Excerpted from Sr. Marie Gabrielle’s talk, “A Thousand Times Happy”
The expression “a thousand times happy” might not be immediately familiar to you out of context, so allow me to put it in context: “Happy, a thousand times happy, is that soul here below to which the Holy Ghost reveals the secret of Mary in order that it may come to know Her.” And just in case the phrase “secret of Mary” was not a dead give-away either, allow me to tell you the story of perhaps the single most painful trial in the life of a man whose life was chock full of painful trials — and yet for whom “a thousand times happy” was something of a trademark expression.
Proof positive that suffering and happiness are by no means incompatible.
When he was thirty-five years old, this particular saint had the idea to build a Calvary scene at a place called Pontchateau. And not just any Calvary scene. Having selected the highest point in the vicinity, a mound-shaped hill which commanded a view of more than 1,200 square miles of the surrounding countryside, he drew up the following plans: the mount would be terraced, with a winding path leading up to its top; there, three crucifixes would be placed, the central cross more than twenty feet high; life-sized statues of Our Lady, St. John, and St. Mary Magdalen would adorn the foot of Our Lord’s cross, with other statues placed along the path; a large grotto at the bottom of the hill would commemorate the Holy Sepulcher, and two gardens would remind visitors of the mysteries wrought in Eden and Gethsemane, respectively.
That was not all. The hill itself was to be elevated still further by the approximately 300,000 cubic feet of clay and stone dug from a series of circular moats at its base in order to prevent wild animals from roaming onto the sacred spot; around the peak of the hill would be a low wall, with little pillars of wood along the top of it, which would support an immense circular rosary, each bead the size of a bowling ball; chapels would be constructed in honor of the mysteries of the Rosary; and 150 trees would be planted around the base of the hill, creating, as it were, a natural rosary.
Go big or go home, right?
It is said that the King of France would have needed an army, three years, and hundreds of thousands of dollars in order to complete such a grandiose project. Yet our saint did it in fifteen months without paying a cent to a single one of his workers. Volunteers do not expect to be paid, you see, and he had, all told, about 20,000 of them. Men and women came from all over France — even from parts of Spain and Belgium — the poor and the rich, joyously offering their time and tools, asking no payment save the privilege of working for the honor of Christ and His Mother. Eye-witnesses report that some days more than 500 people could be seen at one time, digging moats, using oxcarts to lug piles of dirt and stone to the top of the hill. Can you imagine? The shoveling, hammering, sawing, and singing must have been fantastic.
The completed shrine was no less so. It was absolutely magnificent.
The local bishop promised that he would solemnly bless the famous Calvary of Pontchateau on September 14, feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, and tens of thousands had gathered for the occasion. Four preachers had been engaged to address the crowds from different parts of the Calvary. There would be a tremendous procession. Multiple choirs would sing, and God willing, many souls would convert (cf. Wisdom’s Fool, 159-165).
But — on the afternoon of the 13th, word reached our saint through one of the parish priests that his Excellency would not be blessing the Calvary the next day after all. The show was canceled. No explanation was given.
Perhaps suspecting a fraudulent notification, no doubt hopeful that there had been some grievous misunderstanding, our saint immediately set out on foot for the bishop’s residence in Nantes, thirty miles away. He walked through the night, arriving at six in the morning, was granted the desired audience with the bishop only to be told, no, there had been no mistake. There would be no blessing. No further explanation was given.
So he walked back.
The hold-up was more serious than our hero realized at that time. Two weeks later the rest of the story came out, and he learned that a personal enemy of his had managed to convince the powers that be in the French government that Pontchateau, with its “trenches and subterranean caves” could serve as a perfect citadel for brigands, or worse — the English. The king himself, therefore, gave orders that the shrine should be demolished. The ditches were to be filled with the earth that had been taken from them; the crosses, figures of devotions, and all other constructions destroyed. In addition to this, our saint was forbidden to preach or hear confessions in the diocese of Nantes, or ever to show his face again at Pontchateau lest his very presence spark a demonstration against the royal edict.
His reaction? “God has permitted me to erect the Calvary,” he said, “He now permits that it be destroyed. Blest be His Holy Name.”
Was he devastated? Naturally. Suffering, by definition, hurts. He would hardly have been human if he had not felt the enormity of the injustice. But he loved this cross. He would hardly have been a saint if he had not remained, even while carrying it, happy — yes, even 1,000 times happy.
He, of course, is St. Louis Marie de Montfort.
And, while he never lived to see the rebuilding of his calvary at Pontchateau — it was rebuilt. About 120 years later than he had initially planned. But it is there now. You can travel to France and see it for yourself.
It may very well be, dear Catholics, that we will not live to see the rebuilding of Christendom and Our Lady’s promised period of peace following whatever chastisement we are pretty sure is coming…tomorrow. That is okay. We can be still be happy. We can be happy in our vocation, in doing our daily duties, yes, even in carrying our crosses — here and now. How is that? Take it from St. Louis Marie de Montfort, who assures us in his Letter to Friends of the Cross,
There is another love of the cross which I have called rational love and which is in the higher part of man, the mind. This love is entirely spiritual; it springs from the knowledge of how happy we can be in suffering for God, and so it can be experienced by the soul, to which it gives interior joy and strength. But although this rational and perceptible joy is good, in fact, excellent, it is not always necessary in order to suffer joyfully for God’s sake. (no. 52)
Thus, the gloriously simple and simply glorious truth of the matter is that — suffering and happiness are by no means incompatible.
The Calvary of Pontchateau (cropped). Photo credit: Liberliger, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons.
