The calendars in the kitchens were turned to the page for June, 1961, showing: Sunday, the 18th. St. Ephrem, Doctor of the Church, Sts. Mark and Marcellian, martyrs. So what? It was just one more among the countless days that passed without event in the little world of Garabandal. Nothing ever happened there worth telling.

PHOTO: Garabandal, the scene of the amazing events.

     It was in the great world on the other side of the mountains where things were happening. Most of these were disturbing: men and nations stirred up with unrest, greed, anxiety, revolts; concerned about the future with cold wars and real ones on all fronts. What did the coming days hold?

    As a ray of hope in the face of all these problems that appeared to have no human solution, within the walls of the Catholic Church in Rome plans were underway, with great anticpation to prepare a new council: Vatican II. It would be convened by John XXIII, Good Pope John, as many called him affectionately. Even with his eighty years, this man spoke with inspiration and hope in his heart like the blossoming of flowers in springtime. [On January 25th, 1959, the feast of the Conversion of St. Paul, in the famous Basilica St. Paul Outside the Walls, the Pope publicly announced his proposal to convoke a new council]. Through his efforts and by his decree, hundreds of eminent scholars set out to sound out the world, seeking to assist it. [On June 18th of that year, Cardinal Tardini, president of the Preparatory Commission, wrote to the cardinals, bishops, and the heads of religious orders, Catholic universities and seminaries requesting suggestions and topics for the council]. As a result of their search, things like these were soon to be proclaimed to the council assembly:

    Though mankind is struck with amazement by its own discoveries and power, it often raises anxious questions about the present evolution of the world, about the purpose and mission of man himself in the universe, about the meaning of his individual and collective efforts, and about the final fate of existence and humanity.

    History itself is undergoing such a process of acceleration that it is hardly possible for man to follow it. We all pursue the same fate, and we are not able to disassociate ourselves into individual cases. Such a rapid change, realized in the upset, gives birth to or increases the contradictions and disorder.

    So the modern world appears at the same time both powerful and weak, capable of the best and the worst, for there is a choice between the road to liberty and that to slavery, toward progress or toward decay, toward love or toward hate. These disorders are related to another disorder, truly fundamental, which finds its roots in the very heart of each man... a weak and sinful creature who often does what he does not wish to do and neglects what he ought to do and ought to accomplish.[Catechism of Modern Man.]

    In that grave hour of history when so many things were happening or were about to happen in the world, it would never have occured to anyone that something important could take place at San Sabastian de Garabandal. This village seemed buried in oblivion, lost in the distance. Life there was continuing the same as it had for years, perhaps for centuries. Today, like yesterday; tomorrow, like today. And always the same. A gray sky. [Poem of Gustavo Becquer, a Spanish poet (1836-1870)].

    Of course the sky in San Sebastian was not always gray, even though it is near to the rainy Cantabrian Mountains; but the life of its inhabitants was certainly gray and monotonous. Always the same cows and stables, the same fields and harvests, with nothing changing except the seasons. Here the people still gathered in the homes and assembled as Christians in the house of God, the main building in the village, linked closely to it. Here the latest news involved everyone: Carmen had a baby, Pili is going to get married, Juan's son is returning from the military, the bells will soon sound the death of Uncle Gervasio.

    In times past over the trails that wind around Garabandal, many a time the country song had rung out, I don't know what holds me to my village, nor why it delights me so, nor why it attracts me. But today the young people were feeling different attractions, wanting to get away from this place where they saw no future, and to get out into the outside world that could offer opportunities. The old people still remained attached to the village, sometimes by affection and sometimes by necessity; with a desire to persevere, or a noble resignation to maintaining the inheritance of their fathers. As for the young children, they amused themselves as children do all over the world, exchanging gifts, or playing games like hide and seek.

    In the days when our story starts, the chief of police in the district of Rio Nansa was Juan Alvarez Seco. This is his description:

    "Garabandal is a little mountain town made up of about seventy families. The customs of its inhabitants are primarily religious. For example, they never forget to recite the Angelus as soon as the clock shows twelve noon. In the evening they always recite the holy rosary in the church. This is led by the parish priest if he is present; if not, the schoolteacher or another villager leads it. As night falls, Jacinta's mother, the wife of Simon, goes around the village with a lantern and bell to call the people to pray for the dead and say the last prayers of the day. On Sundays after assisting at Holy Mass in the ancient simple church, the people take a little recreation. In the evening the young people gather under the porch roofs or the open sky and sing or amuse themselves to the sound of a tambourine."