always near this place that the pilgrims wind in procession. A procession which sings and then is silent (for the various verses which reverberate in the night are broken by the refrain of the chimes of the Basilica).

It is a procession of pure praise to Mary (Ave Maria), a procession like a dance depicted by Fra Angelico wherein the blessed sing their hymns and dance barefooted on the grass while holding hands, a procession which is entirely in honor of her to whom Wisdom dares to say: “I pray without ceasing in the presence of the Most High” and “I was his delight day by day, playing before him all the while, Playing over the whole of his earth, having my delight with human beings.” (see Proverbs 8:31).

A place of reflection, forgiveness and mercy

While remaining charmed with the place, the soul can now plunge itself deeply into the meditation of the message of the Blessed Virgin. Her message was first addressed to shepherds who were far less devout at that time than Bernadette or the witnesses of Fatima. The Blessed Virgin even chooses to speaks in the local French patois as she recalls the fundamental precepts of God and of the Church.

At first sight, the Beautiful Lady could be said to be simple and earthly, her message speaking in fact of chastisements of the temporal order, spoiled harvests of nuts and potatoes. Yet she promises that if her people are converted, an abundance of blessings and a rich harvest will follow.

She invites ...

“Come near, my children, do not be afraid. . .” If our life as Catholics is tepid or empty, is it not perhaps because we always are afraid of advancing, of approaching, of giving everything and of attempting the last adventure, of sticking to the end? How many people hesitate to act generously because they fear to be transported further than they want to be! But should not the contemplative life, the life of pure love, begin with a movement of complete abandonment like trusting children who are not afraid to cast themselves into the arms of God, into the arms of the “Beautiful Lady” clothed in robes woven of light, yet like the peasant dress of the locals?

Old Portuguese holy card of the three phases of the Apparition"Come near, my children." She means do not obey me merely through fear and not even by virtue, if I may dare say so, but be for my Son and for myself like children full of confidence, entirely offered. Be like faithful friends who live with him in perpetual commune, following his words, not merely by refraining from disobeying him but also by nourishing and fortifying self with the sustaining and vivifying words, like faithful friends, assiduous and joyful, true children of Mary indeed—not timid servants who are always standing in the background.

She pleads ...

But after this come those terrible words: "If my people will not submit, I shall be forced to let go the arm of my Son. It is so strong, so heavy, that I can no longer withhold it. If I would not have my Son abandon you, I am compelled to pray to him without ceasing. And as for you, you take no heed of it. However much you pray, however much you do, you will never recompense the pains I have taken for you."

These words at first glance might seem to be addressed to people hardened in sin rather than given to contemplation—still they are directed to both groups. For the Catholic, contemplation is not some Platonic speculation, Stoic impassibility, or Hindu nirvana. It is the flowering of charity from the firm roots of obedience: “If you love me, you will keep my commandments” (John 14:15).

She warns  ...

Then the reproaches which the Blessed Virgin makes to her people. "Six days have I given you to labor, the seventh I have kept for myself, and they will not give it to me. (Note how the Blessed Virgin here identifies herself with God.) It is this which makes the arm of my Son so heavy!"

Let us remark that the Blessed Virgin as yet does not mention Sunday Mass but the primary and fundamental obligation—written in the Decalogue and in the natural divine law—of rest and of the sanctification of the Sunday, the day which God has reserved to himself. Undoubtedly an elementary precept but which cannot be estimated by people who do not possess at least a small idea of the preeminence of the contemplative life over useful work, even if it were virtuous.

We have to labor in order to sustain our bodies and likewise to obey God but only during six days: the seventh, which God has reserved to himself, we have to dedicate it to him entirely, to serve him, to obey him disinterestedly, to contemplate him, to adore him and to praise him. I well know that the Blessed Virgin did not explicitly say so but it is understood that the action which provides the greatest meaning to this rest is the Mass: the great sacrifice of praise, the act par excellence of contemplation which takes in all creation (people, animals, plants, seas and mountains) in one single Victim offered to the glory of the Father.

She reproaches ...

Mary then reproaches her people with profaning the name of God. “Those who drive the carts cannot swear without introducing the name of my Son. These are the two things which make the arm of my Son so heavy.” To hallow the name of God is the first duty and the first desire of every Catholic, especially the contemplative soul. If God wished to remain alone in Heaven, inaccessible, and did not desire to enter into commune with us, do you think that the profanation of his Name would be odious to him? It is an offense which does not hurt him because human insults and blasphemies can never succeed in contaminating his very essence but by outraging his Name every one of us soils the image which is in oneself, that divinization of humanity which Catholicity should attain as its end.

She asks: “Do you pray well ... ?”

Then the Madonna asks the children if they say their prayers well. Still another elementary question—the ABC of Catholicity. Note that the Blessed Virgin asks if they say their prayers well: not therefore as a task but as a spontaneous act of the heart—even if only for a short time—towards God. She then tells them to say at least an Our Father and a Hail Mary, the most common prayers yet the most perfect, which, however trite they may appear, form such a lofty school of contemplation that by themselves they would make hearts burn with charity.

It is indeed true that the Our Father is a prayer entirely made up of petitions but it should be remarked that the Lord had wished expressly to teach it, well aware of our interested and selfish nature. Still, the primary objects of these petitions are the most sublime, heavenly, disinterested; namely, the honoring of his Name, the coming of his kingdom, and the accomplishment of his will. Only after thinking of him, do we think of ourselves, begging him for our daily bread, the pardon of our offences, help in temptation, and deliverance from evil. Just as in the Hail Mary, wherein, after the first cry of joy for the grandeurs of the Blessed Virgin, was added in the course of centuries the petition for help in our misery.

She asks for just a minimum ...

But an Our Father and a Hail Mary are the indispensable minimum and adds: “. . . but when you have time, say more.” The duty of prayer is not restrictive: persons of faith should always allow themselves to be transported to prayer, ever more assiduously.

The last part of the Message charges Catholics with neglecting and even despising the Mass, with not obeying the laws of abstinence during Lent—a final appeal for the observance of our obligations towards God.

She insists: “Make this message known. ... ”

And the Beautiful Lady concludes her discourse with these words which she repeats twice aloud, and in French (perhaps to emphasize her universal audience): “Make this known to all my people!” The follower of her Son must be an apostle and whoever has received a message must share it.

It is a fact that all who go to La Salette and breath in the atmosphere full of “grace” become unexpectedly possessed with a desire for greater intimacy with God, with a longing for silence and prayerful reflection because, casting themselves at the feet of “she who weeps”, they have found the “Mother of beautiful love.”
Old German holy card of the three phases of the Apparition with the Litany to Our Lady of La Salette