A few years ago, I read this true story. It touched me deeply, and I would like to share it with you.
Back in the 1940s, in the Midwest of the United States, there was a young man named Clement who grew up in a large family. His mother was a very fervent Catholic. His father used to be a practising Catholic, but eventually became very hostile to the Catholic Church. This did not stop Clement from growing up in a loving family and seeing the beautiful example of his mother and his siblings going to Sunday Mass and doing their best to practise their faith in spite of the poor example of their father.
One day, Clement said to his mother “Mum, I want to become a priest.” Obviously, the mother was very happy to hear this, as were his siblings, and they encouraged him. After rejoicing with him, his mother said to Clement “But now you must tell your father.” Clement went to his father who was in the living room reading the newspaper, and said to him “Dad, I just want you to know that I want to become a priest one day.” His father laid his newspaper on his lap and said to him “In that case, son, I hate you, I hate your priesthood and I hate your Church.” Those harsh words shocked Clement, but he was able to say with an even tone and much patience “Well Dad, I am going to pray for your conversion, and that one day before you die, the Crucified Christ will come to you, and that you will ask forgiveness of your sins.” “You do that”, his father answered angrily.
Clement entered the seminary to study for the priesthood. Whenever he would return home for his holidays, his mother and siblings were overjoyed to see him, but his father always greeted him with those same words: “Son, I hate you, I hate your priesthood and I hate your Church.” Clement always had the same response: “Dad, I am going to pray that the Crucified Christ will come to you before you die, and that you will ask forgiveness of your sins.” Even on the day of Fr Clement’s ordination, and on every Sunday when Father would visit his family, the father and son exchanged those same words. All Father Clement could do was pray for his father – and this is what he did every time he offered Holy Mass.
The years went by, and Fr Clement’s father took ill. Father went home and said to his father “Dad, before you die, I want you to make your peace with God.” With his gasping breath, he said “Son, what have I said to you all these years? I hate you, I hate your priesthood and I hate your Church.” These words always saddened Fr Clement, but especially now. He wanted so much to give his father the Sacraments but, with his father’s hardened heart, it was impossible. Fr Clement simply said to him, as he has said all those years, “Dad, I am going to pray that the Crucified Christ will come to you before you die, and that you will ask forgiveness of your sins.”
Eventually his father died, seemingly unrepentant. His death devastated poor Fr Clement and his family.
Shortly after his father’s funeral, Fr Clement drove to the convent of the Benedictine Sisters of Perpetual Adoration in Clyde, Missouri. He had never been there before, but he wanted to visit them to receive some consolation from these devout Religious Nuns who spend many hours before the Blessed Sacrament. He was received into the parlour, and Mother Superior came into the room. As Father Clement was speaking to Mother, a young nun from the community knocked on the door. She asked Mother Superior if she could enter and speak. Mother said to her “Yes, my child – what do you have to say?” This young nun turned to see the priest, and asked him rather nervously “Excuse me, Father. Are you Father Clement?” “Yes I am”. The nun said “Father, I have something to tell you. As I was praying in our Adoration Chapel just now, the Lord said to me: “Go to the parlour, and tell Father Clement that his father saw the Crucified Christ before he died, and that he asked forgiveness of his sins.”
This shocked Fr Clement, as you can imagine! Father had never darkened the doors of this convent before, and had never seen or met this nun. Tears of emotion filled his eyes. He left that convent with great joy. His father had gazed upon the Crucified Christ through the haze of death, asking forgiveness of his sins. His prayers had been answered! What great power there is in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, and what great power there is in the priesthood. St John Vianney said that the majority of mankind would save their souls through the intercession of a holy priest.
When a priest celebrates Mass, he honours God, he rejoices the angels, he edifies the Church, he helps the living, he obtains rest for the dead, and makes himself a partaker of all that is good.
The Imitation of Christ Book IV, Ch. V
A Beautiful Lesson for Me
During the AIDS epidemic of the 1980s, not much was known about this debilitating disease, at least initially. It was a horrible disease that would immediately attack the immune system, and would sometimes bring about a slow and agonising death. How contagious was AIDS? No one could say at that stage, so there was much fear amongst the population.
I was stationed at Immaculate Conception Parish in Post Falls, Idaho. One Tuesday night, I received a phone call from a woman crying uncontrollably. “Father, Father, will you please come and see my son. He is dying of AIDS.” The first thought that came to mind was “Oh, that horrible disease. ….”
I asked her where she was calling from. “I am calling from Harbour View Medical Centre in Seattle.” I said “Ma’am, I am five hours away. Do you realise that I am in the state of Idaho – another state altogether.” “Father”, she said, “I have called so many different parishes, so many different priests. I am going through the Yellow Pages looking for other parishes. No priest will come and see my son because they are afraid of this AIDS disease. Will you please come?” How could I say ‘No’? How could I ignore the pleas of this grieving mother? In spite of my own reticence and reluctance, I prayed “Well, Lord, if I am to lay down my life for my sheep like You did, then Your Holy will be done.” I thought of the life of St Aloysius Gonzaga, a 21-year-old seminarian who died during the bubonic plague, the Black Death of Europe, whilst he was taking care of plague victims himself.
I had to leave quickly, to give me every chance of getting there in time. I left at 9pm, taking the Holy Eucharist and the Holy Oils with me so that I could administer the Last Rites. I went across the state of Washington in the darkness of the night, spending the journey in prayer. I prayed the Rosary over and over again; I prayed to St Joseph, to my patron saints, and to the Guardian Angel of that dying young man, asking them all to let me get there in time.
I arrived at the hospital at about 2am. I was warmly greeted by nurses and doctors who were expecting my arrival. I was quickly escorted in, donned a plastic apron and a mask, and went into this young man’s room.
What a sight awaited me. The doctors and nurses were all wearing protective clothing, cautiously keeping their distance. In sharp contrast, stretched over the bed of her son dying from AIDS, was the mother – kissing her son and embracing him, holding his hand, whispering into his ear, not wearing any protective gear whatsoever. She had no fear of this disease, unlike everyone else in that room. All she had was love for her son. To this day, 34 years later, the remembrance of that sight moves me. It was such a lesson for me – a lesson in the love of a mother.
Our Lady of Sorrows came to mind. She, likewise, had to witness her own Son die before her very eyes. But my thoughts went further than this. I thought of the love of the Blessed Virgin Mary who, in spite of the contagion of sin on the part of sinful mankind, wants to embrace us and be by our side. If we are spiritually dying because of our sins, she wants to be ever so close to us and see our health restored by being reconciled to God.
If only we realise the importance of invoking the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary, especially in times of temptation and sin. She is our Mother, and she is so ready and willing to come our aid, if only we call upon her.
The mother looked up and saw me. She smiled and thanked me again and again. I went straight to the task, and asked everybody to leave the room. I heard this dying man’s last confession amidst his gasping breath, and gave him absolution. I then asked his mother to come back into the room so that she could witness him receiving the Anointing of the Sick. This was a great consolation for her, as well as for me. I gave him a small portion of the Host, and I gave the rest of the Host to his grieving mother.
I left there so fulfilled and happy that I had the opportunity to administer the Last Rites to this young man. What graces I received that night. I got back into my car for the five hour journey back to my parish. I arrived at about 7.30 in the morning – half an hour before my 8.00 morning Mass, which I offered for that dying man and his wonderful, grieving mother.
Our Lady of Sorrows, pray for us.