I was listening to a man last night on Youtube recount how he came into the Catholic Church. As a young, wayward man, a couple he was acquainted with had prayed the rosary for him every day for a year, unbeknownst to him. He credits that act of persistent charity, in large part, for his conversion.
That snippet from his story resonated with me, because a year ago I had undertaken a similar practice for someone--a kind of "spiritual adoption"--in large part because I believe someone unknown to me had prayed me into the Church, and I was indebted. This was not a family member or even a close friend I was praying for, but someone I got a strong feeling and premonition about--that our Lord wanted this soul, and someone needed to pray for them to bring them home.
For years, I saw the examples of the blind men calling out to Jesus to be given their sight and refusing to be quiet (Lk 18:39); the woman with the flow of blood boldly pushing her way through the crowd just to touch Jesus' cloak (Mk 5:25-34); and the parable of the persistent widow (Lk 18:1-8) as a kind of foreign example of annoying persistence--something I didn't possess. When I was sixteen and struggling on the second day of a multiple day bicycle stage race I was in, I pulled over and my dad gave me a pep talk, "If it's too hard, just quit. You don't have to finish." I took his advice. I always remembered that.
But in the life of faith, this kind of stubborn persistence is really a kind of exercise of faith. It offends the Lord more when we ask so little of him. Our Blessed Mother told St. Catherine Laboure in the vision in which she appeared to her that "The pearls that don’t have rays are the graces of the souls who don’t ask." The blind men receive their sight, the woman is healed of her flow of blood, and the persistent widow is granted her request by the judge--all because they refused to give up, had faith that the Lord would grant their request, and were almost annoyingly persistent. The Lord says:
We often think of St. Monica, the mother of Augustine, as the model of persistent imploring. And it's true. But I came across the story of a young woman tonight, St. Gemma Galgani, who took 'not taking no for an answer' to a whole other level. She spiritually adopted sinners and was willing to give the Lord years of her life simply for the conversion of total strangers whom she didn't even know. That blew me away.
Another thing about her story that filled me with a somberness about the reality of the cost Christ paid, and just how narrow the way to salvation is and about how many the Lord will say "I never knew them":
Whereas St. Pio often wrestled with the Devil, St. Gemma wrestled with the Divine Justice, the Judge Himself, imploring for mercy on behalf of sinners, especially those she had spiritually adopted:
St. Gemma adopted sinners--not in the general sense, but specific persons--and she did not take no for an answer, even when the Lord Himself refused to budge! And so neither shall we. We should be bold in our petitions, make reparations on their behalf, and lean on the Mother of God to advocate for us and "our sinners," even when our personal holiness falls short compared to that of St. Gemma's. Persistence in the spiritual economy is not uncouth or inappropriate, but laudable, for it displays a faith that refuses to give up, refuses to go away, until it obtains what it came for--the souls of those lost. Don't ever give up.
St. Gemma Galgani, pray for us!
That snippet from his story resonated with me, because a year ago I had undertaken a similar practice for someone--a kind of "spiritual adoption"--in large part because I believe someone unknown to me had prayed me into the Church, and I was indebted. This was not a family member or even a close friend I was praying for, but someone I got a strong feeling and premonition about--that our Lord wanted this soul, and someone needed to pray for them to bring them home.
For years, I saw the examples of the blind men calling out to Jesus to be given their sight and refusing to be quiet (Lk 18:39); the woman with the flow of blood boldly pushing her way through the crowd just to touch Jesus' cloak (Mk 5:25-34); and the parable of the persistent widow (Lk 18:1-8) as a kind of foreign example of annoying persistence--something I didn't possess. When I was sixteen and struggling on the second day of a multiple day bicycle stage race I was in, I pulled over and my dad gave me a pep talk, "If it's too hard, just quit. You don't have to finish." I took his advice. I always remembered that.
But in the life of faith, this kind of stubborn persistence is really a kind of exercise of faith. It offends the Lord more when we ask so little of him. Our Blessed Mother told St. Catherine Laboure in the vision in which she appeared to her that "The pearls that don’t have rays are the graces of the souls who don’t ask." The blind men receive their sight, the woman is healed of her flow of blood, and the persistent widow is granted her request by the judge--all because they refused to give up, had faith that the Lord would grant their request, and were almost annoyingly persistent. The Lord says:
"Will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? I tell you, he will see that they get justice, and quickly. However, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?” (Lk 18:7-8)
We often think of St. Monica, the mother of Augustine, as the model of persistent imploring. And it's true. But I came across the story of a young woman tonight, St. Gemma Galgani, who took 'not taking no for an answer' to a whole other level. She spiritually adopted sinners and was willing to give the Lord years of her life simply for the conversion of total strangers whom she didn't even know. That blew me away.
Another thing about her story that filled me with a somberness about the reality of the cost Christ paid, and just how narrow the way to salvation is and about how many the Lord will say "I never knew them":
"I will relate another fact in the words of a most reliable witness who told me of it. "I was asked," said this person, by a lady acquaintance to recommend her brother, a great sinner, to Gemma. I did so accordingly and she while in ecstasy began to plead to Jesus for him. But He [no doubt to try her faith] replied that He knew not that sinner. "How do You not know him," she said, "since he is Thy child?" Then she turned to Mary, but seeing that even she remained silent and wept, she began to pray to Blessed Gabriel of the Dolors [Passionist], and he also was silent. But Gemma, for all that, did not lose courage. She redoubled her prayers. At the same time she said to me: "That man must indeed be a great sinner. Jesus says He knows him not, Mother weeps, and Blessed Gabriel will not answer me.
After a year of this assiduous praying, one day, while returning from church with Gemma, I met the servant of the above-mentioned lady in the greatest consternation. The brother of her mistress, she said, was dying. We were greatly pained, but we had only gone about twenty yards when Gemma exclaimed: "He is saved, he is saved." I asked her who? "The brother of that lady," she answered. I learned afterwards that this man breathed his last pressing the priest's hand precisely when Gemma was going home. That coincided exactly with the moment when she said aloud, "He is saved, he is saved.""
Whereas St. Pio often wrestled with the Devil, St. Gemma wrestled with the Divine Justice, the Judge Himself, imploring for mercy on behalf of sinners, especially those she had spiritually adopted:
"In spite of all these efforts, Our Lord remained inflexible, and Gemma again relapsed into anguish and discouragement, remaining silent, as if she had abandoned the strife. Then, all of a sudden, another motive flashed to her mind that seemed invincible against all resistance. "Well, I am a sinner. You Yourself have told me so, and that a person worse than me You could not find. Yes, I confess it, I am the worst sinner, and I am unworthy that You should listen to me. But look, I present Thee another advocate for my sinner; it is Thine own Mother who asks You to forgive him. See! Oh, imagine saying no to Thy Mother! Surely You cannot now say no to Her. And now answer me, Jesus, tell me me that You will save my sinner." The victory was gained, the whole scene changed aspect, the tenderhearted Saviour had granted the grace, and Gemma, with a look of indescribable joy, exclaimed: "He is saved, he is saved! Thou hast conquered, Jesus; triumph always thus." And then she came out of the ecstasy.
When it was over, having withdrawn to my room, with my mind engrossed by a thousand thoughts, I suddenly heard a tap at my door. "A strange gentleman, Father, has called and wishes to see you."I bade him come in. He threw himself at my feet sobbing and said: "Father, hear my Confession." Good God! I thought my heart would burst. It was Gemma's sinner, converted that same hour."
St. Gemma adopted sinners--not in the general sense, but specific persons--and she did not take no for an answer, even when the Lord Himself refused to budge! And so neither shall we. We should be bold in our petitions, make reparations on their behalf, and lean on the Mother of God to advocate for us and "our sinners," even when our personal holiness falls short compared to that of St. Gemma's. Persistence in the spiritual economy is not uncouth or inappropriate, but laudable, for it displays a faith that refuses to give up, refuses to go away, until it obtains what it came for--the souls of those lost. Don't ever give up.
St. Gemma Galgani, pray for us!
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