Father John
Praise be to Jesus Christ!
What I write below really happened; I will attempt to describe the episodes as best I can. The entire effort admittedly feels simultaneously insufficient and yet over-written. Thus, I suppose, are the limitations of human language. Far more importantly, in all things I seek to always remain an obedient and faithful son of the Catholic Church. As such, I submit all to Her judgement. I take comfort in the fact that I (and that which I write here) am of little consequence. In all things, it is at the name of Jesus Christ that “every knee should bend, of those in heaven and on earth and under the earth…” (Phil 2:10)
Contents
VII. A Glimpse of the Renewal 10
I.
THE DREAM
One of my earliest memories is of a vivid dream regarding the Blessed Virgin Mary. I treat dreams with much caution, but feel moved to include this specific one here. I was at most five years old when it happened, and is as clear to me now as it was then. It unfolded as follows:
I am sitting on the side of my bed next to my mother; my older brother is on the other side of her. She is reading us a story (as she usually did before bed). Everything regarding the seemingly mundane circumstance and vividness of the dream makes me believe in the moment that it is really happening, that I am indeed awake.
Suddenly, Our Lady appears in the room. She is a solid figure, flesh and bone, and yet composed of a light that dazzles but does not stun the senses.
She takes me into her arms, or rather I suddenly find myself in her arms. We immediately go whooshing out of the room, through the roof. We proceed to rise rapidly into the night sky. I distinctly remember the feeling of my heart being in my throat: the same sensation one feels on a roller-coaster. I look down with fear and, though the roof and ceiling remain intact, I can somehow see through them to where my mother and brother remain as I have left them. I want to cry out that I am being taken away from them! Have they not noticed my absence? I am filled with fear.
I look up into Our Lady’s face. She is looking down at me with an expression of such loving tenderness. She gently smiles and says without moving her lips (the “sound” of her voice is more a movement of the heart, yet with the melodious beauty of bells ringing), “Don’t be afraid. I have something for you to do for me.”
We continue to rise into the sky. I see the nighttime hills and woods pass away beneath my feet. But I am now at peace—I am right where I need to be.
At times, the dream is brought forward in my mind and heart, as if I am to be constantly reassured that I remain in her arms.
II. Childhood
Suffice it to say, my childhood and adolescence were years of many signal graces as well as trials. Even the seemingly extraordinary occurrences of those years are, however, of little importance to what I feel compelled to share here, and so will remain unsaid.
III. The Cross of Light
I attended a Catholic college. It was actually my first opportunity to experience Catholic education. I was rather happy and productive and began to engage my Faith as being my own rather than as something imposed upon me by my parents or circumstances. As such, I would occasionally attend daily Mass in the student chapel.
One day, possibly in my sophomore year, I attended such a Mass. It was only me, the priest, and a small handful of other students. As extraordinary as every Mass is, the last thing on my mind was the possibility of anything unusual happening.
All I can recall is that at some point while the priest was speaking, I suddenly perceived radiating through me what I can only describe as a “buzzing stillness,” i.e., utter peace that was, somehow, at the same time living! It was so gentle as to not wake an infant, and yet so simple and sure that it could change the course of planets. Without thought, I looked up into the chapel’s skylight.
Through the skylight (and yet somehow the skylight—and, indeed, the ceiling itself—was gone?) I saw Our Lord on His Cross. He was the Wounded Christ, living and in the moments of His agony. Though He was at a distance (i.e., in the sky) He was still somehow imminent to my senses. The living crucifix rapidly descended toward me. The sky remained a clear blue, and yet the clouds seemed to dissipate in the wake of an extraordinary golden-silver light that emanated from Him and the Cross. The rapidity with which the Crucifix descended itself seemed to impress upon me the notion that “He was coming” and that much would indeed “be burned away in His wake.”
Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the entire vision ceased: Mass continued as usual.
… … …
For a number of years following, this same vision repeated maybe half-a-dozen times, always building upon itself, more elements “added” each time. I hope it goes without saying, I never sought to conjure such visions. They happened (visually) in the midst of prayer, (interiorly) when going about the daily occurrences of life, and as vivid dreams—but only ever as something gently “conveyed” from without, not “composed” from within. I believe it will suffice to describe the culmination of all of these, when the entire “revelation” reached its most complete form:
I am standing in a field or large lawn. It is night, though all is bathed in a dim bluish light. In the distance, a town lies unusually dark in the valley below. It’s as if all the lights in the town are out. The world is utterly still—dark. The field is surrounded by dark woods. There are other people standing near me, either alone or in small groups. We are all facing the same direction, with our heads tipped back, watching a giant cross made of bluish-white light move over us through the sky. There is a constant rumbling, as if of consistent thunder. The sound is coming from the Cross itself; the rumble of the Cross passes through every living thing, so that it literally vibrates in our bones, in every cell. All at once, we—the entire world—knows that God is real, and that Jesus Christ is Lord. Some of the people in the field, apparently filled with absolute terror at such a revelation, fall down dead as a consequence of their previous small-mindedness, or from the extreme conversion that such a shocking realization demands. A second group reacts to the Cross with rage. They shriek and bare their teeth and shake their fists at it. I cannot fathom it (what an unspeakably horrible, terrible thing!). These are given the gift of witnessing the reality of the Creator of all life, and yet they still rebel against Him! They cannot be reasoned with. Only rebellion and pride dwell in their twisted, blackened hearts. They run away into the surrounding woods, seeking to hide from the Cross—they disappear into the darkness, but as their shrieks grow more distant, their sound is less of humans, and increasingly the pandemonium of wild beasts. Finally, a third group remains in place. The rumble of the Cross is a chord, and each of us who remain raise our voices in a song: a song of joy, laughter, relief, fulfillment, excitement, and, above all, praise! We are in ecstasy, though remaining fully awake and aware! Without looking away from the Cross of Our Lord, I can at the same time see my own feet leaving the ground in a few inches of levitation.
At that point, the vision ends—
I received no “direction,” per say, from or within the context of the vision, but my own human sensibility confirms that we must pray (pray now!) for the conversion of all sinners—including ourselves! Commit acts of penance, fast, pray the Rosary, etc., begging God for the grace to never turn from the Cross, nor from Him Who gained our freedom upon It!
I testify that it was only later that I became familiar with similar private revelations claimed by Saint Faustina, Marie-Julie Jahenny, etc. And, really, it is embarrassing to even place my experience so proximate to theirs. But I also must testify that the Lord has indeed shown me these things. To what end, I leave to His Providence.
IV. The Victory
One day, while attending seminary, I found myself at a local Catholic college’s Lourdes grotto, where I would occasionally pray a Rosary.
I don’t know if it is of any importance, but I should note: a fellow seminarian claimed to be in the grotto at the same time but maintained that he never saw me. I still assume, however, that we simply missed one another.
Having finished the Rosary, I left the grotto.
Emerging from the grotto brought me onto a sidewalk alongside the chapel. I passed in front of the building. I felt prompted to look up. What I saw frightened me greatly:
The chapel was engulfed in flames. The historic building’s roof and windows were gone. All was a roaring inferno. The sight of it was so intense and so close that, in the moment, I was surprised that I myself was not scorched by the flames.
Suddenly, there was a movement in my heart that was words: urgent and at the same time peaceful, confident, and melodic. I felt myself suffused with a “buzzing stillness.”
“Don’t worry,” it said, “this is just a sign of things to come.”
All at once, I was ‘pulled up’ to Our Lady’s side. We were ‘above,’ on another level or plane, surrounded by and yet behind or in front of the void of space. Our Lady was indescribably beautiful: a solid figure of flesh and bone, and yet like a crystal (a million living crystals!) filled with the purest light. She was suffused with that same buzzing stillness, and yet in more so infinitely perfect a way as to also imbue her very being (not just her physical body) with that untainted light. She silently gestured to me with her right hand, as an instruction to look down at the globe of the world. Without leaving her side, my sense of sight and being was still somehow able to bend down to the earth, so that it was as if I was standing on a sidewalk in the midst of an unnamed city.
Mobs rampaged about me. They shrieked and growled as they looted, pillaged, and burned. They smeared the soot from their fires so thickly as to obscure their human features. I could only see their bared teeth and pink wagging tongues through the ashes. Their eyes were squeezed tightly shut, in excruciating pain and ignorance. Every one of them was chest-deep in the inferno. The only word that presents itself for description is rage. Our Lady’s voice sounded (or, rather, ‘moved’) in my heart. It said silently: “See, they don’t even care that they are burning in the very fires that they, themselves, are setting.”
I was suddenly ‘taken up’ again to stand entirely next to the Blessed Mother. I could see an entire continent aflame on the globe below. It was real, physical fire, as if rage, war, and rebellion had been unloosed. I believe it was Europe(?). The rioters were not Christians. I implored Our Lady (also in silence, heart-to-heart) for instruction. She listened, gravely, yet attentively and peacefully, and gestured again with her right hand to the world.
This time, I never left her side, but could still see at an impossible distance an utterly remarkable and unexpected sight: in the midst of the raging flames were groups of people. They stood together in circles, facing inward, with their backs to the fire. They each held a rosary in their hands and were praying. As they prayed, and regardless of the color and material of which their beads were made, each rosary emitted a radiant golden light. The light enveloped these groups of praying people. Wherever the light shown, the flames were halted. I distinctly remember seeing what I can only describe as “islands” of green grass and blue sky amidst the flames. No cities or raging figures were left to be seen in the flames: all had been consumed. Only those praying the Rosary were left, standing on dewy grass or in shaded forests, safe, and utterly at peace, even in the midst of the furnace.
I heard Our Lady’s voice move again in my heart: “See, this is how I’ll bring about the victory.” (I.e., a victory reserved for her by her Son.)
V. Falling Fire
The following was a dream I had while attending seminary. As I have already mentioned, I know dreams are more often than not “just” that: dreams. That being said, what I recount below was distinctly (albeit inexplicably) different, in origin, import, and vividness.
I am actually lying asleep in my dream—sleeping and dreaming that I am lying sound asleep. Everything is the silence and emerging brightness of a warm late-summer or early-autumn morning. A sudden hissing szuzsh sounds. I sit bolt upright in bed (though in reality I am still asleep and dreaming) just in time to see what looks like a giant 4th of July sparkler falling just outside my window. Its descent is swift and hissing, like a firework or sizzling oil. I lean out my window. The sky is filled with what I suppose I can only call ‘falling stars,’ each a little larger than a human fist. Multitudes fall toward the earth, trailing great tails of smoke. There is terrible anguish in the world over what must surely be the approaching destruction of the Earth. There rises over the hiss of the falling stars a great cry and cacophony lifted toward Heaven from the people of the world: some exhorting, others blaming and mocking God. I myself feel excitement and relief: the Lord is acting in an extraordinary way! Indeed, the stars fall, but—wonder of wonders!—they only scorch the grass wherever they land. In the center of each burn-mark lies a silver Pardon Crucifix. I pick one up and examine it (even though I am still somehow a floor above). I am filled with great joy and light.
I suddenly awoke in the dim morning light. My seminary room was still and humid. I glanced out the window to a sky empty but for the last of the fast-fading stars. I was disappointed and perplexed, and yet still somehow invigorated. It was pointless to try and go back to sleep, so I got up and began to get ready for chapel and classes.
VI. Treading On Serpents
A close friend (T—) invited me over to relax and talk while he painted the outside of one of his parish’s out-buildings. He had recently discerned out of minor seminary. I myself was home from major seminary for a holiday or seasonal break. T— was at the top of a ladder, painting. I was below, simply enjoying the fine weather and good company.
Suddenly, a feeling overtook me: a rising tide, peaceful but powerful, gentle and yet compelling. It was an interior manifestation, and yet certainly exterior in origin. I never lost control of my senses (and sense of reality for that matter).
Without intellectual reasoning, but rather by way of sheer prompting, I said, quite astonished, “T—, I feel like the Blessed Mother is coming.”
T— responded simply and positively, even unfazed.
I continued: “T—, I feel like I’m supposed to kneel.”
T—, a man of marked prayer and discernment, replied quite jovially, “Well then, kneel!”
For a moment, I was too embarrassed and self-conscious. We were outside, fully visible; the adjacent street was not particularly busy, but certainly used. I tried to resist the urging, wondering if it might not be my imagination. But the inclination to kneel remained immoveable and seemingly quite independent of my own volition.
It was as if (and perhaps I mean this quite literally?) my guardian angel had silently shouted into my ear: Quick! The Queen is come! Kneel with love before the Queen of Heaven and Earth!
The yard was tiered; I knelt facing a low stone retaining wall. Suddenly, as if through a door opening, but rather more like through a tear in the canvas of present things, Our Lady stepped out over the wall. Golden-silver light poured out like clouds of water around and beneath her, so that I never actually saw her feet touch the wall. Our Lady, herself, appeared fully solid and colored in all the reality of a physical being, and yet suffused with and radiating the same golden-silver light, and in so doing, resembling sunlight shining brilliantly through a crystal chandelier.
She said nothing, but splayed her arms in the manner of the Miraculous Medal, or very much like the shrines of Our Lady of Grace many have in their front yards.
I then saw a serpent pinned beneath Our Lady’s feet. Three things were immediately made apparent to me by way of impression: [I.] to myself (or any sinful mortal) the serpent would and should have been immediately deadly, [II.] the serpent shined like obsidian glass, but to call it black in color is inaccurate; it’s color (or utter lack thereof) was somehow literally The Void, and [III.] for just a moment, I was suffused with just the merest hint of an impression of this wretched beast’s powerlessness. To even imply that the serpent was “powerless” beneath Our Lady’s feet is to grant its state a word of description—a single syllable of which is infinitely too much power! I said to myself, An earthworm under a skyscraper has infinitely more power than this serpent!
And suddenly, all of it disappeared.
Stunned, I spoke to T—. I cannot now remember what I said, but it must have been a general and quick description of what had just taken place.
He replied, “Ask Our Lord and Lady if it was from Heaven, and if so why did you see it? What are you supposed to learn from it? If it really was Our Lady, just trust they will let you know. If it wasn’t—” [i.e., if it was just somehow my imagination] “—it was still a good image.”
The next day, I went for a walk. The whole thing was still very much on my mind. Taking a wooded path, I began to pray my rosary. I had almost completed the fifth mystery when I neared the end of the path, the terminus of which was a Lourdes grotto. Even then through the trees I could see the statue of Our Lady of Lourdes. I knew the path well, and so fixed my gaze on the statue as I entered the grotto. I didn’t even look down to cross the small stone bridge that spanned a trickling spring at the grotto’s entrance. I finished my rosary, peacefully accepting that I had received no discernment regarding the previous day’s image, and so turned to leave.
No longer having the statue of Our Lady to focus on, my eyes were naturally drawn downward to my feet as I re-traced my steps back across the small stone bridge. To my astonishment, there, in the middle of the flagstone step, was a small snake, freshly killed, crushed. I turned to look back at the statue of Our Lady in the grotto.
Immediately, I heard interiorly what I believe was the voice of the Blessed Mother. She said, See, just keep your eyes on me and you’ll tread on serpents and never even know.
VII. A Glimpse of the Renewal
I will recount a final dream. I had it after already having been ordained a priest:
I am in a small grocery store. Somehow I know it sits across the street from a large worldly university. The lights in the store are off (as are those of the university). Only a dull gray light shows through the windows from outside, like an overcast dawn. The aisles are full of young students from the university. These are proud, self-interested, and self-indulgent. Each one is trying to fill his or her own cart with groceries, but only by stealing items from each other, so that no one can complete the task. There is an air of anger and frustration, accusation and self-pity. I seem somehow invisible to them.
Suddenly, a priest in a black clerical cassock, and with a large silver religious medal (a Miraculous Medal?) hanging from a chain onto his chest, appears before me. He grabs the front of my cart and begins to lead me in earnest through the aisles of the store, pulling item after item off the shelves until my cart can carry no more. He pulls me up to the check-out counter, goes behind the counter himself, where I expect him to begin totaling what I owe.
I tell him, “But I have no money!”
He smiles. He seems like a real person, exuding love, like someone I would recognize from history, even though I had never met him during my own lifetime. I even notice his one front tooth is chipped or broken. I believe he is either of a religious order, or else is a secular (i.e., diocesan) priest, but greatly influenced by a certain Marian spirituality.
He answers me, urgent and yet joyful, “Don’t worry! Everything has already been paid for!”
I leave the store and begin pushing my grocery-laden cart up the street. I find myself surrounded by a group of people. Some I recognize, many others I do not. I urge them to stay close.
We travel streets that look abandoned. Soon we come upon a small, simple, white, wood-frame church. Its windows are boarded up; the entire dilapidated building is, in fact, leaning.
Nonetheless, I lead the others inside, bidding them to star close.
Tight hallways twist and turn. I am afraid those with me will become lost or lag behind. I continue to urge them on, calling out to them so that even the ones I cannot see will still be led by the sound of my voice and instruction. Little by little, as we move forward, I notice that the passage is becoming wider and more welcoming. I realize quite suddenly that the interior we have traveled could not have possibly fit inside the church we saw from the street.
With that realization, we unexpectedly emerge into a truly gargantuan church, larger and far grander than even St. Peter’s in Rome. I remember huge columns of green marble or malachite topped with capitals of hammered copper and bronze, the scale and beauty of which is difficult to perceive, let alone convey.
A huge golden monstrance stands upon the altar. Seemingly unending lines of tonsured young men and women religious, both in full habits, file through the church in barefoot processions, chanting, with eyes humbly downcast but incense rising. Thousands of people gather in tiers along the wall opposite the altar, adoring Our Lord with solemnity and joy. Tiers is the best way I can describe a certain and peculiar separateness from the sanctuary. Being laymen, these do not dare enter the Holy of Holies. Their position rather reminds me of the tiered balconies I have seen in historic churches, where nuns would attend Mass in choir.
Down in the sanctuary, seemingly in the middle of everything, I come upon a young woman with long red hair, in the brown habit of a Franciscan order. She is not veiled, and I get the sense she is a postulant or aspirant. She is kneeling on a prie-dieu, and though I am standing right in front of her she does not seem to see me. Suddenly, a small window or screen opens, as if we had been separated by an invisible barrier. Now the young woman can see me. We begin to converse. We mutually affirm that we have been praying for one another for many years without ever having yet met in the flesh. We urge one another on in further prayer, even as I move away toward the back of the sanctuary.
In the back left corner of the sanctuary is a wrought-iron spiral staircase A line of souls ascends it. I myself reach the first step of the staircase and look up: the top opens through the ceiling onto a brilliant blue sky and clouds. I am consumed and suffused by the sense of paternal love and peace which spills from the opening.
More glories await the Church, but I know that my earthly mission is finished. The Father conveys that I have run the race. Finally, I am going home…
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