January 10, 19453prev home next
A singular vision presents itself to me as soon as I wake up.
I see a long, narrow, low room which is dark. A single little window in one of the narrow sides. In the back, near the opposite side, a small door in the wall which, since it is half open, reveals a very gloomy passageway only barely illuminated by a little light coming in through some small window which I do not, however, see. In the room, which looks more like a corridor than a room, there is a long, rustic table: a lengthy planed plank - with no other color but the natural shade of the wood, darkened by long use - supported by four pairs of legs, round stakes placed like this / \ at the two ends and a quarter of the length inwards. A large figure of Christ Crucified on the wall.
Seven Franciscans are seated at the table: St. Francis, emaciated and pale, as always; Friar Elias, handsome and young, with imperious black eyes and curly black hair - oh, a very nasty resemblance, in his features and, above all, in his manner, to Judas. He is also tall. Then Friar Leon: young, not very tall, with a good, cheerful visage. They are at Francis’ sides. After Leon, Friar Masseo, a bit corpulent, rather elderly, and peaceful. Then three brothers who I think are novices or lay brothers: they always remain silent, humble and awkward, dressed even more poorly than the four friars, for they have no mantle. They are eating boiled vegetables and gray bread from tin plates. I think it is broccoli or black cabbage.
Friar Elias says, “This is good bread! It has a special taste. It seems like cake. I don’t know....”
Friar Masseo says, “Like cake, and it is also juicy, like meat. It is nourishing. And refreshing. It is complete, like a whole meal.”
Friar Leon says, “And the holy Host?! I have never perceived that taste in it. An incorporeal lightness which has dissolved into sweetness.... Oh, a heavenly sweetness!”
“I will introduce you to the woman who makes this bread and these hosts. Don’t observe her appearance; blooming and joyful, she conceals her austerity under her simple smile. She converses, makes bread, and tends to the sisters’ meals. But, with certain knowledge, I know that she eats only very little food - what is most repugnant and scorned by the others. And if there is little to eat, she leaves it for those who are weakest in body and spirit, and she grants only what is repulsive for men to her hunger and exertion.... We ought to call her Joan the Baptist! In this desert of hers as one who is truly cloistered (a desert in herself, for the cloister is a desert only if one wants it to be one - that is, if one is able to live therein with the Alone) she feeds on grasshoppers and snails taken from the garden vegetables and roasted in the flame of the fire. And she laughs and sings, as joyful as a free lark. Here she is.”
The friars, all of them curious, turn towards the half-closed door. A beautiful, young (about thirty years old), robust sister comes in. Smiling, she places a pitcher of water and a wooden bowl on the table. Her clothing is russet, with broad sleeves, and rectilinear; in front and in back her scapular reaches the ground. I don’t see any cordon descending, or a belt, for she is wearing a short mantle extending down to her hips which is rounded and closed at her throat with a wooden pin. The bands encircling her head cover her brow down to the eyebrows and enwrap her cheeks, descending beneath her scapular. Above, her veil forms a cowl, like this……., which is black. A lovely, rosy, rounded face, black eyes, laughing and vivacious, and beautiful, healthy, strong teeth. Average height and a sturdy physique.
“This is Sister Amata Diletta of Jesus,” Francis says. And he then adds, “My companions would like to know what you are accustomed to putting into your bread, which is so good, and how you make the hosts for Holy Mass. They are different from all others.”
The sister laughs and replies at once, “The one who supplies me with seasoning gives me the aroma.”
“What aroma is it?”
“His Charity - that of Jesus, the Lord, my Spouse.”
I see nothing else. Everything ceases with the image of the face of Sister Amata Diletta of Jesus, which is shining as she says these words.
While Father Migliorini is still speaking, before Communion, the Master appears and also speaks. He is so imperious that I leave Father in the lurch and turn my attention to Jesus. He dictates:
“I am your Superior. Do you feel my Grace in yourself? Do you feel Me in your heart, and my approval of you? And so? Aren’t I the Superior of superiors? Aren’t I your Cloister? And aren’t your love for Me and mine for you bars and gates?
“Are there some who insist about the harshness of needs? For what reason? Out of pride and selfishness. Oh, holy Humility that was mine! Oh, holy Poverty that was mine! Oh, holy Charity that I am!
“For you, that suffer, I have given a light. Sister Amata Diletta of Jesus, who belongs to you more than to the Franciscans.”
Last night Jesus gave me a dictation for Sister Gabriella:4
“Hail, Maria Gabriella of my Mother. I don’t know a sweeter greeting, either.
“The ‘golden word’? Yes. I place it where something is suffering. Something still human... which I want to abolish. I thus burn it with the inflamed gold of my Charity. Not to be loved alone, but feared and not understood, is the destiny I give to those I choose so that they will resemble Me more closely and love Me alone. All affection which is given or received - given or received in human terms - is like a molecule of impurity in the amalgam of a golden bar.
“Gold, you will say, is never pure. It must always be joined to other metals in order to be worked. I know. Introduce some silver-tears. Introduce some platinum-pain. But never introduce copper- ill-feeling. Never tin - weariness. Never, ever, iron or coal - the wish to be loved or the wish to be understood. You would sully your gold.
“When you are gold, platinum, and silver alone, you will attract everyone to yourself. For, Gabriella of Mary, believe that only when one is nothing but a flame burning for the sake of burning, with no concern about who it’s burning for or even why, then everything turns to look at the light. Why? Because that light burning in such fashion - as your Francis would say, ‘with no desire to be loved’ - reflects Heaven and the Face of God, fuses with the Fire that is God, loves all things in God, and thus becomes luminous with God. It is no longer a soul that loves - it is God who loves in a soul. I can say this to you: then all converges upon us. The good ‘all.’ The less good, somewhat less. The wicked, even less. But there is always a turning in astonishment.
“Are you weary? Here I am. I always say, ‘Here I am’ when there is someone who wants Me. And I alone - who know, even if I remain silent - can relieve weariness and assuage pain.
“The guide for acting, and acting well? Love. My John was young and ignorant, and even a little pig-headed, as you say, and lazy, like orientals in general. But he understood at once because he loved so much that love made up for all that was lacking. Never wonder, ‘Will I ever be able to do this?’ If I inspire you to, it is a sign that you can do it.
“Love will tell you the rest.
“Remain in my peace. And I will speak further. Would you like me to say, ‘Come’? But I walked today, tomorrow, and the day after, for years... and set one step after another, with the Cross on my back, higher and higher and higher.... Look at all the footprints.... Look at all the Blood....
“Walk on, today, tomorrow, and also the day after.... And the final hours will be the most painful ones.... But afterwards... afterwards your spirit will come to rest in the hands of your Jesus.”5
3 This entry is preceded by the episode concerning “Jesus at the Inn in Bethlehem,” found in The First Year of the Public Life.
4 Emma Federici is the lay name of Sister Gabriella, the superior of the Stigmatine nuns of Camaiore, who is mentioned several times in the course of this volume. She was to have founded a religious institute prepared to receive the vocations of women of illegitimate birth. After leaving the Congregation she belonged to, however, she was unsuccessful in fulfilling what was thought to be her mission and remained an enigmatic figure. See The Notebooks. 1944, note 312.
5 There follow fifty-six pages in the handwritten notebook, corresponding to January 11-15, 1945 and containing five episodes in The First Year of the Public Life included in Maria Valtorta’s major work on the Gospel.