900 Miles to Salta: A Pilgrim Testimony

There is a small stone church on top of a hill about 10 km from the beautiful city of Salta in Argentina. It is the shrine of the Immaculate Mother of the Divine Eucharistic Heart of Jesus.

I call her Our Lady of Salta.

About twenty years ago, while on visitation as Provincial to the community in Mercedes, a man from the parish told me about the apparitions of Our Lady in Salta and insisted that I should go. He was very sincere, but I didn’t want to get caught up in the hype of something that might not be true. I wanted no false visions, no false hope, no false religious experience.

A second person in Mercedes — Marta, a friend of Derry — also spoke to me about it and was equally insistent. I had experienced her as a forthright, honest person.

At that time, two challenging situations in Argentina were causing me great distress — encounters that had previously gone very badly wrong, harsh words spoken, hurt inflicted. The thought of facing them again was stressing me out. 

So I said to Our Lady, “If Salta is real, then I need you to sort these situations out.”

Arriving at the first place, I was astonished to be warmly received with open arms, and I nodded inwardly to Our Lady. The same happened at the second place. In both situations, all the distress had vanished — not a trace of rancour. I had made two very specific requests, and both were granted. What else could I do but say a very sincere and relieved thank you?

A desire stirred in me then to go on pilgrimage to this shrine, this sanctuary. But my time as Provincial ended, and I saw no prospect of returning to Argentina, since I don’t travel such long distances without a good reason. And there was no good reason for me to go.

Then came 2026 — fifty years after the shooting dead of our Pallottine community in Belgrano — and I was invited to attend the commemoration in Argentina. I was reluctant, mainly due to the cost, but I was persuaded.

Martin Mareja, a member of the current Provincial Council, and I travelled together for what became a memorable experience.

After the 50th anniversary ceremonies, Pablo Bocca, the Provincial Delegate in Argentina, asked if there was anything I would like to do. I mentioned Salta. He looked up flights and accommodation, but the prices were very high, and again I was reluctant to spend extravagantly.

We were staying in Castelar, hosted by Tom O’Donnell and the parish priest, Charles Lafferty. On the first morning I went to the church to ask God what I should do about Salta. And in the cold silence came this Word from Deuteronomy:

“The Lord your God carried you as a man carries his child all along the way until you arrived at this place.”

It was a call to trust. I decided to do just that and went downtown to watch the trains go by. I love watching trains.

On my way back to the house, I bumped into Charles and asked him to interpret the prices being quoted for Salta. Very steep indeed. 

“I’ll drive you,” he said.

“Drive all the way?” I asked. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he said, “if you pay half the petrol.”

“I’ll pay it all,” I replied.

So there it was — a solution I was not expecting. I am learning to accept what is offered. God provides.

Later, Tom and I went for a coffee, and on our way back he stopped to buy some fruit. As the lady filled the bag of apples, my eyes fell on a box of shining mandarin oranges, and I silently thought that I would like one. Without a word, she picked out two mandarins — a gift for each of us. It was as if God were saying that He hears me. I smiled at the goodness of it.

“You’re going to Salta con la máquina (by car)?” asked a shocked Pablo. Most people were shocked — and why wouldn’t they be? It’s roughly 900 miles each way.

Martin decided to come too, and the three of us set off on Wednesday, after spending a couple of lovely days with Johnny Sweeney and Pablo in Mercedes.

Charles is an assured, competent, determined, and calm driver. You learn a bit about a man’s character when you observe him driving over a long period, and that’s what I saw in him. Martin and I go back more than forty years and he too is extraordinarily calm behind the wheel as elsewhere. And on safari in Tanzania, he has the keenest eye ever, spotting things I would never notice. In life too he has very sharp perception.

It took about 24 hours to get to Salta, stopping sensibly every two and a half to three hours. YPF service stations became our stretching points along the way. For Martin and me, there was always a coffee and a medialuna.

During the night we slept in the car for a few hours in a small village.

The steamed-up car at night 

Salta is a truly beautiful city set in the mountains — the weather thankfully warmer, and the people very friendly, many if not most being of indigenous heritage.

My heart overflowed with a tender love as my eyes rested spontaneously on random people:

a man on his way to work standing in prayer at the steps of the cathedral, not yet open;

a young woman sauntering down the cathedral aisle with a bag of pink things, an air of softness about her;

a couple walking hand in hand through the plaza, talking in the relaxed manner of lovers;

a youth sleeping in a doorway, his begging bowl beside him, the money inside undisturbed;

an old woman groaning her prayers aloud in the silence of the Blessed Sacrament chapel;

a little boy feeding pigeons from the palm of his hand in the park.

There is a friendliness here. People talk to you, and faith is woven into daily life.

Charles went to buy a fire extinguisher for the car — required by law — and got talking to the woman in the shop about the purpose of our trip. She gave him an image from the shrine and said we had come because the Virgin had invited us. I firmly believe that.

We arrived and parked. The attendant looked at me and asked, “Are you a priest?” I said I am, and that the others are too. He said we could take the bus up to the chapel. The other option was to climb the hill, but since I am learning to accept what is offered, I suggested we take the free bus. He spoke into his walkie‑talkie to announce the arrival of three priests.

He then asked what had brought us there — a question we were asked a couple of times. They want to record testimonies, and I suspect mine is rather tame in the scheme of things. No miracle cure, nothing dramatic. But it is mine.

The place is well organised and orderly, the crowd not too big. There are no stalls, nothing for sale, no trafficking of anything. Food is not allowed. There are toilets and areas for prayer among the trees. Signs for silence.

And there is the little stone chapel, with about four chairs on either side, and at the top the statue of Our Lady. I still know nothing about the content of the visions the woman Maria experienced between 1990 and 2000. The local bishop does not approve, nothing official goes on there, though there are gatherings on Saturdays during which Maria prays with people. If priests are present they hear confessions.

We were there on a quieter Friday. Some people asked Martin to bless them.

The front chair on the left of the chapel was free, so I took it and entered another world for a while. Nothing dramatic — just a straightforward, uncomplicated time of prayer: Magnificat, Memorare, Rosary. Gratitude and petition after petition, person after person, all whose names are written in my phone and in my heart.

In terms of feeling, I felt the peaceful restfulness of a child in its mother’s arms, as in the Psalm. Physically, there was a strong sensation of heat in my throat and chest — a glowing sensation, like the initial effect of alcohol. I thought it must be the inebriation of the Holy Spirit. In fact, I felt a bit disoriented when I emerged from the chapel. But none of these sensations are of the essence. The essence is beyond feeling.

Apart from Psalm 131, the only other Scripture that came to mind was Zechariah in the Temple, which I read later: “Your prayer has been heard,” the Angel Gabriel said to him.

Following any spiritual experience, I look for evidence of change in myself, signs of conversion. But something within suggested that this is simply part of the greater journey of life that I am on — and as if to confirm this, we were given a reading from Philippians the next day in the Divine Office:

 "...let us go forward in the road that has brought us to where we are." 

I am on the right road, in the right place at the right time, in the right state of being.

We decided to walk back down the dirt track of the hill that offered stunning views of the city below. A track that was tricky and unsteady in spots. The eighteen-year-old Isabella took hold of my hand to help me when things were difficult. If there ever was an Argentinian hand of God, this was it for me. She was there with her family and said she cried when she entered the little chapel above. I'm pleased for her that she was so touched. Her faith matters to her and she is going on to study medicine. God bless her.

An added bonus blessing was the discovery that my cousin Cathal lives in Cordoba where we had planned to stay for a night on our way back, so we met for a coffee on Sunday morning, spending a lovely hour together. What are the chances that almost 7000 miles from home, we should be brought together in such a surprising way.

What might have been a solo pilgrimage for me has turned into a shared experience between Martin, Charles and me. It is uniquely ours and we are bonded by it. Bonded but not attached. And I am truly grateful.

We are in some way three Magi who have journeyed together in search of something of the mystery of God. Journeyed far away from home because a star has beckoned us. Mary is the star who has drawn us along this sacred way.

I am fully aware that everything we seek is already within us and that we do not need to go anywhere to find it. But sometimes God calls us away from home in order to awaken in us something that is perhaps dormant. We are given a different perspective which is not simply for ourselves but it is to make us more effective ministers of His grace.

The length of the journey has also been important - time spent travelling and even the tiredness of it. The conversations, the silences, the prayer, the stops along the way. And it cost a lot less than a flight.

Sitting in the back of the car yesterday I did of course wonder what God might have in store for my future and the Word that came immediately to mind is from 1 Corinthians 2:9:

"... what no eye has seen and no ear has heard, what the human mind cannot visualise, all that God has prepared for those who love Him." 

An AI ICON version of My Lady of Salta