3
Fatima2
THE LADY OF THE ROSARY BY MSGR. WILLIAM C. MCGRATH
DOWN the centuries the Blessed Mother of God has repeatedly played a decisive role in the saving of Christian civilization.  Time and again, when all seemed lost and the situation was literally “out of human hands,” her intervention-either through actual appearance on earth or through unprecedented rosary crusades-has turned the tide of victory. Her efforts sometimes ended in failure.  Not that she could ever fail but because of the refusal of her earthly children to play the part assigned to them as a necessary condition of success. Among her most spectacular victories were the defeat of the deadly Albigensian heresy in the thirteenth century and, three hundred years later, the annihilation of the “invincible” Turkish armada at Lepanto. Unsuccessful were her efforts to avert disaster for France through her apparitions at La Salette and to prevent the spread of Communism and a Second World War through the “Peace Plan from Heaven” she gave us at Fatima.
The world situation in May 1917 weighed heavily on the heart of the Holy Father. Now well into its third year was the most deadly and destructive war the world had ever known. Europe was one gigantic battlefield. The sinking of the Lusitania on May 7, 1915, with the loss of more than twelve hundred lives, was the incident that galvanized American public opinion into support of a later declaration of war on April 6, 1917, but America’s weight had not yet been felt in the conflict. At the rate of 31,000 tons a day Allied shipping was being sent to the bottom of the ocean in a sinister effort to cut the Atlantic life line.  It would be a fight to the desperate finish, and nowhere on the horizon loomed any sign of hope for a war-weary and despairing world.
There are those who maintain that the Holy Father, Pope Benedict XV, died of a broken heart because of the abysmal failure of all his overtures to the Great Powers and his plans for a just and a lasting peace. Over and over again he had implored them to listen; to bring to an end “this cruel war, the suicide of Europe.” On every occasion he had been rebuffed. Finally, despairing of any help from leaders determined only upon destruction and revenge, he directed his children throughout the world to join him in a fervent appeal to the Blessed Mother of God. In a stirring Pastoral letter, addressed to the Catholic world on May 5, 1917, Pope Benedict expressed his poignant grief and fatherly concern over this senseless slaughter.  “We wish the petitions of her most afflicted children to be directed with lively confidence, more than ever in this awful hour, to the great Mother of God. To Mary, then, who is the Mother of Mercy and omnipotent by grace, let loving and devout appeal go up from every comer of the earth-from noble temples and tiniest chapels, from royal palaces and mansions of the rich as from the poorest hut-from every place wherein a faithful soul finds shelter-from blood-drenched plains and seas. Let it bear to her the anguished cries of mothers and wives, the wailing of innocent little ones, the sighs of every generous heart: that her most tender and benign solicitude may be moved and the peace we ask for be obtained for our agitated world.”
In the spring of 1916, in the company of her cousins Francisco, aged eight, and his little sister Jacinta, aged six, Lucia Abóbora had taken their joint flocks of sheep to a section of her father’s property known as the Chousa Velha, at the foot of a rocky promontory called the Cabeço,
In all the big wide world of human strength and human wisdom it would have been difficult to find individuals of lesser importance than those chosen by Heaven to play their role in the greatest spiritual drama of our generation. They were child shepherds, obscure, illiterate, “alike to fortune and to fame unknown,” yet because of events that had their beginning on this spring day in 1916, their names were one day to be blazoned before the world and their memories to be enshrined in the hearts of countless millions when the strong and the wise of that world-war era had passed into oblivion.
Lucy Abóbora, aged nine, was the youngest of seven children. Her cousins Francisco and Jacinta were the last of eleven of the Marto family. Like the other poor families of their little village of Aljustrel, their folks had time for little more than the never-ending struggle to wrest a meager living from the barren and reluctant soil of one of the most stubbornly unproductive areas of the whole of Portugal. For schooling there was little time, with the result that none of the children had yet learned to read or write. There were daily chores for every member of every family, and in order to release her elder brothers and sisters for more profitable tasks around the farm and in the home, Lucy had recently been assigned the role of leadership of the little shepherd trio in caring daily for their joint flocks of sheep. Each day, in the graying dawn, they would lead them forth to the meager pastures among the bush and scrub of the rocky, barren area, and each evening they returned to their humble, unpretentious homes, next morning to repeat the process all over again.
There was nothing “different” about this fine spring morning. Another routine day in their routine lives. They had guided the flock to a field belonging to Lucy’s father.  While the sheep nibbled at the sparse available grass the children joined their youthful village companions in playing their childhood games of tag, jacks, and hide and seek. But before long there was a sudden change in the weather. A steady drizzle began to fall, borne in on the chilling breeze from the invisible ocean to the northwest.  Hastily gathering the sheep together, they led them to the partial protection of a small wooded area while they themselves sought shelter in their well-known cave on the side of the promontory known as the Chousa Velha. It proved to be only a passing shower, but so absorbed had they become in their games that they remained inside the cave even after the sun had shone forth once again.
The Angel then arose, gave the host to Lucy and the contents of the chalice to Francisco and Jacinta, saying: "Take and drink the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ, horribly outraged by ungrateful men. Make reparation for their crimes and console your God."
The Angel then arose, gave the host to Lucy and the contents of the chalice to Francisco and Jacinta, saying: “Take and drink the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ, horribly outraged by ungrateful men. Make reparation for their crimes and console your God.”
“We had played only a short time,” wrote Lucy many years later, “when a strong wind shook the trees and above them a light appeared, whiter than the driven snow. As it approached, it took the form of a young man, transparent and resplendent with light. He began to speak. ‘Fear not.  I am the Angel of Peace. Pray with me.’ He knelt on the ground, bowed low, and three times recited a prayer: ‘My God, I believe, I adore, I hope and I love You. I ask pardon of You for those who do not believe, do not adore, do not hope and do not love You.’ Then he arose and said: ‘Pray this way. The Hearts of Jesus and Mary are attentive to the voice of your supplications.”’
The Angel disappeared as suddenly as he had come, leaving the children so overcome with sudden awareness of the world beyond that for a long period they were utterly oblivious to their surroundings. They remained rigidly in the same position in which he had left them. Over and over, with an intensity that permeated their whole being, they repeated the beautiful prayer: “My God, I believe, I adore, I hope … ” “We felt the presence of God so intensely” wrote Lucy, “so intimately, that we dared not speak even to one another. The next day we felt ourselves still enveloped by its atmosphere. Only very gradually did its intensity diminish within us. None of us thought of speaking of this apparition or of recommending that it be kept a secret. It imposed secrecy of itself. It was so intimate that it was not easy to utter even a single word about it.”
From then on, as if bound by an invisible common bond, the three children spent nearly all their time in one another’s company. Each day, in the graying dawn, they attended Mass and after a frugal breakfast set out with their sheep to the best grazing land available in the meager countryside. Before noon they would return, only to set out again in the early evening after the great heat of the day had subsided. There were games galore in the shade of the fig trees, and there was the cool well, shaded by olive and almond, where they could take their rest. It was during one of those periods this otherwise uneventful day that they were suddenly startled by the sound of a voice: “What are you doing?” It was the Angel, who was again beside them. “Pray, pray a great deal,” he continued. “The Hearts of Jesus and Mary have designs of mercy for you. Offer unceasingly to the Most High prayer and sacrifices.”
“But how are we to make sacrifices?” It was Lucy who proffered the question.
“Offer up everything within your power as a sacrifice to the Lord in reparation for the sins by which he is so much offended and of supplication for the conversion of sinners. Thus bring down peace upon your country. I am the Guardian Angel of Portugal. More than all else, accept and bear with resignation the sufferings that God may send you.”
Three times in all the Angel visited the children, the third time holding aloft a chalice with a host suspended above it. From the host drops of blood fell into the chalice cup, and, leaving both suspended in mid-air, he prostrated himself upon the ground and three times repeated this sublime prayer of reparation:
“Most Holy Trinity, Father, Son and Holy Ghost, I adore You profoundly and I offer You the most precious Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus Christ, present in all the tabernacles of the world, in reparation for the outrages, sacrileges and indifference by which He Himself is offended. And by the infinite merits of His Most Sacred Heart and the Immaculate Heart of Mary, I beg of You the conversion of poor sinners.”
The Angel then arose, gave the host to Lucy and the contents of the chalice to Francisco and Jacinta, saying: “Take and drink the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ, horribly outraged by ungrateful men. Make reparation for their crimes and console your God.”
Once more prostrating himself upon the ground, he recited three times with the children the prayer “Most Holy Trinity … ” Then he disappeared from view.
It was Lucy who many years later described the overpowering sense of the presence of God that flooded their souls during and after this second visit of the Angel. It left them physically weak and, as it were, withdrawn entirely from their earthly surroundings. Her description reminds one of the words of the great St. Paul when he was transported to the third Heaven and tells us that he did not know whether he was in or detached from his own body. For days and even weeks they experienced a feeling of happy debility, overcome by the thought that from the hands of an Angel they had received the Body and Blood of Christ. It was Francisco, many days later, who first made reference to their overpowering experience:
“The Angel gave you Holy Communion,” he said to Lucy, “but what was it that he gave Jacinta and me?”
“It was also Holy Communion,” declared Jacinta, before Lucy could reply. “Didn’t you see that it was the Blood that fell from the host?”
“I felt that God was in me,” Francisco replied, “but I didn’t know how it was.” Then, prostrating himself upon the ground, he remained a long time, repeating over and over the Angel’s prayer to the Blessed Trinity.
On May 13, 1917, in almost the same spot where, the year before, the Angel had appeared to them, the children were once more tending their sheep in the Chousa Velha in the section known as the Cova da Iria. They had said their Rosary, finished their meager luncheon, and begun to play when suddenly, out of an azure sky, a brilliant flash of light appeared. Fearing a storm, they were running excitedly to gather the sheep and head for shelter when another flash, this time more brilliant and arresting, literally rooted them to the spot. A vision had suddenly materialized above the branches of a small holm oak tree, and there, to their overpowering amazement, they beheld “the most beautiful Lady they had ever seen.” “It was,” writes Lucy, “a Lady dressed all in white, more brilliant than the sun, shedding rays of light clearer and stronger than a crystal glass filled with the most sparkling water and pierced by the burning rays of the sun.”
The children’s first impulse was to turn and run away, but the Lady beckoned to them and bade them come nearer. “Do not be afraid, I will not hurt you,” she told them as they gazed upon her in silent ecstasy.
The beautiful Lady was clothed in a garment of purest white, which fell gracefully in soft folds to her feet and was adorned with a star near the hem of her long flowing robe. Her face was youthful, that of a girl of sixteen, of indescribable beauty and flooded with heavenly light, yet tinged with an expression of wistful sadness. Her hands, delicate and slender, were folded before her breast and held a white rosary with beads, cross, and chain of shining pearl. Her whole person was so resplendent with light that it dazzled the children’s eyes, and for a long time they just stood and gazed, rooted to the spot and yet unable to utter a single word. It was Lucy who at last found courage to break the silence.
Mary announced: "I am the Lady of the Rosary." Her face grew grave as she imparted her last message to the children. "People must amend their lives, ask pardon for their sins, and not offend Our Lord any more for He is already too greatly offended."
Mary announced: “I am the Lady of the Rosary.” Her face grew grave as she imparted her last message to the children. “People must amend their lives, ask pardon for their sins, and not offend Our Lord any more for He is already too greatly offended.”
“Where do you come from?” she asked the gracious Lady, who now smiled upon them with an expression that won their hearts.
“I come from Heaven,” she replied.
“And why have you come down here?” asked Lucy, with the simple directness of childhood.
“Because I want you children to come here on the thirteenth of each month at the same hour. In the month of October I shall tell you who I am and what I want you to do.”
Lucy’s courage and confidence were by now completely restored, and she felt utterly at home in the presence of the Lady, whose face was so loving and kind.
“Do you really come from Heaven?” she asked, and added: “Shall I go to Heaven too?”
“Yes, you will go there.”
“And Jacinta?” she now asked, growing more confident with each passing moment.
“Jacinta will go to Heaven, too,” the Lady replied.
“And Francisco?”
The Lady looked earnestly at the child with an expression of motherly reproach. “Yes,” she replied, “Francisco, too, will go to Heaven, but he will first have to say many rosaries.”
Lucy craved further reassurance regarding her childhood friends. There were the two little boys, their playmates, who had died last year.
“One is already in Heaven,” the Lady told her, “and the other is in Purgatory.”
“And Amelia?”
“Amelia will be in Purgatory till the end of the world.”1
It was the Lady who now asked a question. It was addressed to all three of the children. “Do you wish to offer yourselves to God in order to accept all the sufferings He wishes to send you, in reparation for sin and for the conversion of sinners?”
With childlike and heroic simplicity they answered in unison: “Yes, we want to.”
“Then you will suffer much,” the Lady told them, “but God’s grace will strengthen you.” And she added: “My children, go on always saying the Rosary as you have just done.”
It was the last word she spoke. Gradually, without walking but as if she were simply gliding over the ground, the beautiful Lady moved toward the East and the vision slowly melted into the sunlight.
Still awed and thrilled by the spectacle they just had witnessed, the children excitedly held a little consultation. It was real. It must have been real. They had all seen the beautiful Lady, and they had all heard her speak.  And an identical feeling of indescribable joy had flooded their hearts as they stood before her. But they had better not tell anybody. No, it would be foolish, because nobody would believe them anyway and people would laugh and would say that they were making up the whole fantastic story.
But alas for good resolutions. Back that evening in the cozy precincts of her humble home, Jacinta broke down and told her mother the startling events of the never-to-be-forgotten day. By the following day it was the talk of the entire village, and the fears of the children were quickly verified. If deep joy had filled their hearts at the sight of the Heavenly Visitor, they were soon to taste of the suffering they had joyfully agreed to accept for the conversion of sinners. They were ridiculed and rebuked, and Lucy was given a severe beating, treated as a liar and a hypocrite even by members of her own family. Over and over they were cross-examined, ridiculed, held up to scorn, and threatened with even more drastic punishment if they persisted in denying that they had simply invented the whole impossible story. But in spite of threats and beatings and ridicule, they would not retract one iota of what little Jacinta had told her mother. It was true. The beautiful Lady had really been there. And what was more, she would be there again, every month, on the thirteenth, from now till October. She had spoken to Lucy and told her that one day they would all go to Heaven. What difference if they were punished? Hadn’t they all agreed to accept whatever suffering God would send them? Perhaps this was part of it, and they could bear it in reparation for sin and for the souls of poor sinners. They could not help what people thought-or said-or did. They did know that the Lady had told them to go back on the thirteenth of June, and they were happy at the thought that they would see her once again.
There was one who refused to be swayed by the storm of ridicule and unbelief. It was Ti Marto, father of Francisco and Jacinta. From beginning to end he was a tower of strength to all three children and, in spite of his lack of formal education, proved to be a man of sound judgment, always ready to analyze the situation objectively “with malice toward none.” Lucy’s mother had already told the whole story to Father Manuel Ferreira, the local pastor, and Mr. Marto thought to himself that the case for the children would not be helped by her rendition of what they claimed to have witnessed. He deemed it best to go to the pastor himself, and his suspicions were soon verified. His Reverence had not been particularly impressed. In the light of subsequent events one might say, indeed, that Father Ferreira did not measure up too well to the situation. He was not merely incredulous. He was downright hostile and resentful. It was plain to see that he deplored the whole “unfortunate affair.”
“If you ask me, it’s just a mess,” he told the distressed Ti Marto. “It’s the first time in my life that I have ever had to listen to anything like this.” Although taken aback by what he regarded as a rather superficial appraisal of the whole affair, good, honest Ti Marto gave voice to the first recorded words in favor of the helpless children.
“But, Father, you seem more ready to believe the lies that are being uttered than the facts of the case. I have come to you with nothing but the best of intentions, not to cause you any trouble but only to find out what is best for us to do.”
In nowise mollified by this honest statement of the case, the priest was prepared rather petulantly to dismiss the whole sorry business. Ti Marto’s suggestion that the children be brought to him to give him their own version of what they had seen, he answered:
“If you want to bring the children to me, do it. If not, just don’t. I leave it up to you.”
Ti Marto descended the steps of the rectory veranda, obviously pained by this utter lack of sympathy and understanding on the part of one for whom he had such a high regard.
Meanwhile, at her own home, Jacinta was experiencing the same attitude of hostile unbelief. As a matter of fact, a conspiracy was being concocted by both mothers to deter their children from going through with the whole silly affair. The great feast of St. Anthony was drawing near, and it was always celebrated with bands and processions and the traditional ceremony of giving away the loaves of bread. The children were to be urged to attend this feast and to forget about the Cova da lria.
But Jacinta was not so easily downed. Her generous and impetuous nature prompted her to attempt to persuade her mother to accompany them and to be there when the Beautiful Lady once more came down from Heaven.
“Please, Mamma. Come with us tomorrow to the Cava to see Our Lady.”
“Our Lady! What childish nonsense! You are just being stubborn and silly. Tomorrow we are all going to the celebrations for the feast of St. Anthony. Don’t you want to get your roll of bread . . .              and hear the bands . . . and see the great procession . . . and the firecrackers . . . and be there for the wonderful sermon?”
Wasted words! But how could she understand? She forgot-no, actually she did not believe that she was speaking to a child whose eyes had beheld the Heavenly beauty of the Blessed Mother of God. Loaves of bread and bands and firecrackers! Such worldly attractions no longer held the slightest interest for her little seven-year-old daughter. For a month now, in reparation for sinners and to keep their promise to the Beautiful Lady, Jacinta and her two friends had given up the dancing which they once loved so much; had daily given away their lunches to the poor children they met along the way; and many times had made the sacrifice of doing without even a drink of water on those long hot days when they were parched with thirst from the merciless heat of the sun. Mother and child no longer spoke the same language.
“But, Mamma, Our Lady really did appear at the Cava.”
“Nonsense, child. Our Lady certainly did not appear to you. It is just a useless waste of time to go there.”
“No, Mamma. She really did. She told us she would come back on the thirteenth of the month and she will.”
First thing next morning Jacinta hurried to her mother’s room. She would ask her again to come to the Cava. But the room was empty. She awakened Francisco, and while he was dressing she let out the sheep. It was a disappointment to find her mother gone, but, she thought to herself, at least they could now go in peace to the Cava.
Lucy was already waiting for them. Hurt to the soul at the utter lack of understanding and violent opposition on the part of her own mother, she longed to be with her little companions who alone would understand. In later years, speaking of those early days, she wrote: “I recalled the times that were past and I kept asking myself what had become of the affection which my family had entertained for me only a short while before.” Lucy, too, was experiencing her share of the suffering they had so readily offered to accept in reparation for the sins of men.
In due course they reached the Cova. In spite of the ridicule and unbelief that had greeted their story, there were about sixty curious onlookers, Lucy’s father among them. The children seated themselves in the shade of a large holm oak, and as time went on Lucy grew serious and apprehensive. Soon she was heard to exclaim: “Quiet, Our Lady is coming.”
They began the recitation of the Rosary, but before it was finished she stood erect and shouted to Jacinta: “Our Lady is coming. I just saw the flash.”
The three children ran to the smaller holm oak tree where the Lady had appeared in May, and while they knelt there Lucy was heard to say: “You told me to come today. What do you wish me to do?”
“I want you to come again on the thirteenth of next month. Now, when you say the Rosary, after each decade add the following prayer: ‘Oh, my Jesus, forgive us our sins. Save us from the fire of Hell and lead all souls to Heaven, especially those who have most need of Thy Mercy.’ ”
…
The Blessed Lady then told Lucy that she wanted her to learn to read and write and promised that she would later tell her what else she wanted her to do. So overcome was the child by the beauty of the Heavenly Visitor that almost involuntarily she gave voice to her request that she take them all to Heaven. The answer of the Blessed Mother was significant.
“I will come soon and take Francisco and Jacinta. But you are to stay here for a longer time. God wishes to use you to make me known and loved, to establish throughout the world devotion to my Immaculate Heart. To all those who embrace it I promise salvation, and their souls will be loved by God as flowers placed by me before His throne.”
Lucy was almost in tears. “Dear Lady,” she cried, saddened at the thought of losing her little companions, “am I to stay here all alone?”
“No, my child. I will never leave you. If this thought causes you great sadness, remember that my Immaculate Heart will ever be your refuge and the way that will lead you to God.”
As the Blessed Mother uttered these words she extended her hands, and in the rays of light that shone from them the children saw themselves as if submerged in the Divine Presence. Jacinta and Francisco were on the side of the light that was ascending to Heaven while Lucy was in the light that seemed to be diffused all over the earth. Before the palm of the Lady’s right hand there was a heart, pierced by thorns, and the children understood that it was the Immaculate Heart of Mary, offended by the sins of a heedless world and pleading for reparation.
The crowd now saw Lucy rise to her feet and extend her hand toward the East. “There she goes,” she cried. “There she goes.”
The people saw only a white cloud rising slowly toward the East and noticed a movement in the branches of the oak tree. As Lucy announced that the Lady was going, these branches were brushed aside as if by an invisible hand and bent in the direction of the East. For a few minutes the children remained silent, their eyes riveted on the direction in which the Lady had disappeared.  “There! It’s over,” cried Lucy. “She has entered Heaven and the doors are closed.”
“It doesn’t seem to me like a revelation from Heaven.  It hardly seems possible that the Blessed Virgin would come down from Heaven just to tell you that the Rosary should be said every day. Already it is being said by nearly everybody in the parish. Ordinarily, when a thing like this happens, God directs the souls to whom he makes himself known to tell everything to their pastor or their confessor, but this child holds back as much as possible. It could be a trick of the devil. Time will tell us just what attitude we should adopt.”
There it was, the verdict of the pastor as relayed to Lucy’s mother, who had brought the frightened child for a final interview. They had been brought before him individually and all together, but they were so frightened that Jacinta maintained complete silence, Francisco mumbled only a few words, while Lucy gave a very sketchy and altogether unsatisfying account of what had happened. Had she said more, she might have set his doubts at rest. But now she was more frightened than ever.  A trick of the devil? Who was she to gainsay his words?  Did she think she knew more than the priest? It was a very disturbed Lucy who wended her way home and there were very real doubts in her mind as to the authenticity of the apparitions. The thought became almost an obsession. She dreamed that the devil was laughing at her because he had deceived her so easily; that he was reaching out his claws to drag her into Hell. She began to feel sorry that she had ever become involved in the whole terrible affair, and the only place she knew any peace was in the presence of Jacinta and Francisco beside the little holm oak tree.
The day of the next apparition was drawing near. But Lucy had made her decision. She would go no more to the Cova da Iria. Her mother’s repeated insistence that the pastor was right, that it was but a trick of the devil, had so confused and frightened the child that she was more disturbed than ever before. On July 12 she went to Francisco and Jacinta and told them of her decision.
“But we are going,” Jacinta declared. “The Lady told us.” On the verge of tears she told Lucy that if she were not there they would have to speak to the Lady. The thought was almost too much for the timid child.
But Lucy was adamant. “If the Lady asks for me,” she cautioned, “tell her that I am not going because I am afraid she is the devil.” Lucy herself was putting forth a brave front, but she burst into tears as she hurried away from her little companions.
The next morning, up to the very moment when it was time to leave for the Cova, Lucy experienced the same doubts and fears. But suddenly, as if a great dark cloud had passed from before her eyes and a great weight had been lifted from her soul, all her doubts vanished and her peace of mind returned. Joyfully now, and without any misgivings, she went to acquaint her little cousins of her change of mind. They were kneeling by the side of the bed, crying pitifully.
“Aren’t you going to the Cova?” she asked them.
“We wouldn’t dare go if you weren’t there,” they replied. And then, sensing that Lucy was going after all, they ran joyously from the house to join the throngs already on the way.
Ti Marto had long since made up his mind. The children were not lying. They never lied. He knew that all the accusations made against their families and against the clergy, who were accused of inventing the whole story, were patently false. God forgive him, but he felt that even the pastor was wrong, since he supposed the visions were the work of the devil. Right now he was slowly making his way through a throng of some five thousand villagers, and it was with great difficulty that he finally managed to get to the holm oak and stand beside his little Jacinta.
Once again, as they were nearing the end of the Rosary, Lucy looked toward the East and cried to the crowd: “Close your umbrellas. Our Lady is coming.” There was the same brilliant flash of light, this time engulfing the three children, and there again was the beautiful Lady, her eyes resting lovingly on Lucy, as if in acknowledgment of the suffering the child had been called upon to endure in her behalf.
“I want you to come here again, on the thirteenth of next month,” she said. “Continue to say the Rosary every day in honor of Our Lady of the Rosary to obtain the peace of the world and the end of the war, for she alone will be able to help.”
Here, thought Lucy, was the opportunity to set all her doubts at rest. Here, in the very presence of the lovely Lady, she could find out once and for all if this was but a trick of the devil or really an apparition from Heaven.  “Dear Lady, will you please tell us who you are? Will you work a miracle so that all the people will know that you really do appear to us?”
“Continue to come every month,” the Lady replied.  “In October I will tell you who I am and will work a miracle so great that all will believe in the reality of the apparitions.”
Even as she said these words, the Lady once again opened her hands and the rays of light that shone from them seemed to pierce the very heart of the earth. The children looked-but the earth was no longer there. They were gazing into a veritable ocean of fire. “Even the earth itself seemed to vanish, and we saw huge numbers of devils and lost souls in a vast and fiery ocean. The devils resembled black animals, hideous and unknown, each filling the air with despairing shrieks. The lost souls were in their human bodies and seemed brown in color, tumbling about constantly in the flames and screaming with terror.  All were on fire, within and without their bodies, and neither devils nor damned souls seemed able to control their movements. They were tossing about like coals in a fiery furnace, with never an instant’s peace or freedom from pain.”
So terrible was this awful vision that Lucy later declared that they would have died of fright, were it not for the fact that the Blessed Lady was standing beside them and had already assured them that they would go to Heaven.  Now deathly pale, they looked toward the Blessed Mother.
“You have seen Hell,” she explained to them, “where the souls of sinners go. To save them God wishes to establish in the world the devotion to my Immaculate Heart. If people do as I shall ask, many souls will be converted and there will be peace. This war is going to end, but if people do not cease offending God, not much time will elapse and during the Pontificate of Pius XI another and more terrible war will begin. When you shall see a night illumined by an unknown light, know that this is the great sign from God that the chastisement of the world for its many transgressions is at hand through war, famine, persecution of the Church and of the Holy Father.
“To prevent this, I shall come to ask for the consecration of Russia to my Immaculate Heart and the Communion of reparation on the First Saturdays. If my requests are heard, Russia will be converted and there will be peace.  If not, she will spread her errors throughout the entire world, provoking wars and persecution of the Church.  The good will suffer martyrdom; the Holy Father will suffer much; different nations will be annihilated. But in the end my Immaculate Heart will triumph. The Holy Father will consecrate Russia to me, and it will be converted and some time of peace will be granted to humanity.”2
Still overcome by the terrible vision of Hell and anxious to make any sacrifice demanded by the Blessed Lady, Lucy turned and asked her: “Is there anything else you want me to do?”
“No, today I desire nothing else from you.”
There was a sudden sound as of thunder. “There she goes,” Lucy shouted. “There she goes.” With a last affectionate glance in the direction of her little ones the Lady glided slowly toward the East and disappeared in the immense distance of the firmament.”
The publicity resulting from the newspaper discussions of the “supposed” apparitions and word of the harsh treatment meted out to the children by both their own families and the civil authorities had aroused the local people to a feverish pitch of curiosity. At the Cova on August 13 there were nearly 18,000 present, the majority of whom were devout believers. While awaiting the arrival of the children they prayed, sang, and said the Rosary.  But on this occasion the children did not appear. The Administrator had seen to that. They were imprisoned in his own house. Murmurs of indignation began to swell among the disappointed throng. Many urged that they go and lodge a strong protest with the authorities. But while they were discussing the matter something happened that at once disarmed and consoled them and convinced them more strongly than ever that this was, indeed, a visitation from Heaven. From out the clear blue sky there suddenly came the rumble of heavy thunder and a vividly brilliant flash of lightning. The sun grew pale and the whole atmosphere changed to a dull, sickly sort of yellow, while a light cloud, of beautiful shape, appeared and hovered a while over the oak tree and the place of the apparitions. Filled with awe at this manifestation which they took to mean an expression of displeasure on the part of the Heavenly Lady, they calmly dispersed and went peacefully to their homes.
The children’s imprisonment continued for another three days, during which time the Administrator had recourse to all sorts of threats to make them contradict one another or to disclose the great secret confided to them.  His efforts were unavailing. Finally, in desperation, realizing that he was getting nowhere and that there was every danger that the affair might get completely out of hand, he said angrily to the children: “Either you tell me the truth or I shall have you fried alive in a red-hot frying pan.”
One by one he led the children away as if he were going to carry out his threat. Lucy was the last to be taken, and when later she was asked how she felt about it she confided: “I surely thought that he meant what he said and that I was going to die in the pan, but I could not betray my secret and I placed myself in the hands of Our Lady.” Remarkable fortitude on the part of little children! Reminiscent of the courage of the martyrs of old, whom neither rack nor rope nor consuming fire could force to betray their God.
The Administrator was beaten. He was obliged to take the children back to the parish priest on August 16, three days after they were to have appeared at the Cava. The pastor brought them home to their anxious parents, who had heard all sorts of rumors as to the fate that had befallen them.
Having thus been prevented by force from keeping their appointment at the Cova, the children went back to their ordinary occupations. On the nineteenth of August they were keeping watch over the flock at a place called Valinhos when suddenly the Lady appeared. She complained about the actions of the Administrator and said that because of this interference the miracle announced for October would be less striking than it otherwise would have been. Little is recorded of the conversations during this apparition, but once more, as at Lourdes to Bernadette, the Blessed Mother spoke earnestly of the dire necessity of penance, both for one’s own transgressions and those of a sinful world. She told them that many souls were lost forever because there was nobody to make sacrifices and to pray for them.
The children brought home part of the branch on which the Lady had rested her foot, and while Lucy’s mother was examining it a fragrant and delicate perfume, of a kind utterly unknown in the area, emanated from the foliage surrounding it. Lucy’s mother was by now convinced of the genuineness of the apparitions, and she felt a real remorse for the harsh treatment she had meted out to her daughter when first she heard their story.
By now no restrictions or prohibitions on the part of the local authorities could avail to keep the pious pilgrims away from the little Cova, already beginning to be venerated as a shrine. On September 13 there were 30,000 people present before the arrival of the children, and throughout the whole assembly were little groups reciting the Rosary with a reverence and an emotion such as they had never known before. Precisely at noon the kneeling throng saw the sun grow dim and the atmosphere take on the color of dull gold. Suddenly, not from the children this time but from the crowd itself, cries of surprise and joy broke out from end to end of that vast assembly.
“There she is . . . Over there . . . look . . . she’s coming . . . she’s coming.”
In the cloudless sky a luminous globe had suddenly appeared before the eyes of the astonished crowd. Moving from East to West, it glided slowly and majestically across the heavens while a light white cloud enveloped the oak tree and the children. More wonderful still, while the globe still moved and the three children remained hidden behind the cloud a great shower of white roses suddenly fell from the heavens, reached almost to the earth, and then dissolved from sight. In awe the crowd listened to Lucy’s voice as she conversed with the invisible Lady. Once again she stressed the necessity of reciting the Rosary to bring the war to an end.
And now she divulged for the first time some details of the great miracle to take place in October. She told the children that on that occasion both the Child Jesus and St. Joseph would be with her. To Lucy’s request that she cure the sick, the Lady replied:
“I will cure some of them but not all, because the Lord has no confidence in them.”
It seemed that all Portugal knew it by now. The Blessed Mother had promised a miracle for October, a miracle so great that all would believe in the reality of the apparitions. Tension mounted as the great day drew near, the vast majority of devout believers waiting eagerly for her to keep her promise and confound the enemies of God, the atheists and scoffers welcoming the impending “showdown,” the anti-climax that once and for all would give the lie to this whole sorry business. From the farthest corners of Portugal, pilgrims were converging upon Fatima on the days preceding the time of the hoped-for miracle. We are indebted to Dr. William Thomas Walsh, in his book, Our Lady of Fatima, for a most vivid description of the plight of these thousands of people during the terrible, never-to-be-forgotten night of the twelfth of October, 1917.
“It was as if the devil, somewhere in the ice and snow that could never slake the burning of his pain, had resolved to destroy with one blow all that remained of the Europe which had so long been his battleground against the Thing he hated most. Somewhere in the dark misery of Siberia, he was permitted, heaven knows why, to disturb the equilibrium of the air, setting in motion a cold and cutting blast that shrieked across the continent to the western sea. It may have passed howling over a cabin in Finland where a little lynx-eyed man who called himself Lenin was waiting to enter St. Petersburg . . . and to begin, in a very few weeks, the transformation and destruction of all that world which owed what was best and noblest in it to the teachings of Christ …. It scourged poor wretches of both armies into the cover of slimy dugouts all along the western front, and plastered with mud the Italian fugitives from Caporetto. It seemed to echo and enlarge the despair that was settling over the vineyards of war-wearied France, where Haig stood, as he said, with his back to the wall. Finally it dashed itself against the Pyrenees, and then, as if it had gathered up all the hatreds and discontents of disobedient men and all the rebellious powers of a corrupted nature in its mad career from the Baltic to Cape Saint Vincent, it let them all loose on the little country that has never been permanently conquered, the land where she who treads upon the serpent’s head has long been honored, the terra da Santa Maria.”
It was during this night, when the very furies of Hell seemed loosed upon humanity, that tens of thousands of people, some of them traveling for days and nights already, converged from every part of Portugal upon the little Cova da Iria. We continue from Our Lady of Fatima:
“Peasant families slung their wicker baskets and earthen water jugs over their shoulders, or packed them in panniers on the backs of burros, and started out under the lowering skies. Fathers and mothers carried sick and lame children in their arms for incredible distances. Fishermen left their nets and boats on the beaches of the Vieira and took to the oozy roads. Farmhands from Monte Real, sailors from ships in the harbors of Porto or Algarve, factory workers from Lisboa, serranasfrom Minde or Soublio, ladies and gentlemen, scrubwomen, waiters, young and old, rich and poor, all sorts of people (but most of them humble, most of them barefoot, most of them workers and their families) were plodding through the mud under the pelting rain that night, like a great scattered army converging upon Fatima, hoping to find there some favor of health or conversion, forgiveness of sin, consolation for sorrow, the beginning of a better life, the blessing of the Mother of God.”
Morning dawned. The fury of the storm had somewhat abated, but the merciless rain still fell and every road in the area was by now a veritable quagmire. Word had gotten round that some of the belabored pilgrims were in an extremely ugly mood. There had better be a miracle, they said. For it was the promise of those children that had sent them battling through the unforgettable ordeal of last night’s journey and Heaven help them if this turned out to be a fiasco. The children and their families had already been alerted to the danger. Jacinta’s mother was especially concerned. She prayed more fervently than usual that day. She was amazed that her children should be so serenely unafraid.
“If they hurt us,” said Jacinta, “we will go to Heaven.  But those that hurt us, poor people, will go to Hell.”
It was a long, tedious journey to the Cova. The narrow road was clogged with weary travelers, and as Ti Marto tried to make way for the children, men and women dropped to their knees in the slimy mud, imploring their prayers or surged even closer to see or if possible to touch the “little saints” who had been told that they would all go to Heaven.
When finally they reached the scene of the apparitions they looked out over a human sea of pilgrims, a dark mass of humanity under their rain-soaked blankets or wilting sombreros or black umbrellas that seemed to cover the countryside. A priest who had spent the night in the mud and rain was standing near the holm oak tree. Alternately he read from his breviary and glanced nervously at his watch. “At what hour,” he asked, “will the Lady appear?”
“At noon,” Lucy replied.
“But it is already noon,” he answered. “Our Lady is not a liar.”
Minutes passed. He glanced at his watch again. “It is past noon. Away with all this. It is only an illusion.”
Murmurs of impatience and disappointment were being heard among the crowd. But suddenly Lucy exclaimed: “Kneel down, Jacinta, for now I see Our Lady.”
There it was, the familiar flash that heralded the appearance of the Heavenly visitor. The faces of the children assumed an ecstatic expression, and once more the bystanders realized that they were gazing at the beautiful Lady. The interview was brief. The Lady kept her promise to tell them who she was. She announced:
“I am the Lady of the Rosary.”
Her face grew grave as she imparted her last message to the children. “People must amend their lives, ask pardon for their sins, and not offend Our Lord any more for He is already too greatly offended.”
As she took her leave of the children she opened her hands, and from them rays of light extended in the direction of the sun. “There she goesl There she goesl” shouted Lucy and her words found echo in a great cry of astonishment from the multitude, by now observing the first awe-inspiring manifestations of the Miracle of the Sun.
Gradually the sun grew pale, lost its normal color, and appeared as a silver disk at which all could gaze directly without even shading their eyes. Then, to the astonishment of all present, rays of multicolored light shot out in every direction; red, blue, yellow, green-every color of the spectrum. Meanwhile, the very heavens seemed to be revolving as the sun spun madly on its axis like a gigantic wheel of fire, painting the rocks, the trees, the faces of the people with sunshine such as human eye had never seen before. Three times it stopped and three times the mad dance was resumed. Then, while the crowd went to its knees in abject terror, the sun suddenly seemed to be torn loose from its place in the heavens. Down it hurtled, closer and closer to earth, staggering “drunkenly” as it zigzagged through the skies while from all parts of the now terrified multitude arose cries of repentance and appeals for mercy.
“It’s the end of the world,” shrieked one woman hysterically.
“Dear God, don’t let me die in my sins,” cried another.
“Holy Virgin, protect us,” implored a third.
Suddenly, as if arrested in its downward plunge by an invisible Heavenly hand, it poised for a moment and then, in the same series of swirling motions it began to climb upward till it resumed its accustomed place in the heavens. Gone was the silver disk with the brilliant rays. It was once more a ball of fire at which nobody could look directly with unshaded eyes.
While people looked at one another, still trembling from their terrifying experience and not yet sure that some further disaster would not overtake them, a cry of astonishment was heard on every side. Their rain-sodden garments had suddenly dried and everybody felt comfortable and warm. It was a gracious maternal gesture on the part of the Blessed Mother, in the wake of the greatest miracle our generation has ever known.
Meanwhile, the children had been permitted to behold a vision of the Holy Family in a series of Heavenly tableaux. First there was Our Lord, as a grown man, dressed in red and blessing the multitude. Then he appeared as an infant, with St. Joseph and His Blessed Mother, and finally the Blessed Virgin appeared in the brown robes of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. The first and last visions were seen by Lucy alone, Francisco and Jacinta being privileged to witness only the apparition of the Holy Family. It was, indeed, of special significance for Lucy, who was later to become a Carmelite Sister in the convent of Coimbra after fulfilling her Heaven-sent assignment of giving to the world the urgent message of the necessity of devotion to the Immaculate Heart.
It was in response to Lucy’s request-“Please take us all to Heaven”-that the Blessed Mother made it known that she would come soon to take Francisco and Jacinta.  The fulfillment of that promise was not to be long delayed. It was October 1918, just one year after the final apparition. Throughout the entire world the greatest influenza epidemic ever known was taking its terrible toll of lives, and not even the remote little village of Fatima was immune from its depredations. Hardly a day but saw a black-robed cortege of mourners winding their way to the village church and cemetery.
Francisco was the first of the Marto family to fall victim to the dread disease, and it was with breaking hearts that his father and mother saw the child welcome the fatal illness as the beginning of the fulfillment of the Lady’s promise to take him soon to Heaven. The story of his latter days on earth, of his cheerful acceptance of every suffering and sacrifice “in reparation for sin and for the conversion of sinners,” is one of the most moving and inspiring chapters of the whole narrative of Fatima. Nothing in this world any longer held the slightest attraction for this ten-year-old child “on the threshold of Heaven,” and his one consuming desire, born of a spiritual perception far beyond his tender years, was “to console the good God” for the heedless ingratitude of so many millions throughout a sinful world.
“Which do you like better,” Lucy asked him one day, “to console Our Lord or to convert sinners so that their souls won’t go to Hell?”
The theological implications of this profound question were probably not realized by Lucy, but with a love approaching the heights of spiritual perfection Francisco answered without hesitation: “I’d rather console Our Lord.”
“But don’t you remember how sad Our Lady was when she said not to offend Our Lord any more because He was already too much offended?”
“I want first to console Our Lord and then convert the sinners so that they will not offend Him any more.”
Francisco rallied appreciably after the initial ravages of the influenza. He even became well enough to visit the Cabeço cave of the Angel and the little holm oak, hallowed by the repeated visits of the Lady from Heaven. For hours at a time he would remain prostrate on the ground, now lost in heavenly contemplation, now reciting over and over the prayer of the Angel. Returning to the little village, the child would make his way to church and there, in the presence of his hidden Lord, would remain for hours on his knees. Who can fathom the depths of the heavenly secrets vouchsafed to this victim soul, a humble illiterate child, one of the weak chosen by God to confound the strong because no flesh may glory in His sight!
Before the end of January, Francisco was ill once more.  From now on he could not leave his bed, and by the first of April he was so weak that he could hardly utter a single prayer. His great desire was to receive his first Communion, and the priest was to come to him that night.  He asked a special favor of his parents. Could Lucy and Jacinta come to see him, and could he speak to them alone?
“I am going to confession,” he told them when everybody else had left the room. “I am going to receive Holy Communion, and then I am going to die. I want you, Lucy, to tell me if you have ever seen me commit any sin. And I want Jacinta to tell me too.”
The children racked their memories. There was that time when he had joined the boys of Aljustrel in throwing stones at the rival “gang” from Bolciros. And once, a long time ago, he had taken a tostãofrom his father to buy a hand organ from José Marta of Casa Velha.
“I’ve already confessed those sins,” he told them. “But I will confess them again. Perhaps it is for these sins of mine that Our Lord is so sad.” And joining his hands fervently he recited the prayer told them by the Lady: “Oh, my Jesus, forgive us our sins. Save us from the fire of Hell and lead all souls to Heaven, especially those who have most need of your mercy.”
It was the morning of April 3, 1919, when Francisco received his first Communion. One day later, ten o’clock on the morning of April 4, the Lady came and her promise was fulfilled.
While the thought of consoling the good God had been the perpetual preoccupation of Francisco, it was the terrible vision of Hell that haunted little Jacinta during her remaining days on earth. She could never dismiss it from her mind. Over and over she would ask Lucy if she remembered the frightening things they had seen; all those people screaming in terror and burning like sticks of wood in a fire and never, never to know any alleviation of their eternal agony. At times the thought was almost more than the child could bear.
“Lucy,” she asked one day, “why doesn’t the Lady show Hell to everybody? Then nobody would ever again commit a mortal sin.”
Jacinta had fallen ill shortly after Francisco, but she recovered rapidly and her happy parents assured her that she was now really out of danger. But the child knew.  She would never be well again. The Blessed Mother had revealed to her that she was going to two hospitals and that in the second one-which would be very dark-she was going to die all alone.
The influenza returned. And as in the case of Francisco, it proved to be more devastating than ever. One morning in July 1919, Ti Marto placed the child on the back of a burro and brought her to the hospital at Ourem. It was a large, white, cheerful building, and she realized at once that this was not “the dark place” where the Lady had told her she was going to die. Jacinta had long been undergoing severe suffering. An incision had been made and a drain inserted in her side, but after two months it was obvious to all concerned that her life was slowly wasting away. The daily dressings of the wound caused her excruciating pain, and Doctor Formigao, who saw her in October, described her as “a living skeleton, her arms nothing but bones, her face all eyes, her cheeks wasted away by fever.”
On February 2, 1920, Jacinta was taken to the Hospital of Dona Stefania in Lisbon. It was a gloomy, cheerless, depressing sort of building, and this, she felt, was the dark place. Here she would die all alone. After a thorough examination the chief surgeon confirmed the previous diagnosis of purulent pleurisy and announced that as soon as her strength returned an operation would be performed.
“But, doctor,” she remonstrated, “it will do no good.  Our Lady has come to tell me that I am going to die soon.”
The operation was duly performed. She was so weak that it was necessary to administer a local anesthetic. Two ribs were removed, and during the terrible pain of the operation the child was heard to repeat Our Lady’s name over and over. Then she would murmur weakly: “Patience.  We should suffer everything to go to Heaven … Now you can convert many souls, my dear Jesus, because I suffer so much for You.”
For six days the excruciating pains continued, but on the night of February 16 she told her nurse that she had again seen Our Lady. “She said that she was coming for me very soon and would take away all my pain.” From then on she suffered no more. On the evening of February 20 she called her nurse, told her she was about to die, and asked for the Last Sacraments. Shortly afterward she made her confession to Father Periera dos Reis, who promised that he would bring her Holy Communion in the morning.
“But I am going to die, Father, this very night.” Jacinta pleaded earnestly that he bring her holy Viaticum that evening, but the good padre did not take seriously her conviction of imminent death. It was at ten-thirty “that very night” that she breathed her last, a smile upon her lips as if in greeting to the beautiful Lady whose arms had opened to enfold her in Heavenly embrace.
Lucy was by now the object of great curiosity among her own people and among those who came from far and near. Even in her own home she found no escape, and her mother’s utter lack of sympathy only made the situation more difficult to endure. While Francisco and Jacinta had lived she could always go to them, assured of that sympathy and understanding that was their common heritage as sharers of the precious heavenly secret. But now Francisco and Jacinta were gone. And soon she herself was to say good-by to her familiar fields, her little flocks of sheep, and the Cova, hallowed by the repeated visits of the Lady from Heaven. It was decided by the bishop that Lucy, if only for her own sake, was to be taken away from Fatima. She would be sent to Porto where there was a girls’ school conducted by the Sisters of St. Dorothy. All the preliminaries were to be arranged with the utmost secrecy. Nobody but her mother was to know that she was going away, and when she did arrive at the boarding school she was to maintain strict silence as to her identity and whatever pertained to the Fatima apparitions. Two o’clock on the morning of May 16, 1921, was the hour set for the departure. She was accompanied by her mother and an uncle, and at the Cova they entered the chapel of the apparitions, built in 1917, and together recited the Rosary. At Leiria mother and child, both in tears, bade each other farewell. In the company of a friendly lady Lucy was to continue her journey. Nevermore, she believed, was she to see her childhood home or the hallowed spots so dear to her heart and soul.3
When Lucy arrived at the Asilo de Vilar school in Porto she was the object of great interest on the part of the Community who viewed her with mixed curiosity and suspicion. Her technical and social education went on apace, but in the more sophisticated and academic atmosphere there was little of sympathy or maternal understanding. In his book, Our Lady of Fatima, Archbishop Ryan speaks of this difficult period of readjustment: “It is to be supposed, of course,” he writes, “that exercises of religion were prominent in the day’s routine but anything like recognition of the child’s possible starvation for spiritual sympathy was vetoed by the ruling that any reference to Fatima was taboo.” In her heart of hearts how little Lucy must have longed for the carefree days at the Cova and the companionship of her little confidants wherein there was always such mutual and happy understanding. But in a spirit of true obedience and willing self-denial she cheerfully accepted this trial. Like her dear departed little companions, she had long since learned to welcome every sort of sacrifice and penance, to be offered up for poor sinners and in reparation to the Immaculate Heart of Mary.
In November 1926, Lucy entered the novitiate of the Sisters of St. Dorothy. She made her first vows in November 1928 and her final profession in 1934. For nearly fourteen years she exerted every possible effort to spread further the devotion to the Immaculate Heart of Mary, and it was not till March 1948 that she felt free to devote the rest of her life to her own spiritual perfection. It must have been a blessed relief when she entered the Carmelite Order at Coimbra with the realization that nevermore would she be plagued by the importunities of curious visitors who were dying to know, among other things, if the Blessed Mother wore earrings or used perfume.
Forty-two years have elapsed since the Blessed Mother gave us her “Peace Plan from Heaven.” She tried to stem the flood of moral evil that led to the Second World War and the spread of Communism throughout the world.  Contemporary history bears witness to the fact that her efforts ended in failure. Listen to her prophetic words of solemn warning spoken in July 1917 and consider in what a welter of human agony the threatened calamities have come to pass: “If people do as I shall ask, many souls will be converted and there will be peace. This war is going to end, but if people do not cease offending God, not much time will elapse and during the Pontificate of Pius XI another and more terrible war will begin.
If my requests are heard, Russia will be converted and there will be peace. If not, she will spread her errors throughout the entire world, provoking wars and persecution of the Church. The good will suffer martyrdom; the Holy Father will suffer much; different nations win be annihilated …. ”
But the picture is not hopeless. We are assured of the final and inevitable triumph.  “… in the end my Immaculate Heart will triumph. The Holy Father will consecrate Russia to me, and it will be converted and some time of peace will be granted to humanity.”
It still rests with Mary’s own children to avert appalling disaster for the world before that consummation so devoutly to be desired.  Her diagnosis of the cause of such disaster is as true today as when she flashed out of the skies of Heaven in 1917.  The cause is revolt against God, and today that revolt is fast assuming the proportions of universal apostasy. There are many who believe that the situation is now out of human hands; that we have passed the point of no return; that only direct Divine intervention can now resolve the terrible impasse. Such intervention may truly be apocalyptic, and it is in the Hands of God to permit-or to prevent-nuclear war that could wipe out civilization or world Communism that would mean universal slavery and martyrdom. “The Hand of my Son in Heaven is now so heavy that I cannot hold it back any longer.” Thus spoke the Mother of God when she knew that Europe was doomed. Fidelity to the message of Fatima; daily recitation of the Rosary; a serious determined effort at personal sanctity; the devotion of the First Saturdays and consecration to her Immaculate Heart; this, on the part of her own children may still lighten the Hand of God and strengthen the arm of our Blessed Mother as she tries to save us from “suffering such as humankind has never known before.”
We shall be wise indeed if we learn the lesson of the children of Fatima.
*****
Footnotes:
1 For many years this “supposed” statement of our Lady was seriously called into question. Early books of Fatima had stated that Amelia was only seven years old and for a child of that tender age the verdict would have seemed harsh, indeed. In an interview with Lucy a few years ago Father Thomas McGlynn, O.P., propounded this difficulty. Her reply seemed to clarify the question: “Amelia was eighteen years old, Father, and, after all, for one mortal sin a soul may be in Hell forever.”
2 It was not until 1927 that Lucy was permitted to reveal the two parts of this great secret, the vision of Hell and the necessity of devotion to the Immaculate Heart of Mary. The third part, written and sealed in the archives of the Bishop of Leiria, was not to be made known until 1960, though would not necessarily be made known even then. Actually, the bishop decided not to reveal the secret.
3 Once more, before entering Carmel and shutting out the world forever, Lucy, then a Sister of St. Dorothy, was permitted to revisit Fatima. To Father Galamba, who accompanied her, she showed the place of the apparition of the Angel, and when they stopped before the graves of Francisco and Jacinta she broke down and cried as if her heart would break. Twenty-nine years had passed, and the humble little place of the apparitions had now become a world- famous shrine.
The Fatima Shrine crowned with a beautiful rainbow. Photo taken by Fr. Abe Arganiosa today November 15, 2014 in Fatima, Portugal.
The Fatima Shrine crowned with a beautiful rainbow. Photo taken by Fr. Abe Arganiosa today November 15, 2014 in Fatima, Portugal.
 Excerpt from: A WOMAN CLOTHED WITH THE SUN
THE EIGHT GREAT APPARITIONS OF OUR LADY
EDITED BY JOHN J. DELANEY
DOUBLEDAY & COMPANY, INC. OF GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK, U. S. A.
Source: splendorofthechurch.com.ph