On 28 April, 1695, Mother Mectilde, being at the customary recreation of a Thursday evening, began, all of a sudden, to speak to her daughters, interrupting the banal conversation they were having. This is what she said:
Thursday, today is Thursday, this precious Thursday, which must ever be for us a day of Pascha and of rejoicing, a day so venerable and so full of graces! One might say, my Sisters, that it is the day on which Our Lord utterly spends Himself for His creatures by instituting this divine Sacrament. As for us, we ought to be ceaseless in admiration, gratitude, and thanksgiving with regard to this adorable mystery. Yes, the daughters of the Most Holy Sacrament ought to be altogether beside themselves at the sight of the prodigies and wonders which Our Lord works for them in this divine Sacrament. For whom, after all, does He put Himself there, if it is not particularly for you, my Sisters?
Secrets Concerning the Institute
It is there, in this ineffable Mystery — I can say it — that He Himself produced you for Himself. Oh, if only I could, and if only it were permitted me to say all that I know, this would surprise you: how He brought this Institute into being; and in what manner He made use of me, miserable as I am; and why He has called you to this holy vocation. But these are secrets that Our Lord shall reveal in His time.
Sunday and Thursday
Getting back to Thursday: it is true that Sunday is most worthy of consideration by all Christians, because it is dedicated and consecrated to the most august Trinity. One author holds that this day is so abundant in graces and blessings that all creatures, by a kind of extraordinary impression, feel something of it, each one according to its manner and capacity. But if Sunday is so precious and fruitful in blessings, is Thursday any less so, my Sisters, since the same God whom we adore in Himself on Sunday gives Himself and communicates Himself to us on Thursday?
The Ineffable Mystery
This is the day, every moment of which, must be dear to us and precious, above all, to us, who have the honour of being consecrated to this most august Mystery. Ah, my Sisters, let us, in no wise, show ourselves ungrateful; let us recognise the gift of God, which is no less than God Himself. Prodigious invention of His love, not only to communicate His graces to us, but to give Himself totally, holding nothing back for Himself! What is this? A God who loses Himself for our sakes, if I may so speak, in this divine Sacrament! Who can penetrate this? Who knows what this adorable Mystery is? Who should be able to speak of it worthily?
We Would Die of Love
When I hear all that these great preachers say to us about it, I feel pressed to go to them and say, ‘What is this you are telling us concerning this Sacrament? All that you say is true, that much I admit, but it is nothing in comparison with what really is! Ah, how I desire that Our Lord should inspire and reveal to some soul the secret of this Mystery, and give that soul the capacity to speak about it, because, in all truth, we know nothing of it. We have faith in this Mystery, but it is a languishing and unrefined faith. We are content to believe that Our Lord is in the Most Holy Sacrament, but our faith is far from being alive. Ah, if we knew, but even once, the wonders of this divine Mystery, you and I, my Sisters, would die of love!