Impressive testimony of a condemned soul, about what took her to Hell.

 

 Presentation:

This topic is very uncomfortable and unpleasant. They would like it much more if I spoke to them, for example, of the infinite mercy of God towards the repentant sinner. Sensitivity is so great and the modern intellectual climate does not resist the theme of hell, so uncomfortable and annoying; that it is preferable to talk about charity, social justice, love and rapport with each other, and other similar topics. God communicates with men in many ways. The Holy Scriptures refer to many divine communications made through visions and even dreams. Dreams are not always just dreams.

Let us remember the prophet Daniel who lived 200 years after Isaiah says speaking of the final resurrection and judgment and the multitude of those who sleep in the dust will wake up some for eternal life and others for a disgrace that will never end.

There is the same testimony of the other prophets up to Saint John the Baptist, who also speaks to the people of Jerusalem of the eternal fire of hell as a truth known to all and of which no one has ever doubted. "Behold the Christ who approaches and exclaims, He will gather the grain, that is, the chosen ones in the barns and the chaff, that is, the sinners, he will throw it into the inextinguishable fire".

Pagan, Greek and Latin antiquity also tells us about hell and its terrible punishments that will have no end. It contains more or less exact forms depending on how the peoples moved away from their primitive traditions and from the teachings of the patriarchs and prophets. There is also always the belief of a hell of fire and darkness. Such is the Tartarus of the Greeks and Latins, the impious say that they have precipitated their laws, they are precipitated into Tartarus never to leave, to suffer there horrible and eternal torments. If “eternity… eternity… eternity, this is written on those walls that limit the horrible place of hell created for those who did not love, do not love or love our divine Redeemer Our Lord Jesus Christ.

The evangelical quotation of the rich Epulon and the poor Lazarus is but a pale idea of ​​that place of endless torment. Thanks be to God who has allowed certain souls to come and tell us something about that gloomy place, such as the story that I present below, may God in his infinite goodness, shake our souls so mired in the current pleasures of the world as false sirens that they want to distance us from an eternal truth. May God grant us the inestimable grace that, thanks to this writing, get us out of the deadly lukewarmness in which our poor soul finds itself and finally move us to a sincere conversion to God and aversion to sin so opposed to God's providential designs. about the destiny of our souls.

The "letter from beyond" that is transcribed below refers to the eternal damnation of a young woman. At first glance it looks like a fictionalized story. But considering the circumstances, the conclusion is reached that it is not without its historical background, based on its moral sense and its transcendental scope.

The original of this letter was found among the papers of a deceased nun, a friend of the condemned young woman. There the nun recounts the events of her companion's life as if they were known and verified facts, as well as her eternal damnation communicated in a dream. The diocesan Curia of Treves (Germany) authorized its publication as highly instructive reading.

The "letter from beyond" first appeared in a book of revelations and prophecies, along with other narratives. It was the Rev. Father Bernhardin Krempel CP, doctor of theology, who published it separately and gave it greater authority by proving, in the notes, its absolute agreement with Catholic doctrine.

Among the manuscripts left in her convent by a nun, who was called Clara in the world, the following testimony was found:

Clare's story

I had a friend, Anita. In other words, we were very close because we were neighbors and co-workers in the same M office. Later, Ani got married and I never saw her again. Ever since we met, deep down, there was more kindness than proper friendship between us. For this reason, I felt very little her absence when, after her marriage, she went to live in the elegant neighborhood of the villas, far from mine.

During my vacation on Lake Garda (Italy), in September 1937, I received a letter from my mother in which she told me: "Anita N died in a car accident. She was buried yesterday in Wald Friendhof." I was very shocked by the news. I knew that my friend had not been properly religious. Would she be prepared to appear before God? In what state would her sudden death have found her? The next day I heard mass, I took communion for Anita's intention, in the house of the sisters' boarding school, where she was living. She prayed fervently for her eternal rest, and for this very intention I offered Holy Communion.

Throughout the day I felt a certain discomfort, which increased in the afternoon. I slept restless. I woke up suddenly, hearing something like a knock at the door of the room. I turned on the light. The clock indicated ten minutes past twelve. Any. No noise either. Just the waves of Lake Garda beating monotonously against the garden wall of the boarding house. There was no wind. I kept the impression that when I woke up I would find, in addition to the knocking on the door, a noise of breeze or wind, similar to the one my boss in the office produced, when in a bad mood he threw a letter on my desk that bothered him. I thought for a moment if I should get up. Do not! It's all just suggestion, I told myself. My fantasy is startled by the news of death. I turned over in bed,

I dreamed then that I got up in the morning, at 6, going to the chapel. Opening the door to the room, I found a number of letter sheets. Pick them up, recognize the letter of  Anita's handwriting and giving a scream, was a matter of a second. Trembling, I held them in my hands. I confess that I was so terrified that I couldn't pray. She was barely breathing. Nothing better than running away from there, going out into the open air. I quickly got ready, put the letter in my bag, and left at once. I went up the tortuous road, between olive trees, laurels and villas of the town, beyond the well-known Gardesano road.

The morning appeared radiant. In the days before, I would stop every hundred steps, marveling at the view offered by the lake and the Garda Island. The very soft blue of the water refreshed me; Like a girl who looks admiringly at her grandfather, she contemplated, in ecstasy, the ashy Mount Baldo, which rises up to 2,200 meters high on the opposite shore of the lake. That day I had no eyes for all that. After walking for a quarter of an hour, I let myself fall mechanically onto a bench between two cypress trees, where the day before I had read "The Maid Teresa" with pleasure. For the first time I saw in the cypresses the symbol of death, something I hadn't thought of before.

I took the letter. He had no signature. Without a doubt, it was written by Ani. There was no lack of the big "s", nor the French "t", which he had grown accustomed to in the office, to irritate Mr. G. It was not his style. At least, that wasn't how he usually spoke. Usual in her was friendly conversation, laughter, underscored by her blue eyes and graceful nose...Only when we discussed religious matters did she become scathing and fall into the rude tone of the letter. I myself am enveloped by his excited cadence. Here it is, Anita N.'s Letter from the Beyond, word for word, just as I read it in my dream.

The letter

CLARA, DON'T PRAY FOR ME, I'M CONDEMNED. If I give you this notice - what's more, I'm going to talk to you at length about this - don't think I'm doing it out of friendship. Those of us who are here no longer love anyone. I do it as forced. It is part of the work "of that power that always wants evil and does good." Actually, I'd like to see you here, where I've come forever. Don't be surprised at my intentions. Here, we all think like that. Our will is petrified in evil, that is, in what you consider "evil". Even when I can do something "right" (as I do now, opening your eyes to hell), I don't do it with the right intention.

Remember? Four years ago we met, in M. You were 23 years old and had already been working at the desk for six months before, when I joined. Several times you got me out of trouble. You often gave me good advice that, as a beginner, came in handy. But what is "good"? I pondered, at that time, your "charity". Ridiculous... Your help was pure ostentation, something I suspected ever since.

Here, we do not recognize any good in anyone at all. But since you met my youth, it's time to fill in some gaps. According to my parents' plans, I should never have existed. By an oversight the misfortune of my conception took place. My sisters were 14 and 16 years old when I came into the world. I wish I hadn't been born! I wish I could now annihilate myself, flee from these torments! There is no pleasure comparable to that of ending my existence, just as a dress is reduced to ashes, leaving no vestiges. But it needs to exist. It is necessary that I be as I have become: with the total failure of the purpose of my existence.

TO BE CONTINUE…