Pray Hope and Dont Worry Newsletter Issue 35 April 2008

This newsletter is an apt and precise reminder that our world today operates on double standards and the lack of appreciation for the graces received during mass and confession. Padre Pio reminds us always to remain grounded and humbled in thinking. Without God's grace, we can do nothing. Padre Pio is a saint that valued the unfathomable depths of God's Divine Mercy. 

God bless! =)

Father James DeVita, SDB, was born and raised in San Giovanni Rotondo, the town where Padre Pio lived for almost 50 years. Padre Pio's name was a household word in the DeVita family. Fr. DeVita's mother, Agnes, was a member of the 3rd Order of St. Francis. Padre Pio often encouraged people to join the 3rd Order of St. Francis, calling it a "school of holiness." As a young woman, Agnes used to bake pizza and take it to the monastery for the Capuchins to enjoy for dinner.

 When Fr. DeVita was a teenager, he used to walk with his boyhood friends to the monastery to attend Padre Pio's Mass. On one occasion, he was the altar server for Padre Pio's Mass. It lasted almost two hours with long periods of silent prayer throughout. Padre Pio often lost track of time during the Mass. But as a restless teenager, James DeVita did not lose track of time and to him Padre Pio's Mass was just too long for comfort.

Fr. DeVita also made his confession to Padre Pio on a number of occasions. At that time, the men's confessions were held in the sacristy of the church. Confessions were face to face and neither a screen nor a curtain was provided for privacy. The line formed about four feet away from where the penitent was making his confession. The person kneeling before Padre Pio seemed so exposed. Although nobody was trying to listen, one could practically hear the words being spoken. Waiting in line to make one's confession to Padre Pio could be a nerve-wracking experience. One could easily observe the expression on Padre Pio's face while hearing confessions. When people confessed that they had missed Sunday Mass, Padre Pio became visibly upset. He was extremely strict in this regard. Unless one was sick, missing Mass on Sunday was a grave omission. As a teenager, James DeVita would miss Mass from time to time due to his own negligence. When this occurred, he did not have the courage to make his confession to Padre Pio. He would choose another priest.

According to the general opinion, making one's confession to Padre Pio was of inestimable help in the spiritual life. It was true. God gave Padre Pio extraordinary gifts and graces for his priestly work as a confessor. In his lifetime, he reconciled thousands of people back to their faith. He once said that if he had the choice between losing his eyesight or his sense of hearing, he would prefer to lose his eyesight. "Why is that?" someone asked. "It is because with my hearing intact I would still be able to hear confessions," he answered. And hear confessions he did, often more than twelve hours a day. On the last day of his life, although weak and very ill, he heard a number of confessions. Pope Pius XII called him, "The confessor of Europe."

Padre Pio saw his priestly role as confessor as a great responsibility and he always prayed for God's help. "Without the grace of God, we can do nothing," he said. People often came to Padre Pio asking him for advice as to whether certain actions in their daily living experiences were right or wrong. He usually saw questions of right verses wrong in simple, black and white terms. He was able to counsel people in a way that left no doubt in the person's mind regarding the right course to take. He was never tempted to tell people what they wanted to hear. His desire was to tell people the truth.

Padre Pio made no distinction between venial sins and mortal sins. He spoke simply of sin. For Padre Pio, sin was something serious, something terrible. There was to be no compromise with sin. It had to be avoided at all costs. "We will never know what it means to rebel against God," he once said.

Padre Pio said that he had only one fear, that of offending God. He once said, "I would rather undergo death an infinite number of times, rather than openly offend the Lord." On one occasion a person told Padre Pio that he had lied. He explained that it was a very small lie, a white lie. It was of no consequence. "But Jesus died to defend the truth," Padre Pio answered. "A small lie is a sin that offends God," he said. And he went further. He did not condone exaggeration either, even to the smallest degree.

 For those who were sincerely seeking to move forward on the spiritual path, confession to Padre Pio was a great blessing. But for the insincere and those who came simply out of curiosity to Padre Pio's confessional, his spiritual direction was described as "demanding, disturbing, and uncomfortable."

Time and space and distance did not seem to be a barrier in Padre Pio's ministry to souls. On one occasion, one of the Capuchins was just about to knock on the door of Padre Pio's cell when he heard Padre Pio talking to someone inside. He decided not to disturb them but he waited at the door anyway. Soon Padre Pio opened the door but there was no one else inside his cell. "I heard you talking to someone but there is no one there," the Capuchin said. "Oh, I was hearing someone's confession," Padre Pio replied. Through the extraordinary gift of bilocation, Padre Pio was able to be present to people, often great distances away, who were in need of his help.

Padre Pio went to confession frequently and he encouraged others to do the same. When some protested that they did not need to go to confession since they had nothing of consequence to confess, Padre Pio used a simple analogy. "Even if a room is very clean and the door is closed so that no one can enter, the dust will nevertheless collect there and it will require dusting," he said. Once Padre Pio made his confession to Padre Eusebio Notte and afterward he began to cry. Padre Eusebio was perplexed. He told Padre Pio that the sins that he confessed were indeed very small and insignificant. There was certainly no reason to cry. But Padre Pio did not see it that way. He had a horror of offending God, even in small matters. He was always truly sorry for his sins.

When Fr. DeVita was a teenager, he used to take part as an actor in the religious plays that were performed in San Giovanni Rotondo. The plays included the life of St. Cecilia, St. Agnes, St. Peter and more. Padre Pio and the other Capuchins frequently attended the performances and enjoyed them immensely. Rehearsals were held at Mary Pyle's home. Fr. DeVita had a great admiration for Mary Pyle. She was often known simply as, "Padre Pio's American secretary." "Mary was a person of great holiness," said Fr. DeVita. "Her love for God and her great willingness to serve Padre Pio's work was truly amazing."

Mary Pyle was an American heiress who had been born into a very socially prominent and wealthy Protestant family and raised in New York's high society. She had become accustomed to every luxury from her earliest years and had traveled extensively throughout the world. When Mary was 35 years old, she accepted an invitation from a girlfriend to visit Padre Pio's monastery and attend his Mass. During the visit, she was able to speak to Padre Pio briefly. She found her life transformed by the encounter and soon decided to move to San Giovanni Rotondo permanently. She built a house right below the monastery. It was one of the first houses in the area.

 Mary joined the 3rd Order of St. Francis and began to lead a simple and austere life, totally consecrated to God. Her workload continually increased through the years but she was always ready and willing to do more to assist Padre Pio. Mary had the heart of a mother, and the charity of a saint. She lived in San Giovanni Rotondo for 45 years until her death in 1968. Her cause for canonization is presently being considered by the Church.

The Capuchins in San Giovanni Rotondo set aside time every day for a period of recreation. For Padre Pio, this time was usually spent in the garden of the monastery, enjoying fellowship with his brothers in religion. As the time drew closer to his ordination day, James DeVita was allowed to visit Padre Pio in the monastery garden anytime he wished. He recalls that Padre Pio delighted in telling funny stories and making everyone laugh. "Padre Pio had a wonderful sense of humor," Fr. DeVita said. "He was a simple man. He was not an intellectual. He was a man of prayer, a man who loved God above all things."

Padre Pio wore brown half gloves to cover the wounds of the stigmata. He would always remove the gloves before the celebration of Mass. On several occasions, Fr. DeVita was able to kiss the stigmata on Padre Pio's hand when his gloves were removed. It was a grace-filled experience and yet it was not something that was easy to do. Fr. DeVita would close his eyes tightly and with trepidation, kiss the wound on Padre Pio's hand.

Because of the inadequate health care in San Giovanni Rotondo in the early years, many of the people in the area died an untimely death. Padre Pio felt compelled to remedy this situation. He worked tirelessly to make the Home for the Relief of Suffering a reality. Fr. DeVita saw first hand, the great blessings of Padre Pio's hospital. Not only did it save the lives of many of the sick and infirm, it was also of great benefit to the poor. San Giovanni Rotondo was an economically depressed region and many of its citizens struggled to find work. The Home for the Relief of Suffering provided much needed jobs for many of the families in the town. Fr. DeVita's own sister Raffaella felt very fortunate to be employed at the hospital.

Fr. DeVita became a patient at the Home for the Relief of Suffering shortly after it opened its doors. He contracted typhoid fever and remained in a coma for four days. A rumor went around San Giovanni Rotondo that James had passed away, but Padre Pio set the record straight. He said, "Do not worry. James has not passed away. He is going to recover."

In 1957, James DeVita was ordained into the Salesian Order, founded by St. John Bosco. Mary Pyle and the ladies choir that she directed, and that sang for all of Padre Pio's Masses, came to the parish of San Onofrio in San Giovanni Rotondo to provide the music for James' ordination Mass. When Fr. DeVita celebrated his first Mass, he had the great joy to wear one of Padre Pio's priestly stoles.

Before he moved to the United States, Fr. DeVita went to Padre Pio to say goodbye. "But there is so much work for priests to do here in Italy," Padre Pio said to him. "Why do you have to move so far away?" Fr. DeVita explained that he wanted to be closer to his family who had emigrated to Canada.

June 29, 2007 marked Fr. James DeVita's golden jubilee anniversary of fifty years in the priesthood. Most of his priestly ministry has been spent serving parishes in New York and New Jersey. Today he is retired and living in Florida where he also assists at a parish. Looking back on his life, Fr. DeVita is very grateful to have grown up in San Giovanni Rotondo and to have had a saint as his role model. Fr. DeVita said that the beautiful words spoken by Pope Paul VI on the life and spirituality of Padre Pio, echo his own sentiments in a profound way. In speaking of Padre Pio, Pope Paul VI said, "What fame he had. How many followers from around the world. Why? Was it because he was a philosopher, a scholar, or because he had means at his disposal? No, it was because he said Mass humbly, heard confessions from morning until night and was a marked representative of the stigmata of Our Lord. He was truly a man of prayer and suffering."

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Recently, while visiting some people on the East Coast who had known Padre Pio personally, we learned about Pasquale D'Andrea. Pasquale, who currently lives in Bayside, New York had a beautiful story to share with us.

Pasquale D'Andrea grew up in Pietrelcina, Italy. His father, Cosimo owned a piece of land in Pietrelcina and earned his living by growing tobacco. One day Padre Pio approached Cosimo and said to him, "You do not go to Mass on Sunday, but you go to the town square." Cosimo was shocked that Padre Pio knew that he did not attend Sunday Mass. He had never discussed it with anyone. He explained to Padre Pio that he had to spend his Sundays working in the fields to earn his living and support his family. But Cosimo was well-aware that his explanation was unsatisfactory to Padre Pio. From that day forward, he never again missed attending Sunday Mass.

Pasquale's wife, Giovannina, also had the greatest respect for Padre Pio. On one occasion she had an important decision to make regarding a personal matter. She felt that she needed to seek advice from Padre Pio at once. She went to the church to speak to him, but realized that it would be impossible. On that particular day there was a continuous crowd of people around him. However, Padre Pio answered the questions in her heart in a unique way. At three different times that morning, he fixed his eyes on Giovannina. With a penetrating gaze and a serious expression on his face, he slowly moved his head from side to side, indicating "no." Without saying a word, Padre Pio had given Giovannina the answer she needed. She felt completely satisfied.

Before leaving Italy in 1955 to make his home in New York, Pasquale went to San Giovanni Rotondo to say good bye to Padre Pio and ask for his blessing. Padre Pio was always very friendly and approachable. He simply said to Pasquale, "There will be three days of storms on your journey, and after that smooth sailing!" Once again, his words proved true.

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 Ellie Hunt was one of the pilgrims who we met while traveling with the Padre Pio Foundation of America to the canonization of Padre Pio in Rome. We have remained friends with Ellie ever since. This is her story.

Padre Pio has been a part of Ellie Hunt's family ever since she can remember. Ellie's father, James Rummo as well as her maternal and paternal grandparents lived in Pietrelcina, Padre Pio's hometown. It was a small and close-knit farming town where everybody knew everybody else. Francesco Forgione (Padre Pio) would eventually become Pietrelcina's most famous citizen, although no one ever imagined it at the time.

Ellie's maternal grandmother, Anna Maria Scocco was the same age as Padre Pio and knew him as a child. Anna Maria's family owned a farm in the countryside of Pietrelcina, an area called Piana Romana. Padre Pio's family, the Forgione's, also had a small landholding in Piana Romana as well as a vineyard. As a youngster, Padre Pio tended the family's sheep.

Anna Maria recalled that Padre Pio was very pious as a young boy and always carried a devotional book with him. He was a quiet child and quite shy. Anna Maria once asked him why he was always reading books. Instead of answering, he asked Anna Maria why she didn't attend school. She told him that it was because her father wanted her to stay home and learn how to cook, clean and sew. At the time, education was not mandatory in southern Italy.

Padre Pio's health, which was never good, began to deteriorate during his time in the Capuchin seminary. Doctors were never able to successfully diagnose and treat the mysterious illnesses that continually wracked his body. The distressing symptoms of his ailments would come and go with no apparent reason. Padre Pio was forced to interrupt his studies for the priesthood and move back to the family home. For the better part of 7 years, from 1909 until 1916, he remained in Pietrelcina. He spent much of his time in prayer and solitude and did his best to regain his health. It was one of the few times of relative quiet and peace in his life. During this period, his prayer life grew in intensity. It is thought that the 7 years he spent in his hometown were almost like an extended retreat, arranged by Divine Providence, to prepare him spiritually for the great mission that was just up ahead.

It was during the time of his long convalescence in Pietrelcina that Ellie's father James came in contact with Padre Pio. James' grandmother, Saveria, would send him with fresh eggs to deliver to Padre Pio. The hope was that the eggs would build up his strength. Everyone in the community knew of his illness and hoped for his recovery. Even in his youth, the townspeople held him in the highest esteem.

It was difficult to make a living in Pietrelcina and for this reason, Ellie's father, grandparents, and other relatives eventually moved to New York. Once in New York, the men joined the "Pietrelcina Society," which sent regular financial help to those who had stayed behind.

Alfred, one of Ellie's cousins, made yearly visits back to Pietrelcina all through the 1950's. He noticed that St. Anne's parish, where Padre Pio had celebrated Mass for a number of years, was in a great state of disrepair. "Someday people from all over the world will be coming to our town," he said to his relatives in Pietrelcina. "They will want to see Padre Pio's birthplace and the parish of his youth. The church must be kept clean at all times. It must be swept and dusted daily. It cannot be neglected like this!" he said emphatically.

In the 1950's when Alfred spoke these words, Padre Pio was almost completely unknown throughout the world. The tiny, impoverished town of Pietrelcina was even more unknown. It could barely be found on a map. Many of its residents had long since moved away. But Alfred was convinced that the saintly priest from Pietrelcina would one day become world-famous and that people would be interested in seeing his hometown. His words proved to be prophetic. Gradually people from all parts of the world began to learn about Padre Pio. Today, the pilgrims who annually visit the town of Padre Pio's birth and pray in the rustic church of St. Anne's, number in the thousands. The increase in visitors has been so dramatic that the town is hard-pressed to accommodate the crowds.

All through Ellie's growing up years, she heard the family reminisce about Padre Pio but she was never very interested in these stories from the "old country." All that changed however due to an incident that happened in 1960, when Ellie was 31 years old. That was the year that her grandfather, Jack Crafa became gravely ill. Ellie and her parents lived close to his home in Flushing, New York and during his illness, the family stayed by his side. When Jack fell into a coma, everyone knew his end was near. One day while Ellie and her parents were at her grandfather's bedside, a stranger knocked at the door. It was a Capuchin monk dressed in a dark brown habit. Ellie was surprised to see that he was wearing sandals without any socks for it was a particularly cold day and there was snow on the ground outside. He said he had come to pray for her grandfather.

Ellie was perplexed. There were not any Capuchin monks in residence at their parish in Flushing or in any other parish in the area for that matter. Ellie was also annoyed. It should have been the parish priest to come to pray for her grandfather and not a complete stranger. But she was impressed by the kindness and compassion of the young religious. He went in the bedroom and blessed Jack Crafa. He told the family to pray the Rosary while sitting at Jack's side and to pray the Hail Mary close to his ear. He had the sense that Jack was still able to hear. After the monk said that, Ellie was surprised to find that when she took her grandfather's hand in hers, she felt a very slight response from him, a very slight squeeze from his hand.

The young monk gave Ellie's grandfather the Last Rites, he blessed the family and then bid them goodbye. As he walked out the front door, Ellie's father, James, observed that there was no car waiting for him outside. James watched him as he walked up the street until he disappeared in the darkness. It was that very night that Jack Crafa passed away. He had been in a coma for nine days.

After the monk left, James became pale and appeared quite shaken. Ellie's mother Lucy, asked him for the reason."Don't you know who that was?"James replied. "It was Padre Pio. He came in bilocation to give the Last Rites to your father. He looked exactly like I remember him when I used to deliver eggs to him in Pietrelcina."

Ellie believed her father's explanation and she was aware of Padre Pio's gift of bilocation. Her grandfather, Jack Crafa had been one of Padre Pio's spiritual sons from Pietrelcina. But Ellie was confused about one thing. The black and white photos she had seen of Padre Pio showed him as having very dark hair, almost black. This monk had sandy colored hair. Later when Ellie read a biography of Padre Pio, the author described Padre Pio's hair as a dark sandy color. It confirmed her own observation.

Padre Pio had always said that the people of Pietrelcina held a very special place in his heart. Ellie's mother had a cousin named Rose from Pietrelcina. She was very devoted to Padre Pio. Rose heard that Padre Pio enjoyed American coffee. She used to regularly send packages to her aunt who lived in San Giovanni Rotondo. The packages always included coffee with instructions to take it to the monastery and give it to Padre Pio.

Rose was finally able to make a trip to San Giovanni Rotondo. One afternoon, she was standing among a large crowd of people who were gathered outside the monastery waving to Padre Pio. He was standing at a window, waving a handkerchief in greeting to the crowd below. As he looked at the large gathering of people, he pointed out Rose to one of the Capuchins. The next thing she knew, one of the Capuchins approached her and told her that Padre Pio wanted to speak to her. Rose was escorted inside the monastery and asked to wait. After awhile the Capuchin returned. He apologized to Rose. He said that Padre Pio wanted to come down and personally thank her for the coffee she had been sending to him but he was unable to do so. In that large crowd of people he picked out one of his fellow citizens of Pietrelcina to give a special word of thanks to. He had never seen Rose before nor had she ever seen him. He loved Pietrelcina and he loved his spiritual children from Pietrelcina. Padre Pio once said, "In my lifetime I have made San Giovanni Rotondo known but after my death I will make Pietrelcina known."

Thought on time, prayer and repentance from Padre Pio

I have read this from one of the Padre Pio leaflets or newsletters that my grandfather used to receive regularly in the mail. Now that he has passed away, I consider this as one of the more important things I 'received' from him. He has always been a devotee of Padre Pio and his teachings have truly aided him in life.   I kept a copy of this particular page because each and every time I read it, it never fails to strike me. And in sharing this piece, I hope it stikes you too, gently or otherwise =), where you need reminding. God bless! =) 

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You have no doubt heard about Satan's brainstorming session in Hell. The archenemy of God called together his minions. He demanded suggestions about how they could win more souls. "We have corrupted many souls, but I want more, manymore. We must double our efforts. How can we seduce more unsuspecting souls? "

One of his evil ones proposed that people be told that there is no such place as Hell. Its a fiction. Satan nodded, "Yes, but we have used that. And it was successful. Now our time is short. We need a subtle snare. Something that will capture millions."

Another said, " Tell them that there IS NO HELL. It is a myth; a foolish story to scare children. Satan again agreed that that too was effective but it has been used.

One other, way in the back of hall, raised a hand. "Tell them there is lots of time. There's no hurry. They can put off attending Mass or going to confession until next month. Or next summer. Theres plenty of time."  And satan smiled.

I worry, as I know you, do about friends or relatives who live on the very edge of everlasting chaos. They seem to have lost all interest in Jesus and His promise of a place in His Kingdom. They go to Mass perhaps on Christmas or Easter Sunday. But it is more of a social outing than true repentance and devotion to Christ. Almost never do they go to confession. Even so when they attend their annual Mass they received Communion-- The Holy Eucharist-- the body, blood, soul and divinity of Christ.

I've said this before; let me say it again. "We dare not play games with God. If one of these tepid ones sins and puts off seeking sacramental forgiveness for whatever reason, he or she is a fool. Padre Pio gives us an example of one devious and unrepentant fool.

A woman who had recently lost her husband came to Padre seeking consolation and assurance about her husband. He had once left her and their two children to live with another woman for over three years. Unexpectedly cancer had claimed his life. Before his death, after urgent appeals, he had consented to receive the last Sacraments of the church. The woman, short and plain, nervously adjusted the kerchief on her head and finally asked the inevitable. "Where is his soul, Padre ? I havent stopped worrying."

Padre Pio watched her with troubled eyes. He could almost feel her grief filling his own heart. "Your husband's soul is condemned forever," he whispered.

Padre Pio nodded sadly. "When receiving the last Sacraments he concealed many sins. He had neither repentance nor a good resolution. He was also a sinner against Gods mercy because he said he always wanted to have a share of the good things in life and then have time to be converted to God."

What a price to pay for "the good things in life." Let us all set aside time each day, just a few minutes, perhaps at bedtime, to pray that Our Good Shepred will be merciful to our wandering ones, to our "unrepentant fools" and bring them SAFELY HOME.


Source: Prophet of the People by Dorothy M. Gaudiose / Padre Pio Newsletters

How I became a prolife activitist by Therese Bonopartis

Source: www.marian.org

Editor's note: Thirty-six years ago this week, the Supreme Court decision Roe vs. Wade overturned all state and federal laws that outlawed or restricted abortion. To mark this anniversary, this week we offer a series of stories on people who are fighting to protect the life of the unborn, including Theresa Bonopartis, whose testimony follows:

By Theresa Bonopartis

"We are to show to those in need His goodness to ourselves ..." This phrase at Mass speaks to my heart. It reminds me of the despair, the grief, the pain of abortion from which Christ delivered me. It reminds me also of my duty to give hope to those still suffering, to help point the way to a place of shelter and peace in the heart of Jesus. And so, I relate my experience — unique and personal, but not unlike the stories of many other women. But this story is not, finally, about me. It's about our good and merciful God ... always there, wanting to forgive us and to make us whole again.

* * *

At 18 I honestly believed I was the only one not having sex. I gave in to peer pressure and slept with someone I was seeing occasionally. I remember vividly the day I phoned the doctor for my test results and learned I was pregnant.

After months of denial, I was nearly four months pregnant, so I knew the answer long before the word "positive" was uttered. I was overwhelmed by a range a feelings: happiness at the thought of a child growing within me, but also fear of telling my parents — the reason I had "denied" it for so long.

I immediately told the father of the child, and we decided to get married. Although we planned to tell our parents together, I blurted the truth to my mother and father. Their reaction took me by surprise. Shocked, angry, and disappointed, they told me to leave the house and forget that I was their daughter.

In retrospect, their reaction was understandable. They believed that premarital sex was wrong and thought it would be a disgrace to have a child out of wedlock. At least, I thought, my parents were practicing Catholics and would never ask me to abort my child. I left the house with no job, no money, no home, and nowhere to turn, feeling utterly abandoned and alone. It wasn't long before the baby's father and I broke up. Still, I was certain I would not get an abortion. I wanted my child.

A friend's mother invited me to stay in their home. I had no idea how I could support the baby and myself, and things began to feel hopeless. During this period, my father sent several messages urging me to have an abortion. He even offered to pay for it. I refused. But as I began to feel more desperate, I decided, finally, to let the abortion happen. I shut down my feelings and went through the motions, functioning more like an observer in a surreal world than someone in control.

Thirty years later, I still can't remember how I got to the hospital. But I do remember being alone in the hospital room when a doctor entered, and I'll never forget the sadistic look on his face as he injected saline into my abdomen.

No one explained to me the baby's development or what the abortion would be like. I had no idea what was going to happen. I lay there just wishing that I could die. I could feel the baby thrashing around as his skin and lungs were burned by the saline. He was dying. Labor began. After 12 hours of labor, alone in the room, I gave birth to a dead baby boy.

I looked at his tiny feet and hands. All I wanted to do was pick up my son and put him back inside of me. I couldn't fathom what I had done. I rang for the nurse. She came in, picked up my son and dumped him in what looked like a large mayonnaise jar, a jar marked 3A. Then she left the room and I was alone again, filled with hatred for myself. The thought of death seemed comforting. My downward spiral had only just begun.

After the abortion I flew to California to spend time with my sister and her family so I could get my bearings again. I wasn't the same person anymore. I went through the motions of daily living, but I had no desire for anything. At night, in the room I shared with my 2-year-old niece, I'd lie awake asking God over and over again to forgive me.

Three months later I returned to the New York area. Although I was not in contact with my father, my mom would slip out to meet me occasionally. Still trying to run away from myself, I moved to Florida. During my two years there, I called my dad and we began speaking again, although never mentioning my abortion.

When I returned to the area, I found a job and outwardly things seemed fine. But nothing was as it seemed. I tried hard not to think about who I was and what I had done. When I thought about my dead child, I would become depressed and despairing. Desperate to be loved, I became involved with the man I would marry, even though he was emotionally and psychologically abusive to me.

Two years later I was thrilled to be pregnant with our first child. But I was also afraid that God would punish me for the abortion, that something would be wrong with my child. I prayed constantly that the baby would not have to suffer for my sins, and was immensely relieved when he was born healthy.

The marriage began to fall apart soon after the baby's birth. My husband was abusing alcohol and we were arguing all the time. We tried counseling to salvage our marriage. Knowing that my abortion was at the root of my problems, I told the counselor about it. He told me to just forget about it. It was in the past. I could not make him understand that the abortion was very much in the present because I was living with the consequences every day.

For a while my husband stayed sober, and I became pregnant with our second child. By the time I was to give birth, however, his addiction was again full-blown. The night our second child was born, I did not expect my husband to be there. By the time he got home, I was well along in labor and we barely made it to the hospital in time.

The birth of my son was anything but joyous. I didn't know how I was going to care for two children, living with someone addicted to alcohol. Unlike the husbands of mothers around me, my husband did not show up the next day; he was recovering from a hangover. I lay alone in a hospital room, but this time my child was alive.

Soon after I brought the baby home, my husband overdosed and had to be rushed to the hospital. The incident helped me to begin breaking the cycle. During his two-week hospital stay, I began to enjoy my children for the first time. I didn't have to worry about where he was or what he was doing. I gave the children my full attention. I promised myself that I would not let them grow up in an abusive home, and that if he didn't straighten out, the children and I would begin a life for ourselves.

I kept my sanity by praying and reading the Bible. My husband stayed sober for two years before it began all over again. The day my older son, then four, told me to hide in the closet when he saw his father coming home, I knew we would have to leave.

For myself, I may well have stayed in that abusive relationship forever, but I did not want the boys to experience abuse. One day when my husband was drinking again, I took the children and walked out the door. Once again I found myself with no job, no money, no home. This time, thank God, I had my children.

My sister took me in to her already full apartment, and with my family's help (in this crisis I had their full support), I began to get my life together. Shortly after I walked out, my husband ended up in rehab, so the boys and I were able to move back into our apartment. I found a job. Within a year or two I returned to school to train as a substance abuse counselor. My family helped me both financially and by helping to care for the boys. I could not have made it without them.

After graduation, one of my teachers offered me a job. I thought I had finally gotten it together. Little did I realize how fragile this new life was.

By this time I had grown in my spiritual life and had a relationship with God, even though I did not truly know Him and still kept a distance from church. I still suffered from depression, entertained thoughts of suicide and had very low self-esteem; the fact that I had been one of the few from my class offered a job did not raise my self-esteem.

In time, as I struggled with my personal problems, my professional work began to suffer. I experienced "burn out." It was devastating to have worked so hard to achieve what I had and then become unable to function. I realize now that it was God's way of drawing me closer to Him.

I quit my job and struggled to stay out of the hospital. My dad supported the kids and me. I just moved through life. Every day it was a challenge just to get out of bed and take care of the boys. I did, however, begin attending Mass again, sitting in the back of the church, certain that everyone knew I had had an abortion, certain that the walls would come crashing down on me. But I went, listening for some word of hope that I could be forgiven for my terrible, "unforgivable" sin.

By then my older son was seven and ready to make his First Penance. At a meeting for the parents, a priest talked about God's mercy and His desire to forgive any sin, even the sin of abortion. I remember thinking: Can this be true? Did I hear him correctly? Will God really forgive abortion? That evening I left with the first inkling of hope I had known in 10 years.

It took time and courage, but I decided to contact that priest and ask him to hear my confession. Scared and nervous, I made my first confession in many years. The priest was gentle, trying to make it as easy as he could for me. He showed great empathy and support. At last, I was on my way home.

I began to see the priest regularly for spiritual direction. At first, all I could see was darkness. It was an effort to do the things he asked, like examining my life, because I was sure I would uncover only what a terrible person I was. But I was tired of the depression and desperate enough to try. I felt sorry for my children who had a mom who cried a lot and simply couldn't cope with life. I wanted more for the three of us. And so I prayed, went to Mass every day and spent time before the Blessed Sacrament. I needed so badly to trust in this God I had been told was so good.

Still I could not forgive myself. I continued to struggle with depression. I would beg Jesus for healing. I felt bad that I had not reached full healing, and my confessor's eyes showed his own sadness over my continued struggle. I understand now that the fullness of healing must come in God's time.

One night I felt depressed and suicidal again, but despite these feelings, I also somehow felt a deep trust in God. I didn't want the children to see me crying again, so after putting them to bed, I closed myself in the bathroom, crouched on the floor, and repeated over and over, "Jesus, I trust in You."

I don't know how many hours I did this, but well into the night I had an experience that changed my life. I experienced being on the cross with Christ. But instead of experiencing suffering, I felt love so intense that it was capable of taking away that pain. I felt His love wash away my sin and I knew my healing was complete.

I have never since felt the despair of abortion, only the profound love and forgiveness Christ gave me. I've watched my life be transformed, miraculously, as I've been privileged to help countless women and men suffering from abortion's aftermath. Christ's love transformed not only my life, but the lives of those I love.

Before my mother died, I learned that my abortion had caused her great suffering, although she had never told me. One day when we were watching TV, abortion was mentioned. She said, "Well, sometimes it's all right to have an abortion." I said, "Mom, it is never all right."

God gave us this moment of grace. She told me that my abortion was her sin and that she would take it to the grave with her. I was able to comfort her, telling her that we both bore responsibility for it. I told her that I forgave her and asked her to forgive me. After that, my mother went to confession to the same priest I had seen for direction, and she felt that her terrible burden was lifted.

Most difficult was telling my children. I felt that God was calling me to speak out about abortion, but I knew I couldn't unless my children knew first. I was terrified they would hate me. It took me years to muster the courage. By now I was active in the pro-life movement and they had been brought up to respect human life.

I planned to tell them many times, but each time I backed out, afraid to say the words. Finally one day I knew I was being given the grace to talk to them. How can I describe that day? I trembled as I told them of how our lives had come to be as they were. If not for my abortion, they would not be living in a fatherless household or seeing the strained relationship between my father and me.

The boys wrestled with their feelings. They were angry at me. They grieved for the brother they never knew. They felt guilty for surviving. It took time, a lot of talking, and the grace of God, but they understood finally why things were as they were, and why I had spent years crying. They grew closer to God, and we grew closer to one another.

I didn't speak publicly right away. The boys needed time to deal with their feelings and cope with the loss of their brother before I would do that. I was even resigned and at peace with the fact that the day might never come. But a few years later, they gave me their blessing. To say I am proud of them is an understatement. They have become great advocates for life.

I've now worked for some years with the Sisters of Life, conducting Days of Prayer and Healing for those suffering abortion's trauma. I am grateful to be able to stand alongside the Sisters at the foot of the cross and minister to these children of God, and blessed to watch them be transformed by His love and forgiveness. I have witnessed countless miracles of His mercy and am convinced that God is marshaling an army of once-wounded women and men to dispel the lies of abortion.

The Diary of Saint Maria Faustina Kowalska: Divine Mercy in My Soul, tells of words spoken to her by Christ:

Let the greatest sinners place their trust in My mercy. They have the right before others to trust in the abyss of My mercy. My daughter, write about My mercy towards tormented souls. Souls that make an appeal to My mercy delight Me. To such souls I grant even more graces than asked. I cannot punish even the greatest sinner if he makes an appeal to My compassion, but on the contrary, I justify him in My unfathomable and inscrutable mercy.

I know that this is true.

Jesus I trust in You.

Theresa Bonopartis assists the Sisters of Life and the Franciscan Friars of the Renewal in conducting spiritual retreats for those wounded by abortion. This article is posted here with permission from the Respect Life Program, United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, 2000. All rights reserved. Its original title was "Divine Mercy in My Soul."

The Miraculous Conversion Story of Prisoner Claude Newman (1944)

The True Account of Prisoner Claude Newman (1944)
by John Vennari, from the March 2001 issue of “Catholic Family News.

”The following true story of Claude Newman took place in Mississippi in 1944. The account was told by Father O’Leary, a priest from Mississippi, who was directly involved with the events. He has left for posterity an audio recording it.

Claude Newman was a negro man who worked the fields for a landowner. He had married when he was 17 years old to a woman of the same age. One day, two years later, he was out plowing the fields. Another worker ran to tell Claude that his wife was screaming from the house. Immediately Claude ran into his house and found a man attacking his wife.

Claude  saw red, grabbed an axe and split the man’s head open. When they rolled the man over, they discovered that it was the favorite employee of the landowner for whom Claude worked. Claude was arrested. He was later sentenced for murder and condemned to die in the electric chair.

While he was in jail awaiting execution, he shared a cell-block of some sort with four other prisoners. One night, the five men were sitting around talking and they ran out of conversation. Claude noticed a medal on a string around another prisoner’s neck. He asked what it was, and the Catholic boy told him that it was a medal.

Claude said, “What is a medal?”


The Catholic boy could not explain what a medal was or what its purpose was. At that point, and in anger, the Catholic boy snatched the medal from his own neck and threw it on the floor at Claude’s feet with a curse and a cuss, telling him to take the thing.

Claude picked up the medal, and with permission from the prison attendants, placed it on a string around his own neck. To him it was simply a trinket, but he wanted to wear it.

During the night, sleeping on top of his cot, he was awakened with a touch on his wrist. And there stood, as Claude told the priest later, the most beautiful woman that God ever created. At first he was very frightened.

The Lady calmed down Claude, and then said to him, “If you would like Me to be your Mother, and you would like to be My child, send for a priest of the Catholic Church.” With that She disappeared. Claude immediately became terrified, and started to scream, “a ghost, a ghost”, and fled to the cell of one of the other prisoners. He then started screaming that he wanted a Catholic priest.

Father O’Leary , the priest who tells the story, was called first thing the next morning. He arrived and found Claude who told him of what had happened the night before. Then Claude, along with the other four men in his cell-block, asked for religious instruction, for catechism.

Initially, Father O’Leary had difficulty believing the story. The other prisoners told the priest that everything in the story was true; but of course, they neither saw nor heard the vision of the Lady. Father O’Leary promised to teach them catechism, as they had requested. He
went back to his parish, told the rector what had happened, and returned to the prison the next day to give instruction. 

It was then that the priest learned that Claude Newman could neither read nor write at all. The only way he could tell if a book was right-side-up was if the book contained a picture. Claude had never been to school. And his ignorance of religion was even more profound. He knew nothing at all about religion. He did not know who Jesus was. He did not know
anything except that there was a God.

Claude began receiving instructions, and the other prisoners helped him with his studies. After a few days, two of the religious Sisters from Father O’Leary’s parish-school obtained permission from the warden to come to the prison. They wanted to meet Claude, and they also wanted to visit the women in the prison. On another floor of the prison, the Sisters
then started to teach some of the women-prisoners catechism as well.

Several weeks passed, and it came time when Father O’Leary was going to give instructions about the Sacrament of Confession. The Sisters too sat in on the class. The priest said to the prisoners, “Okay, boys, today I’m going to teach you about the Sacrament of Confession.”

Claude said, “Oh, I know about that!” “The Lady told me,” said Claude, “that when we go to confession we are kneeling down not before a priest, but we’re kneeling down by the Cross of Her Son. And that when we are truly sorry for our sins, and we confess our sins, the Blood He shed flows down over us and washes us free from all sins.”

Father O’Leary and the Sisters sat stunned with their mouths wide open. Claude thought they were angry and said, “Oh don’t be angry, don’t be angry, I didn’t mean to blurt it out.”

The priest said, “We’re not angry. We’re just amazed. You have seen Her again?”

Claude said, “Come around the cell-block away from the others.” When they were alone, Claude said to the priest, “She told me that if you doubted me or showed hesitancy, I was to remind you that lying in a ditch in Holland, in 1940, you made a vow to Her which She’s still
waiting for you to keep.” And, Father O’Leary recalls, “Claude told me exactly what the vow was.” This convinced Father O’Leary that Claude was telling the truth about his visions of Our Lady.

They then returned to the catechism class on Confession. And Claude kept telling the other prisoners, “You should not be afraid to go to confession. You’re really telling God your sins, not this priest, or any priest. We’re telling God our sins.” Then Claude said, “You know,
the Lady said [that Confession is] something like a telephone. We talk through the Priest to God and God talks back to us through the Priest.

About a week later, Father O’Leary was preparing to teach the class about the Blessed Sacrament. The Sisters were present for this too. Claude indicated that the Lady had also taught him about Holy Communion, and he asked if he could tell the priest what She said. The priest agreed immediately. Claude related, “The Lady told me that in Communion, I will only see what looks like a piece of bread. But She told me that THAT is really and truly Her Son. And that He will be with me just for a few moments as He was with Her before He was born in Bethlehem. And that I should spend my time like She did, in all Her time with Him, in loving Him, adoring Him, thanking Him, praising Him and asking Him for blessings. I shouldn’t be bothered by anybody else or anything else. But I should spend those few minutes with Him.”

Eventually they finished the instructions, Claude was received into the Catholic Church, and the time came for Claude to be executed. He was to be executed at five minutes after twelve, midnight.

The sheriff asked him, “Claude, you have the privilege of a last request. What do you want?”

“Well,” said Claude, “you’re all shook up. The jailer is all shook up. But you don’t understand. I’m not going to die. Just this body. I’m going to be with Her. So, can I have a party?”

“What do you mean?”, asked the sheriff.

“A Party!” said Claude. “Will you give Father permission to bring in some cakes and ice cream and will you allow the prisoners on the second floor to be turned loose in the main room so that we can all be together and have a party?”

“Somebody might attack Father,” cautioned the warden

Claude turned to the men who were standing by and said, “Oh no, they won’t. Will you fellas?”

So, the priest visited a wealthy patron of the parish, and she supplied the ice cream and cake. They had their party.

Afterwards, because Claude had requested it, they made a Holy Hour. The priest had brought prayer books from the Church and they all said together the Stations of the Cross, and a had a Holy Hour, without the Blessed Sacrament.

Afterwards, the men were put back in their cells. The priest went to the chapel to get the Blessed Sacrament so that he could give Claude Holy Communion.

Father O’Leary returned to Claude’s cell. Claude knelt on one side of the bars, the priest knelt on the other, and they prayer together as the clock ticked toward Claude’s execution. 

Fifteen minutes before the execution, the sheriff came running up the stairs shouting, “Reprieve, Reprieve, the Governor has given a two-week reprieve!” Claude had not been aware that the sheriff and the District Attorney were trying to get a stay of execution for Claude to save his life.

When Claude found out, he started to cry.The priest and the sheriff thought it was a reaction of joy because he was not going to be executed. But Claude said, “Oh you men don’t know. And Father, you don’t know. If you ever looked into Her face, and looked into Her eyes, you wouldn’t want to live another day.”

Claude then said, “What have I done wrong these past weeks that God would refuse me my going home?” And the priest said that Claude sobbed as one who was brokenhearted.

The sheriff left the room.

The priest remained and gave Claude Holy Communion. Claude eventually quieted down. Then Claude said, “Why? Why must I still remain here for two weeks?”

The priest had a sudden idea. He reminded Claude about a prisoner in the jail who hated Claude intensely. This prisoner had led a horribly immoral life, and he too was sent to be executed. The priest said, “Maybe Our Blessed Mother wants you to offer this denial of being with Her for his conversion.” The priest continued, “Why don’t you offer to God every moment you are separated from Her for this prisoner so that he will not be separated from God for all eternity.”

Claude agreed, and asked the priest to teach him the words to make the offering. The priest complied. At the time, the only two people who knew about this offering were Claude and Father O’Leary.

The next day, Claude said to the priest, “That prisoner hated me before, but Oh! Father, how he hates me now!” The priest said, “Well, that’s a good sign.”

Two weeks later, Claude was executed.

Father O’Leary remarked, “I’ve never seen anyone go to his death as joyfully and happily. Even the official witnesses and the newspaper reporters were amazed. They said they couldn’t understand how anyone could go and sit in the electric chair actually beaming with happiness.”

His last words to Father O’Leary were, “Father, I will remember you. And  whenever you have a request, ask me, and I will ask Her.”

Two months later, the white man, who had hated Claude, was to be executed. Father O’Leary said, “This man was the filthiest, most immoral person I had ever come across.” His hatred for God, for everything spiritual,” said the priest, “defied description.”

Just before his execution, the county doctor pleaded with this man to at least kneel down and say the Our Father before the sheriff would come for him. The prisoner spat in the doctor’s face. When he was strapped into the electric chair, the sheriff said to him, “If you have something to say, say it now.” The condemned man started to blaspheme. All of a sudden the condemned man stopped, and his eyes became fixed on the corner of the room, and his face turned to one of absolute horror. He screamed. Turning to the sheriff, he then said, “Sheriff, get me a priest!”

Now, Father O’Leary had been in the room because the law required a clergyman to be present at executions. The priest, however, had hidden himself behind some reporters because the condemned man had threatened to curse God if he saw a clergyman at all.

Father O’Leary immediately went to the condemned man. The room was cleared of everyone else, and the priest heard the man’s confession. The man said he had been a Catholic, but turned away from his religion when he was 18 because of his immoral life. When everyone returned to the room, the sheriff asked the priest, “What made him change his mind?”

“I don’t know ” said Father O’Leary, “I didn’t ask him.”

The sheriff said, “Well, I’ll never sleep if I don’t.”

The Sheriff turned to the condemned man and asked, “Son, what changed your mind?”

The prisoner responded, “Remember that black man ­ Claude - who I hated so much? Well he’s standing there [he pointed], over in that corner. And behind him with one hand on each shoulder is the Blessed Mother. And Claude said to me, ‘I offered my death in union with Christ on the Cross for your salvation. She has obtained for you this gift, to see your place in Hell if you do not repent.’ I was shown my place in Hell, and that’s when I screamed.”

This, then, is the power of Our Lady.


We see many parallels between these facts of Claude Newman story and the Message of Fatima in 1917. There is the emphasis on:

• Sacramental Confession
• Holy Communion
• Making sacrifices for Sinners
• The vision of Hell.

“Many souls go to Hell” said Our Lady of Fatima, “because they have no one to pray and make sacrifices for them.”

The True Story of Claude Newman