Part One
Our Loving Mother's message of October 13, 1991. "Dear Children of America, today I come among you on the first anniversary of my visits here. I come in the name of my son, Jesus. This time is for reflection and renewal. Reflect upon the words of my son. Renew your commitment to put God first in your life. Put your life in order. Pray America, pray. Please make consecrations to our hearts. As your loving mother, I bless you and send rays of love from my motherly heart. With outstretched arms I send graces upon you. That is the end of my message for the United States".
1
Conditions for my first pilgrimage had been set. Believing that I was in complete control of my life, I had moved my family back to our home town. My wife and I agreed that our first priority would be to buy a new home.
Wilkes-Barre is a city that lies in a valley surrounded by beautiful mountains. My wife, Joanne, loves the mountains and country and always had this idea that she would like to have a little farm, so we talked and agreed that possibly we would do that upon returning home. That was never to be. As it would turn out we would buy a home in our old neighborhood located right around the corner from my mother's house .
It is an old fashioned neighborhood. The homes are not right on top of each other, but they're close. The streets are tree-lined and the changing of the seasons is very beautiful. Neighborhood schools and churches are abundant. Unknown to us at that time, there was a beautiful chapel situated in Mercy Hospital which was just across the street from our home and down just about a half a block. In the coming years, this chapel would become a place of refuge and a place of prayer for myself and for our family.
It wasn't long after we were home that we gained a great appreciation of our neighborhood and our proximity to my mother's home. As it would turn out, on Sunday morning of August 2, 1992, my mother showed signs of a stroke being imminent. I was called on by my brother, Jude, to get over to the house to see what could be done to help Mom. As soon as I arrived, I recognized her condition was serious. It literally had only taken me a minute or two to get to my mother's house once I received the call, so time was on our side. Jude and I rushed Mom to the Mercy Hospital Emergency Room. She was treated promptly with the proper medications to decrease the impact of the stroke and she recovered quickly. My mother, to this day, is alive and doing well; however she does have some paralysis on her right side. She is able to take care of herself and get around. She is very alert and in good spirits. This little house has already proved to be a great blessing.
From the beginning, coming back home had been Joanne's idea. I had been very comfortable in Florida. I had my new friends and I enjoyed the business that I was in. I had no real desire to make any changes, so on coming home I had made a deal with Joanne. For a reward, after we got situated in a new home, I would take the rest of the year off and maybe take that trip to Ireland and Europe. I might even visit a place called Medjugorje.
It was in this state of mind that we had moved back to Pennsylvania. Joanne was excited about the idea of my traveling, especially the idea of visiting Ireland. We had talked about it many times over the years. Joanne does not like to fly, so she was all for me making the trip alone or with a friend.
We had plenty of money, and we were in good spirits. Confident about our future, we looked forward to the coming year. I had always been interested in politics and had maintained my registration so I could vote. It was this interest in politics that drew me back to the local political scene. I found myself in the middle of a political situation that called for some drastic action and commitment. It was my opinion that a change in the local political scene was necessary. It was my view that the existing regime was not performing in the best interests of the community.
In talking to several of my old political friends and trying to encourage them to run for office I was amazed to see how much they were intimidated by the incumbent and his reputed unbeatable political machine. It has always been my opinion that no one is unbeatable. I also believed that no incumbent should run unchallenged in a primary race.
After spending several months talking with various people that were in the know, I was convinced that no one would challenge the incumbent mayor, so with the spirit of David and Goliath, I filed my papers as an independent Democrat and was prepared to run against the machine.
It was getting late in the year. It was already the twelfth of February before we had our first official fund raiser, which was a great success. Over seven hundred people came through the door that night. In our little town of Wilkes-Barre that was a good head count.
The campaign for mayor had gotten off to a late start, but was picking up speed quickly. Support was coming in from all sections of the community. A chance of victory looked within our reach.
That night of our first fund raiser, my son John came up to me. He put his arm around my shoulder and he said, "Dad, I really am proud of you." This was great, I never thought anything like this could happen. I can still picture Johnny's face as I looked into his eyes and spoke to him. "John," I said, "This is real business. This is big business. I believe that we are running for a cause and that the people in office want to protect their jobs and protect the money. There's a twenty eight million dollar budget involved. This isn't chump change, this is the real thing. Walk across the street the wrong way John, and expect to be calling a bail bondsman. Don't turn your head the wrong way, keep your eyes straight, be careful son, this is the real thing."
So when Johnny was arrested, and charged with first, second, and third degree murder, manslaughter, conspiracy to commit murder, and kidnapping, I was hurt but not shocked. Originally, it seemed as if this would all pass as just one obstacle in the campaign. I believed from the beginning that John was innocent. I believed that he was incapable of any murder, let alone such a violent murder.
Even before the campaign began, I had resumed my practice of attending daily Mass. Now with our campaign headquarters directly across the street from St. Mary's Catholic Church, it wasn't just myself going to Mass, it was Joanne and I, along with many of our campaign workers. By noon every day our office would be closed with a little note on the door that read: "Gone to Mass."
My trusted friend, Bob McGinly, laughed one day and said to me, "Some prayer club we have here." There were Mass cards on the wall behind my desk, a Sacred Heart picture over the doorway and it was not unusual to hear someone say; "Let's say a prayer now." Bob was right! Something was going on, we just didn't know what. That something was a lot more important than a campaign for mayor.
I believed that the Holy Ghost was doing more with us than leading us in a political race. Never once did I imagine what was on the horizon. So when the news about Johnny's arrest hit, it hit hard. It was all over the headlines of all the papers, television, and radio, and was the topic of everyone's conversation. People were surprised by the calmness that I exhibited in this crisis. But you see, I wasn't surprised because I really had been prepared for this crisis. My return to daily Mass had centered me on Christ, His real presence, and His control over everything. I was determined to pray and wait on God. Those around me were expecting me to be the irate politician and father and to run off to some high-powered attorney, any high powered attorney. Everyone knew that I knew the right people, and they expected me to play the game that way.
I can't say that I wasn't tempted to make some phone calls to the right people, but from the beginning, I had a sense that I had been given the grace to go back to daily Mass and communion for this very reason. For God, in His infinite knowledge, had prepared me by His grace for this day. Neither John nor myself had any grievances with anyone or any agency. We asked for mercy for ourselves and for everyone involved. This, I believed, was the fruit of daily communion because it was not consistent with my old mannerisms. As yet, I had not heard of Divine Mercy, as revealed to Blessed Sister Faustina, but this certainly was in the spirit of Divine Mercy, because it was plain to Joanne and me that Johnny was a victim just as much as the young man whom he was accused of killing.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks to months. We ran the campaign with our chin up and as best we could. Despite a good showing, we lost the campaign. But we were way ahead in the real race of conforming our heart to the ways of our Lord. It was around July when my sister Karen approached me and wanted to know what I was going to do about Johnny. You see, he was in jail without bail and with no prospect of making bail. Karen was concerned. What attorney was I going to use to come to his aid? She asked the question; "What are you going to do to help your son?" It was coming not just from my sister Karen but from everyone. In the state of Pennsylvania, when a first degree murder charge is accompanied by a second felony charge, the accused is not eligible for bail. Under these circumstances, Johnny was being detained in the Luzerne County Prison waiting for his day in court.
I told Karen that I was praying and waiting on God. She responded by saying, "I heard the Blessed Mother is appearing in a place called Conyers, Georgia. You know, Jack, it would be just your luck to go there and find her." Karen has a great love for the Blessed Mother and has made pilgrimages to Fatima, Lourdes and Medjugorje, so when she mentioned that the Blessed Mother might be appearing in Conyers, Georgia, I took her seriously. My only question was, "Under what title is she appearing?" When Karen said, "I believe she is appearing under the title of Our Loving Mother." I immediately felt as if the Blessed Mother had come to Conyers just for me, and in reality, she had. You see, she has come to Conyers for each and every one of us. She is there as Our Loving Mother waiting for her children to return to her.
I had a real need. They were going to ask for the death sentence for Johnny, death by lethal injection. It had come back to me from reliable sources that members of the prosecution's team had said, "We'll see how tough they are when we inject him with a lethal dose." Johnny, my stepson, bore the weight of my name. These men who spoke with such bravado behind closed doors were too scared to even look me in the face and would hide behind their position in going after John.
For the first time in my adult life, I felt the presence of God and was filled with confidence that truly Our Loving Mother waited for me and my family in Conyers to intercede for us as our advocate and our mediatrix. So then, inspired by the Holy Ghost, I went to Joanne and told her of my plans to make this wonderful pilgrimage to Conyers. Joanne, being a protective mother, was thinking solely of John's temporal welfare. She was concerned more about getting a good attorney than any pilgrimage. You can imagine she wasn't too excited about going, but told me that if I believed and wanted to make the pilgrimage, I should go ahead by myself. August passed, no pilgrimage. September, no pilgrimage. By late September, I had made up my mind. Come the thirteenth of October, with or without my family, I would be in Conyers.
2
Once I made that decision, it was marvelous how everything fell into order. Joanne had a change of heart, and my daughter, Mary Margaret, became excited at the prospect of going. Margaret Henk, our neighbor, was instrumental in influencing my wife to go on the pilgrimage. Margaret had said she, too, would join us. With that, everything was beginning to fall in line.
Every day the anticipation for the pilgrimage increased right up until about a week before our departure date. That's when my nice big Volvo sedan, you know the kind, the six cylinder diesel kind, the kind that never breaks and that is supposed to keep running and running -- well, you guessed it -- it broke. That's right. The crank shaft cracked and shattered into a thousand pieces, destroying my only means of transportation.
When I made inquiry about repairing or replacing my crank shaft, I was told it would be several weeks before the repairs could be done. The alternatives were simple; I could wait to have my car repaired. That meant postponing the pilgrimage to November. Or I could go and buy a new car and make the pilgrimage. If you said, "Jack bought a new car," you guessed right! I was more convinced than ever of our need to be in Conyers for the thirteenth of October, and by God's grace, nothing was going to prevent us from being with our Blessed Mother on that day. I had remembered the thirteenth of October was our mother's special day in Fatima, Portugal, and I was sure it would be a special day in Conyers, Georgia too. Even with this confidence, I could not imagine what graces were awaiting me and my family.
We departed Wilkes-Barre on the eleventh of October. Our destination was approximately 850 miles away. I had allowed plenty of time for the trip. I didn't want to rush. I didn't want anyone to be too tired when we arrived in Conyers. Allowing that extra day for travel had taken the pressure from us and we had a wonderful first day on the road.
As Providence worked it's way, we found ourselves in Spartanburg, South Carolina, at about seven-thirty in the evening. We had traveled a little over 600 miles that first day, I felt this would be a good place to stop for the night. Right before my eyes was Exit 75, and within throwing distance from the exit was a big Econo Lodge Hotel. We registered at the hotel for the first time that night, never dreaming that I would become a regular customer on a monthly basis. But where else would the Holy Ghost lead us? It turned out that Spartanburg was the perfect spot. Far enough along to get the biggest bite out of the journey. Within a few minutes from the hotel was St. Paul's, one of the loveliest and oldest Catholic churches in South Carolina. This church has a daily eight o'clock Mass. Perfect timing to get us back on the road for our second day of travel.
Early the next morning we were up and off to Mass. After Mass, we ate a hearty breakfast before continuing our pilgrimage. Within a few hours, we had reached our destination, and had registered at a local hotel in Conyers. In October of 1991, most of the pilgrims came from within driving distance so the motels were not very busy. You could pretty much get a room wherever you wanted. What a difference a few years has made! The estimated number of pilgrims for the thirteenth of October, 1991, was 2500. This year, for the thirteenth of October, 1994, approximately 125,000 pilgrims were in attendance for the fifteen decade Rosary with Our Loving Mother.
I can't help but digress for a moment and recall the words of my spiritual director, Father Thomas Francis Smith, who exclaimed one day that he would love to say Mass for 50,000 pilgrims! That was on August 12, 1993. I never forgot it. Later that day, during Mass at the Monastery, as Father was consecrating the bread and wine, I witnessed the radiant presence of Jesus all over and around him. When Father lowered the sacrifice, the radiant presence of Jesus was still visible. I could see His hands stretched out over the sacrifice as Our Loving Savior extended His arms out towards everyone in attendance at that Mass. It was as if He was blessing us and inviting us to come and eat of His precious Body and drink of His precious Blood. Just think, in one year, from 50 to 125 thousand pilgrims were present. Imagine the graces being poured out on individuals, on families, and on our country. We must all pray for more grace. Jesus has ascended and sits at the right hand of the Father from whence He shall come to judge both the living and the dead. Our Loving Mother has come to prepare us.
Coming back to that first day in Conyers, we were filled, as a family, with such great hope. We visited Holy Hill, heard Nancy talk for a while. We got holy water, and went to confession and Mass. We were truly being filled with the Holy Ghost. I saw a man along the road with his family and a sign that read, "Will work for food." I knew immediately this was a great opportunity for me to help a brother in need and gain merit before God. Remembering the lesson from scripture that to give alms is a way of making amends, I gave to my brother in need. I'm sure he thought he was getting the best of the deal , but I had no doubt that he and his family had given me much more. And so it was, our first day came to a close. I went to sleep excited, looking forward to the coming morning.
3
We were up early and at the Monastery of Our Lady of the Holy Spirit for 7:00 o'clock prayer and Mass. By nine, we were at the little farmhouse where the reported apparitions were to take place. I said to Joanne that if we could maintain the position we were in, approximately 25 feet from the house, what great graces we would receive! By ten-thirty, the little crowd of a few hundred had swelled to a crowd of almost 2000. I had been holding my rosary in my right hand and, in between talking to Joanne and my daughter, I would pray the Rosary. By eleven-thirty, the crowd had grown to about 2500 people. Just about every one who was coming was in their place. We now waited intensely for the promised appearance of Our Loving Mother.
At ten minutes to twelve, I could no longer stand. I felt an overwhelming compulsion to go down on my knees and pray fervently in preparation for the coming of our Mother. I knelt down, and prayed. We began the Rosary at about twelve. Time becomes a blur from that moment on because so much happened. It was announced that Our Blessed Mother was present. I could not bear the thought that I was being given the grace to be in her presence like this - even though I had gone to confession and received the Eucharist with devotion. I carried the great burden of knowledge, the knowledge of my own grievous sins. At the same time, I felt a sense of Our Loving Mother's holy purity. It was such a great conflict. On the one side, her holy purity, and on the other my wretched sinfulness. I put my forehead down on the ground, and using my forehead like a little plow, I rubbed it into the ground, pushing the ground back. At the same time, I was declaring my unrestrained love and regret for ever having offended her and her most precious Son. In that posture, both physically and spiritually burning, I begged her, "That I may have eternal life, grant me the grace of fervent prayer and the gift of the most Holy Rosary." Instantly and loudly, a tender but powerful voice of authority spoke to me in my heart. I thought everybody around me heard the voice, but as it turned out, only I heard it. I was asked to say "yes" after every Hail Mary. So, with great confidence, I said "yes," and from that moment on I have had a hunger, a real hunger, like when you're hungry to eat a good meal. This hunger has been with me every day since the thirteenth of October, 1991. It is a hunger for a real meal - a meal of prayer. No earthly food is as satisfying as prayer and that prayer leads us to the Eucharist. To this day, in great humility, I confess that I believe this has been the greatest gift I have received in all my pilgrimages. For I believe it was a gift of the Holy Ghost gained for me through my advocate and His spouse, Our Loving Mother.
Union with Our Loving Mother through the Holy Rosary prepares us to participate more fully in all the sacraments. They are necessary ingredients in everyone's spiritual life. I don't know how much longer it was before it was announced over the microphone that there were an inordinate number of angels present with Our Loving Mother. Inspired by this, I spoke directly to Mother, and said, "Mother, if my guardian angel is with you, good. If he is not with you, the instant that you command it, he will be there, so that I may pray more fervently. May I see him and enjoy his company." Once again, my prayer was answered. The sky over the apparition house was illuminated by the revealed presence of many holy angels. I saw them with my eye, and I knew just what I was seeing. They were radiant beams from Heaven above. They were right there in front of my eyes, glowing in many beautiful colors, yet they were distinct and unique, each one to itself. Captivated by their presence, I prayed fervently, confident that they were praying with me.
This experience with the angels lasted throughout the rest of the Rosary, and even for a while afterwards. My lovely wife knew something was happening and she was trying to get my attention. I could hear her, but I didn't want to answer her. She kept inquiring, "Jack, what's wrong? What's going on? Are you all right?" You see, something was happening not only in my soul, but also with my body. It seems as if my body had been turned into an awkward position and various muscle groups were shaking. I was indifferent to everything, but finally at Joanne's persistence I blurted out, "The angels! Honey, look, the angels. They're all over the roof of the apparition house!" However, Joanne could not see them. Again, she asked, "Where are they?" and again I responded, "They're all over the roof. They're gold and silver and blue. They're all so beautiful" Again, she said, "But I don't see them. Where are they?" This time, I pointed with my left hand to the large gold angel that was in front of the roof. Then Joanne exclaimed, "Yes, I see them! I see them now!" So there we were in Conyers with the Blessed Mother being accompanied in prayer by the holy angels. You think that would be enough for one person to receive in one morning, but there was more.
My beautiful sterling silver rosary was no longer silver. I appeared to be gold. I had a great attachment to that rosary. It had belonged to my Uncle Jim (James Scanlon). He was my sponsor for the Sacrament of Confirmation. Ever since I was ten years old, he had taken me every year to St. Alphonsus' Retreat House for the annual Mother's Day Weekend Retreat sponsored by Saint Aloysius parish.
Early in the morning, before the angels and the locution, I had been given the gift of heavenly fragrances for the first time. Imagine this, almost everyone was standing in a tight crowd. There I was with my head and nose actually in the ground, smelling the most exotic and beautiful fragrances. Did I think for a moment that they were from heaven? No, I didn't think they were from heaven. I wanted to know what kind of a woman would come to a holy place such as this and wear such sensual perfume that it would attract my attention even though my face was in the ground. No sooner had this thought process finished when Nancy exclaimed that the blessed Mother had told her that some of the pilgrims were getting a special heavenly fragrance from her to them. I immediately begged pardon for thinking the way that I had. What a wonderful morning! What a wonderful afternoon with Mother and her holy angels!
It would seem as if everything was perfect, but I never once prayed for Johnny. Never once did I ask for his angels to protect him, or for any blessings for him. It became obvious to me that my spiritual state of affairs had really been in a mess. Even though I had been praying and going to Mass daily, I was a far cry from what God has by now put in my heart to be, for us all to be. We're only kidding ourselves when we think we're good. We are real fools if we think we're holy.
The next morning, after Mass, I went up to the choir loft in the Monastery. I looked out upon the tabernacle and prayed in the Precious Blood of our Lord Jesus, that His Holy Spirit would come over our family and lead us, and protect us from all evil. While I was making that prayer, my wife was outside on the monastery grounds taking a picture of our daughter and our neighbor, Marge. We were so excited when that picture was developed. When she took the picture, Joanne saw only my daughter and Marge, but the camera's eye had revealed oh so much more. There, right on the picture, was the answer to my morning prayer. The third person of the Most Holy Trinity had manifested His presence among us.
Just as John the Baptist describes the descent of the Holy Ghost alighting on Jesus, in the form of a dove, so now we had received this confirmation. Right there on the film so that we could share it with everyone else. Jesus hears our prayers. The Holy Ghost has been sent to us!
As soon as Jesus was baptized, he came out of the water. Then heavens were opened to Him, and St. John the Baptist saw the Spirit of God coming down like a dove and lighting on Jesus. So too, here, right before our eyes, the light shining from the top of the picture was the Holy Ghost manifesting His presence over our daughter, piercing her heart with His light. Here once again, right before our eyes, the unobstructed flow of the light of God shines from the top of the picture to the bottom, even through the dark shadow cast on the shaded side of the stone wall our daughter was sitting on. Look at the cover page and think about it. He is with us. He is always with us. He has promised; "I WILL BE WITH YOU UNTIL THE END OF TIME."
As I have related earlier, it was instantaneous, but I would discover that all was not finished or complete. I found myself with a new priority. I never imagined when I asked for the gift of the Holy Rosary that I would receive the fifteen decade rosary. I really believe my intention was to have the grace to pray the five decade Rosary daily. I was a member of the Knights of Columbus and I participated in their practice of the Living Rosary. We renew that commitment at each monthly meeting by agreeing to pray one decade of the Rosary daily in communion with all the other members of our lodge. Most days would pass with me going to bed exhausted, fighting off the sleep in an attempt to pray that one decade. I found it to be so difficult. I never imagined praying the fifteen decade Rosary. Up to that time there were only a few occasions in my life that I prayed the full Rosary. I guess by now you understand. The Rosary is fifteen decades, not one nor five, but all fifteen mysteries. Now don't get upset. Mother loves us right where we are. Whether it's one Hail Mary, 150, or God forbid, no prayer. Even then, God still loves us and Blessed Mother still waits for us to seek her powerful intercession so that we all may have the necessary graces to be everything that our all-loving and eternal Father has called us to be before we were even in our mothers' wombs.
4
During the mayoral campaign, I was often on a local radio talk show, and after that first pilgrimage to Conyers, I was once again invited back to the Fred Williams Talk Show. It was a live broadcast, and I was fielding questions from people all over the community. People from all different walks of life were calling in to the station. With the typical glibness that I had exhibited on the show in the past; I responded with a prideful command of the facts. I hit every pitch that was thrown my way solidly. After the talk show, I came home feeling good about myself. I could stand up against media blitz or prank calls and come out looking good, while at the same time knocking anyone that I felt like. One of the calls that I received that day was actually from a relative of the incumbent mayor. She had called the station to harass me. I actually recognized her voice and when I spoke to her, I called her by her first name. She was embarrassed and hung up. I was filled with this pride and knowledge and I had drifted back into my old persona.
I was home about an hour or so, gloating over my performance on the talk show, when all of a sudden I realized that the afternoon was passing by. I had not yet prayed the Rosary. How could I? I never once thought about the Rosary all morning. My only concern was myself, those calls, and how I was going to handle them. All of a sudden, I wasn't feeling so great. How could I so quickly and so thoroughly forget about Mother and Jesus? But I had, and I was very aware of it. I confessed to Joanne, "How could I be like this? How could I forget, and be so willing to put Mother aside?" Politics, I said, really are a test of faith. Involvement in politics is so much of the world. I really get carried away with it.
Well, better late than not at all, I told Joanne. I'm going up to my room to pray. You see, at this time, Joanne said though she loved me, she could not pray with me. It was too much for her to handle, this conversion of mine, for which Joanne, my mother, my sister Karen, and my two daughters, Joanne Marie and Mary Margaret, had prayed for for so many years. Later, they would confess to me that they would come into my bedroom while I was asleep and pray over me. Prayers for conversion and prayers to chase the evil spirits away from me. Joanne had been putting blessed oil in my food, holy water in my coffee, blessed salt in my potatoes, and green scapulars under my mattress for the previous ten years.
What a nightmare I must have been. I knew I was bad in the world's eyes, but I didn't care. In fact, I liked it. I didn't want people to get too close to me. It would be enough for them to like me, and in return, I would like them. I didn't want any more than that. The only people that crossed me were those that were close, so I reasoned, don't let them get close, don't let them know your heart. Keep them at a distance so you can deal with them. Somehow, that spirit crept into my own family. I never realized it. I could not actually believe that those that I loved, those that I really loved, would fear me the way others feared me. Why not? I had used fear and intimidation for much of my adult life to influence people and events. What a price I had paid! If only I had trusted in God and not the strength of my arm or the wit of my mind.
The past was rapidly passing, and I was responding to the grace to pray. It would only be a few more weeks before Joanne would be joining me daily in prayer. It was a Wednesday afternoon. I can recall it plainly. While kneeling in my living room praying the Rosary, Joanne came in, and with tears in her eyes and her sweet voice cracking, she said to me, "I think I can now pray with you." How subtly we can alienate one another and not even know we are doing it. I'm happy to say that's history now. Our house has been consecrated to the Sacred Heart of Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Our Loving Mother, and prayer has become the foundation of our marriage and the joy of our home.
Neighbors and friends come to our home almost daily to pray with us. Could you ever imagine this? I'm sure if you had been one of my friends or associates, or especially a member of my family, you would have been willing to bet the kitchen sink against this ever happening. Can you see how dangerous it is for us to judge one another? That image of a tough man was only the outside. The real man who lived beneath that image was the same young boy who twice entered a Catholic seminary to study to be a priest. The guy who for most of his life from grade school to college had been a frequent, if not daily communicant.
By now, the month of October had passed and the thirteenth of November was approaching. I told Joanne I felt a call to return to Conyers one more time. She said, "Yes, go Honey, if you feel that in your heart God wants you to go back. You go for all of us. I don't want to take Mary out of school again, but God knows, we can use all of the graces we can get." On the eleventh of November, it was off to Conyers. The die had been cast, and this would become the pattern of my life. Except for Johnny's trial, being ill once, and in prison in Buffalo for praying in front of an abortion clinic with fellow Christians, I would attend all of the apparitions on the 13th of every month. My schedule would be almost like clockwork. The eleventh of each month, I would leave the city of Wilkes-Barre, usually with some pilgrims in my car or, on occasion, a van. We would begin our pilgrimage by attending Mass at the Church of the Most Holy Trinity. Each pilgrimage would be different, and grace would build on grace. However, on this first November, returning to Conyers, I found myself alone.
5
No one else was interested in making the pilgrimage at that time, but determined and hungry, I had arrived. On the night of November the twelfth, I was by myself in the apparition room, the holy shrine where the next day the Blessed Mother would speak to Nancy. Four devout women were in the room that night praying with me. We prayed several rosaries and were preparing to return to our hotels as it was approaching midnight. We all wanted to get an early start the next morning in order to attend Mass and prayer at the Trappist Monastery.
One of the women asked me if I had a healing ministry. I told her that I didn't have any ministry. She insisted that I pray with her, as she was suffering from a serious illness. Humbly and not without reluctance, we prayed. As we prayed I placed my hands on her head. My heart went to Jesus through Mother's heart. This first lady was slain in the spirit and fell to the floor. In a few minutes, all four women had been slain in the spirit almost as soon as we prayed.
I actually had a feeling of exhaustion and light-headedness along with other manifestations such as an abnormal presence of heat in my hands and sometimes over my head or running through my body. This running sensation of heat is as if a very warm fluid was poured into my body. I could feel it running down through my back and into my legs and other parts of my body. I have since come to associate this with healing prayer in the Spirit . After the prayer we gave thanks and all went on our way. I was unaware of what had just taken place. I knew something special had happened, but did not have the foggiest idea of what was going on.
The next day, after Mass, I was in the bookstore at the monastery. One of the brothers asked me how I felt. I told him I felt pretty good and asked why he had made the inquiry. Brother told me that I looked flushed and that my face and ears were very red. I told him I believed him because my body felt hot, as if I had a fever, but I didn't. In fact, I felt wonderful. To demonstrate to him this heat that I felt, I put my hands next to his face. Radiant heat was intense through my whole body, but especially emanating from my hands.
Brother smiled and said, "You're one of those pilgrims, aren't you?" "Yes," I said, "I am one of those pilgrims. I was here last month and I felt a call to come back this month." I reached into the little handbag that I had and pulled out a copy of the holy picture we had received last month, the picture of the Holy Spirit over our Mary. Brother immediately recognized the Holy Ghost and was happy for my family and me. The Abbot was in the book store at that time. Brother suggested that I show him the picture. Holding the picture in my hand I presented it to the Abbott. He looked at the picture and he asked me, "What is this supposed to be?" With that, I responded, "Who am I to tell you what your eyes behold?" The Abbott then accepted the picture and asked if he could have a copy. I gave him a copy of the picture and went off to Holy Hill and the apparition site. I had no idea of the great grace that awaited me.
I had not returned to Conyers expecting or asking for any more gifts. I had come back with a simple heart to say "thank you." I had known from that moment on the thirteenth of October that we were never alone. As it turned out, there was a larger crowd which contained many handicapped people. A request was made for a big strong man to help carry some of the sick into the apparition room so they could be there during the Rosary in that special presence with Our Loving Mother. It was as if they were talking directly to me - just to me. With no hesitation, I stepped up as a volunteer for this assignment. Working with the other men, we carried and assisted the sick into the apparition room. Working like this for about forty five minutes, I was attracted to a man by the name of Salvador. He was a very sick man, a man who was battling against cancer. He was emaciated and weak from the disease. Salvador and I would become very close over the next few years. I would see him on all of his return trips. This was Salvador's first pilgrimage and he was the instrument that the Blessed Mother used to grant me the great grace of being in the room with her during the apparition. As it turned out, I was positioning Salvador and helping him get comfortable in his seat. As I was preparing to leave the apparition room, Nancy spoke and said, "The Blessed Mother is here."
When I heard Nancy begin the Rosary, I was in the far corner of the room and wheelchairs had been placed behind me. There was no direct route out of the room, which meant I would have had to walk to the front of the room and disturb everyone's prayer in order to leave. Seeing that there was enough room to kneel next to my friend's wheelchair, I knelt down to pray with Mother. I could not restrain the tears. They welled up, and I cried openly. Mother had cornered me, and permitted me to be with her like this. Only a month before, I had told my wife and family how wonderful it would be if I could be within twenty-five feet of the house. Now here I was in the room with Our Loving Mother.
Throughout that Rosary, but especially at the end, when Nancy said Mother was leaving, I saw hundreds of white lights in the room. When Mother left, I actually heard a swishing sound as the lights darted out of the windows, through the walls, and up through the roof. The angels would come and they would go. Some would linger on. This was the pattern for the next sixteen months. I would be granted the grace to be in the room every pilgrimage until the thirteenth of May 1993, when I was asked to make room for others. Since then I've come to understand that the apperation room has no walls and that the Blessed Mother sees and is with everyone there, no matter where they are.
The pattern now was well set. Each month I would begin to hunger for the next pilgrimage. Sometimes I would find myself driving home alone, praying the Rosary and already hungry and anticipating the next month, wondering what God, in His great mercy and plan for me, would do. December's pilgrimage was no disappointment. The thirteenth of December was the feast day of St. Lucy, patron of those afflicted with disorders of the eye. I would see a young boy healed of a serious eye disorder and many other healings.
However, what stands out in my mind most from that pilgrimage was the delightful pilgrims from Miami. They have such zealous faith in their God and a great love for Our Loving Mother. Their unrestrained demonstration of these beliefs is so refreshing and encouraging.
Most of them were Cuban-Americans. They didn't speak English. After the apparition and Rosary, Nancy stepped out onto the porch to speak to the crowd. There were our Cuban brothers and sisters, who I can't help but love so much. Their excitement and love of Jesus and Mother is so great that it is contagious. There they were, several bus loads of them, congregated in front of Nancy, pointing and waving their hands and yelling something that neither Nancy nor I understood. Nancy asked for an interpreter to translate what our jubilant brothers and sisters were saying. The translation came loud and clear. Lights! Lights! Lights in the apparition room. Standing in the doorway, I turned and looked over my right shoulder. As I did, I could see an array of colorful lights filling the room. In front of me, within arms length, was a globe of golden radiance, a richness of gold that I could only compare with gold on fire, molten gold. I knelt down in this holy presence and said, "Thank you, Jesus. Thank you Mother." It was a rainy day. I have to search my mind to recall the wet grass and the big puddles of water along the path. That was such an incidental character of the entire day. The presence of Our Loving Mother and her holy angels and saints overshadowed the dimness of the natural order, and again another pilgrimage passed.
Christmas of 1991 was so special. My entire family, but especially Joanne and I, had such a profound sense of the great heavenly gift of Christmas. With childlike spirits, we looked forward to Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, not in a secular sense, but in a spiritual sense. To love the baby Jesus. What words can I use to describe the hunger for baby Jesus that was filling every part of my body. Infant Jesus, newly born in the manger. How I long to touch Him; to kiss His sweet feet, His fingertips, His warm little belly! He was alive. For the first time in my whole life, I knew and loved gentle baby Jesus. Close your eyes and remember your own child or little baby brother. Remember them in that time of great innocence, purity, trust, and dependence on you, and remember that the God of gods, Light of lights, willed to be among us in such a tender, gentle, loving way. Christmas for us was never to be the same. Love for us was never to be the same. We were never to be the same. Thank God.
6
January was cold, but our spirits were warm as my new, dear friend in Christ, Brother Depores, a brother of the Maryknoll order, who had spent the previous 27 years in Korea as a missionary, had joined me on the first of his many pilgrimages to Conyers. We prayed going and coming. When we weren't praying, we were singing hymns. From time to time, I would ask Brother about his life as a missionary. It was a wonderful pilgrimage, enriched by his prayer and thoughtfulness. I had told Brother about seeing the angels and many of the other gifts. He is always open in a prudent way. Brother has a real heart for Mother and the Holy Spirit. Hea was a gift to me in the Holy Spirit, especially during this time of my spiritual growth. He was one of the first brothers or priests in Korea to evangelize about prayer in the spirit and the charismatic movement. He had been on fire with the Holy Ghost for decades before me, and now he was my friend, praying and traveling with me, always ready to help a soul find his way closer to God.
I told Brother about the incident that took place on October 14, 1991 on Holy Hill. As it had happened back then, a woman approached me while I was in prayer with my family and wanted to know if I was the man who had seen the angels during the apparition, and whose rosary had turned gold. You see, she exclaimed, "My daughter's rosary has a little gold on it. I saw yours, and wanted my daughter to see it." I told her, "Yes, I'm that fellow and introduced her to my family." With that, she called her daughter, Theresa, and some other pilgrims. They all drew around to look at my rosary that manifested this miraculous change. Theresa brought her rosary out and asked me to look at them and tell her what I thought. Sure enough, there were little specks of gold on some of the links. They were all so excited and pleased to think that they had received that gift. All of a sudden Theresa's mother placed Theresa's rosary in my hand and asked me to say a little prayer with the rosary. I complied and prayed, "Dearest Mother Mary, we love you very much. We are so very little, help us to love you more." With the invocation of Mother's help, witnessed by Theresa, her mother, and others in attendance, her rosary changed to a solid gold color right before our eyes.
As they changed, I witnessed in my hand what I estimated to be seven little gold "angel lights" about the size of a one carat diamond. Prettier than any one- carat gold diamond that I've ever seen, they were flying through my hands and around Theresa's rosary. I'm not sure if it was Theresa's mother or a friend in attendance, but she had a detached retina and was declared legally blind. Anyway she surprised us when she declared , "What are those gold lights shooting in and out of his hand?" This is the grace that I would experience and others would witness many times.
Here we were, Brother and I, three months later - almost to the hour - on Holy Hill, when here comes Theresa calling out to me. "Jack Smith, is that you!" She wanted to tell me that her rosary was no longer gold. It had turned back to the silver that it originally was. Before another word could be spoken, I said, "Are you praying the Rosary every day?" Our sister said no. She had been working so much overtime, no time for the Rosary. How sad we all were at that moment. Please pray the Rosary.
7
This period of time - November/December of 1991 and January of 1992 - was a special time for me. It was a time for me to accept my limited ability to do anything. I had to learn to accept the unlimited ability of our God to do everything. During this time, I spent many hours before the Blessed Sacrament praying the Rosary and meditating on Jesus' passion. One of the special fruits of this meditation was a great hunger to honor Jesus' true presence in the Holy Eucharist. I would try feebly to do this in each Hail Mary. After declaring "fruit of thy womb, Jesus," I would add, "in the Blessed Sacrament." This prayer form would be part of my private Rosary prayer until June 13, 1993 when, for the first time, Our Loving Mother appeared to me as Our Lady of Akita.
At that time, I received, by infusion I believe, the Eucharistic phrase of adoration that is found in the Eucharistic Prayer of Akita. I will go into greater detail later. Another gift was the little prayer, "Mary, Mother of God and my Mother, with your holy angels and saints, pray with me and pray for me." You see, this prayer was so important because at that time many people around me were questioning and wondering why I wasn't going about my business and tending to what they believed to be the most important things. Some people said, "Who do you think you are anyway, praying so much. Do you really think your prayers are so very important?" I didn't know. I really didn't have an answer for them. All I knew was there was a real hunger for prayer burning deep inside of me. I couldn't seem to put that fire out. There were times when very feasible and profitable business opportunities would present themselves but I would say, "Not today." One more day with Jesus, one more day in prayer. Under this pressure, I went before the Blessed Sacrament in prayer declaring the worthlessness of myself and my prayer. I confessed that probably my friends and family were right. Just one question Lord, "Why is it that I can never seem to pray enough and why Lord, does my prayer always seem incomplete?" It was in this state of prayer that I heard myself praying this short prayer pleading with Our Loving Mother and her holy angels and saints to pray with me and to pray for me. How sanctifying it was! The moment that I heard that beautiful little prayer, I knew that Our Loving Mother and her holy angels and saints were truly praying with me and for me. You too must know that when you ask our gracious Queen and Mother, she will never say no. She will say yes. Trust her. Ask her, and then in faith, pray. She will always lead you to Jesus.
During these hours of meditations I found myself dwelling on the Passion of our Lord. Always my heart and my eyes were on the Cross, on Jesus, and on His true presence in the most Blessed Sacrament. Filled with this inspiration, I was unable to think of the Joyful and Glorious mysteries, but only of Jesus and His Passion. I loved him in the Joyful mysteries, and praised him in the Glorious, but my heart was in the Passion so much so that I modified my 15 decade Rosary to follow the Stations of The Cross.
My days were centered around the Eucharist and these hours in the Passion. Jesus came to me frequently, vividly, as if I was actually there. On one occasion, Our Lord Jesus was before me and I was there in the crowd in the narrow street. They were jeering Jesus and spitting on Him. He went by me. I never spoke, but wept bitterly. I saw him and He passed by me, still not uttering a word. I moaned, "Jesus, I'm sorry. I wish I could carry your cross. I wish it was me, not you. I deserve it. Not you!" I could see the blood dripping from His body and hear the heaviness of His breath. "Oh Jesus, Oh Jesus!" He heard me and He turned and looked at me with so much love and spoke words of consolation. "It is all right Jack, I forgive you. I must carry this cross. It is too heavy for you. You would drop it." My Jesus, my Jesus, oh how I love you. Oh how I wish to love you more, as you love me. You call me from the Eucharist now, Jesus. Your true presence is amongst us. Jesus open our eyes, draw us all to you in your love. You are the true lover and I long to abandon myself to you alone. I am so small. I cannot do this by myself.
I prayed, let me then love you please, as does Our Loving Mother, deep in her Immaculate Heart. She who bore You and whose own warm mother's milk nourished You. Let me pray in her, with her, through her, and for the honor, glory and triumph of her Immaculate Heart and the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus. My God, how can You love me as You do? Thank you Jesus, thank you Mother! Unimaginable is the suffering of our Lord Jesus. I was granted at this time the gift to grow in sensitivity to His real suffering in Body and Heart. The unbearable suffering of Our Loving Mother. The sword that pierced her heart, I had tasted!
For in His infinite greatness beyond imagination and in the course of events, my own son, Bobby, had died in my arms.
8
It was the summer of 1976. I was 33 years old. Robert Michael Smith was the light of my life. His mother loved him and his faithful brother Shannon nurtured him with loving companionship in play. His sister Joanne Marie and his brother Johnny would gladly change his diapers and tend to his every need. When I would come home the children would run from the front of the house to the back door to greet me. All racing their best to be the first one to Dad for a hug and a kiss. I always loved coming home to those children. I loved all of them and they all gave me joy. Bobby was special, not just to me, but to all of us. His big brown eyes, the richness of his red hair, his unusual intelligence and strength of body made me proud. People would say, "He's a chip off the old block," and my wife and I would fill up with glee. I'd buy little Notre Dame outfits for Shannon and Bobby. What a joy!
One day, that joy turned to sorrow. It was a Sunday afternoon. We were at my mother's home for Sunday dinner. It was mid-afternoon. It had been a special day with special memories that will always be cherished deep within my heart. I would never again hear Bobby say, "I Daddy's boy! I Daddy's boy!" He knew everybody loved him and in return he loved everybody. The bond of love that welded our two hearts together was special, and Bobby knew it. He would tell everybody, "I Daddy's boy!" God in his love and mercy had granted our family 28 months of joy with Bobby. I was thirty three years old that year and had never known this type of grief, unique to a father and a son.
My best friend George Swartwood died when I was 11 years old as a result of an epileptic seizure induced from too much exercise. Alone at home, George had died in his bedroom. I mourned Georgie for years after his death. Also, death had claimed my grandparents. It was hard, but I could accept their time had come. Sarah, the little premature baby girl that we had lost four years before was heavy on my heart. Through God's mercy, we never had a chance to know Sarah, but Bobby we knew. Everybody knew him. People I'd never seen before, would walk up to me whereever I was with Bobby and Shannon and tell me how blessed I was to have two such handsome sons. A father has a plan for his sons whether the son likes it or not, it's the fathers nature to have a plan for all his sons. So in my little way I had had a plan for my sons. That plan was not to be. Now I pray that I conform, that we all conform, to our eternal Father's plan for us, that we all may have eternal life. Our Heavenly Father has a plan for each and every one of us.
I was the one that was to discover Bobby's lifeless body floating in the deep end of the pool. His face in the water. Amazingly the doctors said there was no water in his lungs. I know now that the angels were there with Bobby, and comforted his little soul and spoke to him. They said, "Bobby, fear not. We have come to take you to our Father, who is in Heaven. He is Father of all fathers, great and loving. Some day we will bring your father too. To be with you and our Father who is in Heaven where we will all have joy."
They were dark days that would follow Bobby's death. I could not accept his loss and became mad. I said to Jesus, "Twice I searched you out in the seminary to be your priest, but that was not to be. I thought you were my friend. I really believed. What kind of a friend are you? Who would give a friend such a gift and then take it back? Now I don't know. Maybe you're not!. Maybe you're not." I still had hope that Jesus was my friend, but I felt more dependent on myself and said, "Whatever it takes now, I'll take care of it myself." They were dark years and I really believe that if it wasn't for all the intercessory prayers of the women in my life I would still be in darkness.
Over the years, I have met women whom I had never even known, and they would tell me how their heart went out to me because of my son's death and how they prayed for me and for my family. To all those holy people who in their love and generosity cooperated with the Holy Spirit and prayed for us, I want them to know now that they are always in my prayers. Thank you.
So you see, I ponder over a father whose love for his adopted children would be so great that he would sacrifice his only begotten son. A son so great, a son so wonderful as our own Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
Bobby is in Heaven. I know that. During these particular months and for some time afterwards I would experience the presence of two radiant lights usually in my bedroom with me during prayer. I would see them. There were no words spoken, I knew Bobby and Sarah were with me. We are a family. Can you imagine a father who would make such a sacrifice? This period of time brought my life into balance. I was now able to accept God's divine will and to pray for God's Divine will. You see, all my adult life, I'd always have a clause, the Jack clause. "Lord, I want to do your will, but right now I need to do this." Often those things I needed to do were in themselves of no value, but were only to satisfy my own ego. Surrendering my will to comply with God's will was always the obstacle. That was the first layer of crust to be cleaned away from that earthen vessel that everyone knew as Jack. Through the powerful intercession of Our Loving Mother, the process was well underway with still a long haul ahead. A process that continues to our death.
I mentioned all the holy women who had reached out in prayer for me and my family. They were wonderful, but they were not alone. Some priest friends of mine were remembering us in their daily Mass also. Many holy men were praying for us. The women always endeared themselves to me in a special way when they would reveal their prayerful intentions. I had never really known the Holy Ghost or for that matter our Eternal Father. My prayer life had been Jesus and Mary. Sometimes including the angels and saints. Not much more than a daily prayer to my guardian angel and an occasional thought about the saints. I had heard about the Charismatic Renewal movement, but did not have a good taste for it. That was because I didn't understand. Not that anyone really understands the movement of the Spirit, but I was really limited. More limited than you can imagine. Inspired by my sister Karen to have a greater communion with the Holy Trinity, through the Holy Ghost, I began to attend a Charismatic Prayer Group that Karen belonged to. This group met on Sunday evenings. I felt something was missing in this prayer meeting. I couldn't put my finger on it, and, being new in the group, I didn't want to assert myself. So somewhat timidly, and definitely very humbly, I approached the leader of the prayer group one evening before we started prayer. I asked, "Why don't we try praying the Rosary before the meeting? Maybe Our Blessed Mother will help us prepare to receive the Holy Ghost." As I said, I'd only been to few meetings before this, but I was sure something was missing. There were many people who claimed to pray in tongues and claimed that the Holy Spirit was with them. I don't know ... I just didn't feel right about everything. I wanted to feel right. Something was missing. In my own innocent way I thought maybe the Rosary would help. Anyway, I was told, "We don't pray the Rosary. We don't ever talk about Mary." I was so shocked! I stayed for prayers that night but I never returned.
I found out later that the prayer group in question did not stay together much longer. Looking back, I know why. How could they? The Spirit and the Bride say, "Come." It is the Spirit and the Bride and the Divine Will that call us. The Spirit is never separated from His own true Spouse. She will never be found without the Spirit's company.
The Spirit of God was blowing gently but with power. I was like a big old boat laying in the calm waters with sails furled. The Spirit was filling those sails, and I was beginning to make headway. I was letting go and returning to my old ways - ways of my childhood - ways that were almost foreign to me at this time of my life. It was more the spirit of hope than the spirit of faith that was moving me, but I was being moved. I was praying that hope would not be extinguished in my life, and that my hope would grow into faith. I hungered for real faith. Once again the women in my life would serve as God's instruments of love to bring me home.
It was a Friday afternoon, and I was returning from Philadelphia where I had been all week on business. It was early in Lent and I was to meet my family and take them out to dinner.
My mother, wife, my sister Karen, and the children were all comfortably seated in our new Mercedes Benz. We were on our way to a local restaurant specializing in seafood. It was a Friday afternoon in Lent. Yes, like all good Catholics, my family was fasting from meat. That's right, no meat on this Friday, it's Lent. We're going to abstain from meat. We're going in for lobster tail and maybe some clam chowder. Oh yes, also some of those delicious chilled jumbo shrimp. What a laugh - we were really sacrificing, I thought. In reality, the ladies had contrived the trip to the restaurant. I'm sure because they knew I liked these things too. The restaurant that we were headed for was located around the corner from St. Hedwig's Catholic Church in Edwardsville, Pennsylvania. It was just across the bridge from our town. On that Friday afternoon, Brother Panke, a member of the Redemptorist Fathers stationed in Philadelphia, was to be at St. Hedwig's for a healing service. At that time, I had no knowledge of Brother Panke. It was the idea of my family to go there. I'm sure if I had known, I would have told them to take the car and meet me at the restaurant. I don't believe I would have ever consented to attend his prayer service.
It must have been the works of the Holy Spirit that led me into that church. I sure witnessed the Holy Spirit manifesting His presence among us through the intercessory prayer of Brother Panke. Miracles were taking place right before my eyes. There was a man that I had seen over the years who walked with a funny gait. His one leg was shorter than his other.. Brother prayed with him, and kept him at the side of the altar for some time after the prayer. My own eyes saw that man leave the altar and walk back to his pew as normally and as comfortably as I would have myself. I knew something was working that day.
When Brother Panke came down the main aisle and stopped a short distance from me, he spoke of a man with a pain in his lower back and a pain in his heart. He said it was time for that man to come up and receive the Holy Ghost. Brother Panke was a small man in physical stature. He had no special outward traits that would be an indication of the giant spirit that dwelled in his small frame. Everyone who had approached him that evening was slain in the spirit. This was a new experience for me. One after the other I would see people fall to the floor, slain in the Holy Ghost. Convinced that I should go up for prayer, I got up from my seat. I knew that Brother was speaking to me. I was not going to fall down on the floor as I had seen so many others do. Little did I know! Brother never laid a hand on me. He greeted me with outstretched arms. I never heard a prayer or a word spoken. The force of a warm wind laid me out on the hard marble floor. I have no memory of landing on the floor. There were no catchers, it happened real fast. It was as if a warm envelope of air was over me, and I was tucked neatly inside of it. God's love could no longer be denied. It was an awesome experience, and I can still picture myself there.
They tell me that I was slain in the spirit for some time. When I got up, my back no longer hurt! We left after that and went for our dinner. How appropriate! Even if it was Lent. In some ways, it was a feast day. The Prodigal Son had come home.
9
Even now the darkness was not about to let go its claim on me. The battle went on. After a few days I questioned what actually happened and determined that maybe it would be best if I stayed to myself and kept to the course I was on. After all, I was doing very well in business and everything seemed to be going my way. When it came down to brass tacks, couldn't I take care of everything anyway.? I believed in myself. Fear wasn't a characteristic that could be associated with me. That would change. First I had to come to know my dependence on God was a real one, just like it is for all creation. A few months after this wonderful encounter with the Holy Ghost, Jesus permitted the Evil One to assault me in body and spirit.
It was in the summer about four in the morning when this assault started. Joanne and I were asleep in our bedroom with the windows open. I heard a voice call me and looked toward the window. There outside the window was the shadowy silhouette of a good friend of mine, a man who I trusted and was my confidant. It was his voice and he was speaking to me. "I need to talk to you," the voice said. I responded, called him by name, and said, "Come on in." A split second later he was in my room, at the foot of my bed looking at me. I could not see any features, only his silhouette. No words were spoken, but a sense of uneasiness swept through my body, and I sat up, looked at him, and hollered, "You're not my buddy!" With that, he was all over me. I saw him actually come over me. He pinned my body on the bed. I could not move. I could not breathe. With a great force he jammed my jaw closed and twisted it to the left - turning and pinning my head. I was being suffocated. At the same time, a weight increasingly heavier was over my whole body. So much so that I thought that in a few moments I would splinter into a million pieces. I knew then who was with me and I knew my only resource. I could not open my mouth to call out the name of Jesus. I was given the grace to be able to hum the name Jesus, so I hummed "Jesus" as loud as I could. The power of His name cannot be disguised or diluted. Heaven and earth will all pass away and His name will remain. With that, the enemy was vanquished and my first of many encounters like this had passed.
I knew then that I could not delay. God had permitted me to see how easily the enemy could defeat me if I stayed by myself. He showed me how strong I could be by just calling His name. I really did try to change my life. My lifestyle was so much against change. Money, popularity, power, and all the trappings that go with these things called me away from Jesus. Then, one Saturday morning after a late Friday night out with the boys, I looked in the mirror, and saw myself. I knew then that I needed to do something dramatic. The influence of my friends and my present lifestyle there in my hometown was too much for me to deal with. So I determined I would break away. I would sell the house and take my family to Florida for a fresh start.
I went to Joanne and said, "Honey, we gotta get out of here. I'm dead if I stay here. Let's move to Naples, Florida and get a fresh start. I'm going to quit smoking and drinking." Then Joanne replied, "Oh honey, I'll go anywhere with you. I'll do anything that you want me to. Just give me a chance. You've talked about quitting drinking before, but you know you never have. Give me just a little time to see how you are doing." "OK," I said, "but you'll see, I'm selling this place and we're going!" Within seven weeks of that morning, our house and everything else we wanted to sell were gone and we were living in Naples, Florida. I was never to drink again, nor smoke another cigarette. Oh, I would have a drink at a wedding or a cigar to celebrate with a friend, but I was never to drink, or smoke, or hunger for expensive restaurants again.
I would begin anew by the gift of grace to have an increase in hunger for those things that lead us to eternal life. We stayed in Florida for several years until Divine Will was to lead us back to our hometown of Wilkes-Barre. Coming home, I told Joanne, "I'm going to take a year off." I didn't realize I was playing right into God's plan. All that talk about travel and then the politics was just to slow me down in getting to Conyers. None of that was to be. You see how our state of life changes. We think we are doing something. In reality, though, God is drawing His straight line for our salvation. My state of life had changed. I was out of business with no commitments, planning a year for myself. Then in the middle of a mayoral campaign, my littleness, my weakness, my vulnerability was once again revealed. Johnny was arrested and charged with murder. God's plan for my salvation and that of my family was well at work. This would be the event that would lead me to Our Blessed Mother in Conyers. These dramatic events were forging my conversion. In retrospect, it was almost as if I could do nothing but follow the spirit. Grace was pouring out upon me in such great abundance, what else could I do?
10
January 15, 1992. It was a bitter cold night. The temperature had gone down below zero. At least it felt like that in my bedroom. I woke up to Joanne's call. "The pipes are frozen! The pipes are frozen!" Nothing was working in this house. Everything was frozen. What a way to wake up - cold, with Joanne nearly hysterical over a few frozen pipes. Relax, I said. "Do you hear any water running?" "No," she said, "there's no water running anywhere." "Good! That means we don't have any busted pipes in the house. I'll open all the water valves in the house. The lines will open up. The sun is already shining. It'll be all right." Joanne insisted that I'd better go down in the cellar and find that pipe. So down to the cellar I went with a little light and a hair dryer. Still not fully awake and by now not in the best of moods, I found the culprit. The frozen pipe was underneath the bathroom. I had about five feet of headroom to put my six foot three inch body into. You can tell I just wouldn't fit too well underneath that bathroom. Sure enough, while working on the pipe, I banged the crown of my head on a floor joist. Wiping off some blood I felt a little lump. It wasn't anything of any great magnitude.
Monday would be a busy day. The process of selecting a jury for Johnny's murder trial had begun in November but was called off due to the upcoming holidays of Thanksgiving and Christmas. The judge believed it would be a long process to select a jury, so he postponed that procedure until after those holidays. The judge was right. It was a long process, but by now, the middle of January, this process was coming to an end. As soon as jury selection was finished the judge would begin the trial. I felt Johnny would get a fair trial from this judge, but I knew the prosecution was going to pull out everything they could, no matter what. I would be tempted to make a call or maybe see a friend to help out, but I decided I would do nothing but pray, trust, and wait on God. Monday morning arrived and I told Joanne, "I just don't feel so good. I don't know why. Maybe it's that bump." I felt weak and tired. I asked her to go to the jury selection and I decided to stay home. By Friday that week, I was very sick. Each day, I got progressively weaker. By Friday night, I was laying on the couch in our living room which had now become our prayer room. This would last for the next three weeks. Each week would follow the same pattern. By Friday night I would be so weak and experience such nausea that even to move my head would cause me to feel sicker.
It would be Friday night during the Rosary that some very special experiences would take place. That first Friday my guardian angel would come to me. He was fluorescent white. Glowing, he would beckon me to come with him. I, clutching my rosary, would go. That first Friday, we visited a slope that overlooked a great abyss. I looked down into the abyss with my guardian angel standing there next to me. I saw the lost souls. Too many too count. It was as if they were in a cauldron of boiling tar. The demons were all around them and tormenting them. It would appear that they would rise up to the top like boiling bubbles and then be pulled back by the demons within. As soon as my guardian angel left me, the same type of weight that I felt at the hands of the enemy that summer night came on me. It drove me to the ground. I could feel my body sliding as a piece of butter slides across a hot skillet. I was helpless to stop myself. There I was, slowly but surely sliding down the slope into that pit.
There in front of me, coming out of the pit was the enemy. I thought, could this be? I'm sliding into that pit. Here is the enemy coming for me. The weight was crushing and I felt real pain with it. I could not move my head. A sense of despair had come over me - great despair! It was the despair of the lost souls. It was this despair that was causing the pain and in a real sense it felt like every particle of my body was really being destroyed. Oh! Those poor lost souls. They die over and over and over. This great suffering of the souls is final. You see they too have seen the just Judge before they were cast aside. They hunger for Him for all eternity while at the same time they are still rejecting Him. By grace, I was permitted to think of Jesus. If only I could call His name, I would be saved. As I thought this, I was given the strength to turn my head and look up the slope away from the pit and cry out the name of Jesus - "Jesus!" With that, Jesus appeared and was coming towards me with His arms stretched out. He was dressed in the white robes of the high priest, Divine Mercy Jesus. Fluorescent white, he was there with me and then a bolt of light, real light, really present, not in a vision, came through the roof of my room. It looked like an arrowhead. It formed a great white fluorescent fan that swept through the room.
Sleep would then come and I would rest. By Sunday, I would be going to Mass with my family and functioning very normally. Then the pattern would repeat. Monday I just wouldn't feel up to going out. Maybe I'd better take another day of rest. By Friday evening, it would be on me again. Deep, intimate, loving Jesus would reveal to me His way of love. This experience would happen for three weeks, until finally the jury selection was complete. I had planned to spend every day in the courtroom during this important process, but it is now obvious that Jesus had a different plan. I had literally been held in the Spirit. There could be nothing said about me influencing or being involved in the jury choosing process. Jesus was teaching me, "Be still and trust."
By the early part of March, I was feeling better, but still not well enough to carry on my normal schedule. Joanne, my mother, and others were concerned that the little bump on my head had caused internal hemorrhaging - that, in fact, this whole condition might be the result of some type of pressure on my brain caused by internal bleeding. By now, I knew it was God's way of moving me aside so that His Spirit would triumph and there would be no doubt as to whom the glory belonged. Reluctantly, I made a doctor's appointment and it was determined that a CAT scan would have to be done if I were to have a clean bill of health. I consented to the CAT scan and waited for the results. They came quickly and personally. The examining physician called me himself to tell me the good news. Everything looked fine. In fact, he wanted to know if there was anything special about my diet. He said my brain cells were unusually active and healthy for a man of my age. In spite of my numerous amateur boxing matches, and other contests, he could find no trace of scar tissue or damage usually associated with that type of activity. Everyone was glad to hear that I had been given a clean bill of health by the doctors and that the CAT scan was negative. Only Joanne and Brother Depores had understood the reason why I had been sick for so long. Every one else was still questioning, but that was OK, I didn't expect them to understand.
A condition of weakness stayed with me until the very last day of Johnny's trial. Although I was no longer confined to the bed, I was still to weak to carry on any regular routine. So I was unable to make my pilgrimage for the month of February.
This condition of weakness prevented me from spending much time in the in the courthouse during the actual trial. I was limited to an hour or two from day to day. I didn't want Johnny to think that I had abandoned him. I just wasn't able to get there. His mother and some faithful friends and family members kept the vigil. The last week of the trial I was up and about, performing at seventy-five percent of my normal capacity. The Monday morning of that last week I was standing outside the courtroom taking a little break. A friend of mine commented that he hoped the trial would be over by Friday. I asked why Friday. He said, "My God, Jack! Friday will be the thirteenth. You know what Friday the thirteenth means. Black Friday. Bad luck." All excited, I thanked him and said, "Pray brother. Pray that this trial goes to Friday." The Blessed Mother would not bring us all this way and then let us fall on Friday. Filled with this faith and hope, I went into the court room to tell Joanne and her friend, Alice Schneider, the good news. "Honey," I said, "Friday the thirteenth, this Friday - I won't be in Conyers. I'll be here in the courtroom and so will Blessed Mother. Pray for an end on Friday."
From that moment on, the prosecution's case fell apart right before their eyes. A key witness [a man who had a felony arrest record] admitted that a deal was offered to him to give witness against Johnny. The same man in prior testimony had said he could unequivocally identify John Smith. He would know him anywhere. He then proceeded to point at to attorney for the co-defendant in the case. With that, the attorney stood up and was identified positively as being John Smith by their key witness.
So much for their key witness. Their case continued to unfold and weaken from that point on. It was a straw house and it was built on lies. On March thirteenth, Friday afternoon, the jury came in. The whole trial process, jury selection, trial, and jury deliberation lasted a total of 33 days. On the 13 of the month, on that Friday afternoon, Joanne and her friend Alice saw the same gold light that we have seen in Conyers on the Holy Hill fill the whole courtroom. The jury read its verdict. Not guilty of first degree murder. Not guilty of second degree murder. Not guilty of manslaughter. Not guilty of kidnapping. Not guilty of conspiracy to commit murder. My brother Michael, a licensed bail bondsman, happily posted bail and we took Johnny home for the first time in 53 weeks. Fifty-three weeks he spent in prison, and he never wished anything bad to those that had put him in prison or for those that held him. Johnny's no saint, but then neither am I. We just felt badly for everybody. For now, it was over and Johnny came home. The jury was hung on third degree murder charges. Johnny's head attorney assured us that the district attorney's office would never go anywhere, but would only harass us with the third degree murder charge. There was no precedent where the prosecution could use the evidence to form this trial process against Johnny again. No matter how badly they wanted him, the principle of double jeopardy should protect him, at least from these lies.
That night we had a great celebration. We went to a wonderful Italian restaurant. Everyone ate steak and lobster and we had a fine wine to drink. In my heart, I knew it wasn't over. I knew that the prosecution wouldn't be content. They wanted their piece of meat. I didn't speak of this to Johnny or Joanne or anyone else. For now, we would celebrate this victory that we had and give thanks to God for the mercy that everyone had received.
11
Joanne and everyone in our Friday night Rosary prayer group knew without any reservation that the Spirit of the living God had delivered Johnny and brought him home to us safely. I was eager to return to Conyers for the April thirteenth rendezvous with Our Loving Mother. I wanted to go one more time to tell her how much I love her and how grateful we were for the generosity of Her Son. I wanted to give thanks, praise, and glory to Him through her. As it was meant to be, Brother Depores would be my only traveling companion, that is, the only one that I could see with my eyes. Confident that the angels are always present, Brother and I headed to Conyers. We stopped at our usual place that first day. We got to bed late. That day I had discovered a prayer card that contained the Fatima Prayers. In particular, the prayer, Oh most Holy Trinity, I adore Thee profoundly, My God, My God, I love you in the most Blessed Sacrament, struck an extra sweet chord in my heart.
I told Brother, "This prayer is so beautiful I can't believe that I've lived all these years as a Catholic and am just now discovering this prayer for the first time. You see, I'm sure that I've seen or heard this prayer before, but it was only today that I received it in my heart." I told Brother, I'm going to say this prayer all day and all night if my guardian angel will only help me. I want to make up for the days when I didn't say this beautiful prayer." That was the texture of the day and was to be the texture of the coming night. A little conversation with Brother, the Rosary, and this beautiful Trinitarian prayer. That night, before going to sleep, I knelt at my bedside and earnestly prayed the chaplet to St. Michael. I had a fervent desire for my guardian angel to assist me with this prayer throughout the night and a real confidence that he had heard me, and was truly with me. I knew he would, in fact, assist me in this goal. Falling asleep, I could hear myself praying this beautiful prayer.
It was approximately four in the morning when I was called from my sleep. It was as if a television screen had been turned on in front of me, a large screen about eight feet away. It was a screen several feet wide and even taller. There, in the most beautiful colors, I saw myself on my knees with my hands held together looking up into the most beautiful blue sky. I could hear myself pray loudly and clearly, "Oh most Holy Trinity, I adore, Thee profoundly, My God, My God, I love you in the most Blessed Sacrament." When I completed the prayer, the Blessed Mother appeared. Everything else disappeared, just Mother and a magnificent blue sky around her could be seen. She was dressed in a spectacular white gown, with a luminous characteristic that I cannot accurately describe. She said, "I am the Mother of God, and I love you."
With that, the room was in darkness and I was alone again with Brother. I did not want to disturb Brother. I got out of bed and went into the bathroom, and closed the door behind me. I cried profusely. How could this be? How could the Mother of God come to me like this? How could she love me?. Didn't she know how sinful I'd been. After a while, not long, maybe a few minutes, I went to Brother. I woke him to tell him what had happened. He thanked me and said we would talk more about it in the morning. With that we turned off the light and went back to bed.
I laid there in the dark picturing Mother and hearing her speak those words, "I am the Mother of God and I love you." I knew then that she is our Mother too and loves us all. Brother could not sleep. Lying in the dark, he too was thinking. Then he wanted to know more. Now, both of us were up and the lights were on. There would be no returning to sleep this night. We were awake and excited. We agreed we would hit the road and go on our way to Conyers. By five o'clock, we were on the interstate and traveling south again.
Brother was always such a joy and comfort. Here I was being transformed, receiving so many graces, and I had nobody to talk to who had the training, the background, or the heart to understand, and then along comes Brother. I will always cherish him and thank the Holy Ghost for sending him to me. We arrived in Conyers around midday, and got a room in a local motel. We had had only a few hours sleep so we agreed we would take a nap and then head out to Holy Hill and the apparition room. We wanted to be there for the Sunday afternoon Rosary. Maybe we could meet Nancy and hear her talk. As it turned out, we were exhausted and slept through until almost three o'clock that afternoon. Realizing we were running late, we hurried off to the farm house and parked the car. We headed towards the apparition house. Then a woman who neither of us knew approached us. She placed her right hand on my left forearm so as to gain my attention. She said, "Did you hear the message today?" It was the most beautiful message I have ever heard. Blessed Mother said, I am the Mother of God, and I love you. I looked at Brother and we both smiled. The woman turned and walked away from us. Then she turned back and said it again, I am the Mother of God, and I love you. It was the most beautiful message I have ever heard. It was April 12, 1992 - seven months after my first pilgrimage to Conyers. I can honestly say that, not even for a moment, had I ever considered or thought about the idea of seeing Our Blessed Mother or hearing her precious voice. Brother and I kept this moment to ourselves for some time. When we were home, I couldn't wait to see Joanne and some close friends who would understand. I wanted to tell them everything.
The image in which Mother chose to appear to me that day was The Mother of God, identical in appaerance to the image painted by Basil Lynch of Kingston, Pennsylvania. Basil is an artist of special skills with a brush. His painting comes straight from his heart. Our Blessed Mother chose to come to him in this form seven times so that Basil might be able to paint the Holy Icon, Mother of God, so we all may see her this same way. I would see Mother again like this in the future.
Father, I believe
With everything that was happening, winter had gone by practically unnoticed. Spring had already arrived. The crocuses were popping their colorful little heads up around our yard. I was feeling pretty much my old self. Brother Depores, another friend, and I were going just about every Wednesday night to a healing service in nearby Hazelton, Pennsylvania. These services were held in the church of The Precious Blood of Jesus. It was late in 1991 the first time that I attended services at this beautiful Catholic church. This was also to be the church where I met Mary Ellen Lucas, a stigmatist and mystic with many gifts. Mary Ellen lives in the odor of sanctity. A rich fragrance of roses accompanies her wherever she goes. The fragrance of roses would linger on my body for hours after being in her company. On some occasions, I would wake up the next morning with the fragrance of roses still lingering on my hands. It was shortly after my first visit to Conyers that I would meet this very special person. Brother Depores had spoken of her and I really wanted to meet her. When I left the church that first evening I saw Mary Ellen. She was crossing the street headed to the adjacent parking lot. Nobody was with her. I knew this was my opportunity to say hello to someone who was having an extraordinary relationship with Our Blessed Mother. Little did I realize how much of a relationship or how awesome the extent of her relationship was, not only with Our Blessed Mother, but most intimately with Jesus. Long before I met Mary Ellen she had been receiving visits and messages from Jesus. On June thirtieth of 1991, Mary Ellen received this powerful message:
Little One. It is I, Jesus of the Holy Eucharist, the Blessed Sacrament! Behold your God, a victim of impurity, so vulnerable to man in this state. I am abused, mishandled, neglected and ignored. At the command of my priests, I am brought to Earth each day. More than ever, the first hands to touch me are polluted. I am then given freely to people who grab me without so much as a concern for my fragile body. They do not recognize me. They consume me into sin- darkened hearts. I am surrounded by filth! I am dropped. I am taken with the wrong hand. At times there is not even so much as a second glance from the heart which consumes me. My small children laugh and talk in my presence. While my angels are bowed in adoration. My people walk out, unconcerned. Some walk out immediately after they have consumed me. Unattended, unescorted, I am dropped, sometimes accidentally, sometimes out of carelessness and haste. I am the Bread of Life, yet I am thought of and regarded as everyday table bread, and little effort is given on my behalf. There is no respect for the Holiest of the Holy. I am scraped quickly and carelessly into the chalice, leaving particles behind: particles that no matter how tiny are still your Jesus, whole and complete. I am quickly locked away to bring a close to my Holy Mass so all attending can leave and get on with their day. In the solitude of my tabernacle, I await visitors.
Oh, My little one, it is for these reasons I come to you this way. Look at me. Look at your beloved. I am the I Am, and I am reduced to a burden. My priests and my people must be reeducated. You have loved me, cried for me, consoled me, and adored me. Now, I am placing myself in your care. I am putting my trust in you knowing your love for Me. Fear no one or anything. Do not get discouraged. I am with you always. I am blessing you...
I knew she was special. How could I have ever imagined how special? I had never experienced the gift of roses as I did with Mary Ellen, except in Conyers. As I introduced myself to Mary Ellen I felt like a kid, so happy. She is so tiny next to me,. She is spiritually, a humble giant. She looked like a little doll. I put my arms around her, like a long lost friend, and gave her a big hug. She laughed. With a big smile she said, "You've been with The Blessed Mother!" "Yes," I explained, "I just returned from a pilgrimage to Conyers, Georgia." Then I blurted out, "Mary Ellen, is Mother in Bayside?" Mary Ellen never hesitated. "NO SHE IS NOT!" No more questions were needed. You see, I had many holy friends that were going to Bayside, New York, and they had invited me to go there on several occasions. I would never make a trip to Bayside. There was always something that would come up, and I never made the trip. Now I thank my guardian angel. You see there was always something holding me back from saying "yes" to Bayside. That was not the case with Conyers. In recalling that first moment, I can still remember the look on my sister Karen's face and the words she spoke. When Karen told me that Our Blessed Mother was appearing in Conyers, Georgia and was using the title, "Our Loving Mother" I needed no further encouragement. I knew then that I needed to go to Conyers. I had only needed one invitation to come to Conyers. The words, "Our Loving Mother" set my heart on fire.
From time to time over the next few months I would meet Mary Ellen, usually before Mass, upstairs in the choir loft. We would talk a little, but mostly pray. It was on one of these occasions, in early 1992, while praying with Mary Ellen that she placed her hands over my folded hands while we were praying. She prayed out loud, "Mother, you know how much Jack loves your Son, Jesus. Give him a special job so he does not wander." A short prayer, but from the heart of a chosen soul. It was so powerful. Afterward, I realized her hands were wrapped with gauze bandages. When I asked, Mary Ellen responded with an innocent smile and said quietly, "It's Lent, Jack." Then I realized blood was flowing. It's always the innocent. It was Lent and this humble soul, who suffered real pain, had just invoked Heaven's mercy for a sinner like me. I did not know what to say, except thank you, but then words were unnecessary. That evening turned out to be the last time I would be with Mary Ellen for a period of almost thirty months.
That night while driving home, for the first time I experienced a little sweet taste of her union with Jesus in His Passion. With no warning, my body came alive with sweet little pains. I was still driving the car, so you can see it was mild. It was not severe, but little and sweet. However, it was obvious to me what was going on. First was the pain in my right hand. Next pain in the left hand. Then the top of the right foot. A pain went through to the bottom of my left foot, and lingered for some time. After that, for just a few moments, I had pain in my right side. It all lasted for only a few minutes. It was the beginning, and it was always sweet. Brother Depores counseled me, "Be humble Jack, this is a great gift." I assured brother; "Yes my dear brother, no one knows my unworthiness better than me, except for our dear Savior." I did not say much of this to anyone after that night and went about my days as usual. A series of events was on the horizon, events that I could never imagine - events of such magnitude that they would change the very course of my life. I would go to Conyers and see Our Blessed Mother within ten days of my meeting with Mary Ellen.
Returning home from Conyers a friend of mine, Joseph O'Hara, would say hello. He wanted to talk to me about the issue of abortion. I'd never given much thought to abortion beyond the point of saying it must be a sin. My reasoning was always simple; before abortion is life - after abortion, death. So Joe and I had something in common.
He had no idea of what was going on inside of me. He had no idea that I had just had the grace of being with Mother and hearing her profess her love for me, the love she has for all of her children.
Joe was doing what he did, talking to people, and recruiting people to serve God. This fight against abortion is what he believed to be his role. He invited me to a Pro-Life rally in Buffalo, New York, which began on Easter Monday and was scheduled to run through the whole week.
It was almost as if I had no choice but to say yes to Joe's invitation. Only a few days earlier Mother had said that she loved me. Then the next day she appeared to Nancy Fowler in dark clothes, with a dark tear drop running down her cheek, and told Nancy that she was in mourning for the children that die in abortions. Our Mother loves us. Our Mother weeps over the dying children. What else could I ,her son, do but say yes?
So I agreed, I would join Joseph and others. I would help support the Pro-Life movement in Buffalo. Even before that we had planned to go to Philadelphia for a day of prayer in front of the killing centers. I have come to refer to the abortion centers more and more as killing centers, because that's what they really are!
The real victims of the abortion clinics are not so much the innocent babies that go to heaven. The people committing the abortion, the doctors and the nurses, are the real victims. They're the victims of manipulation. They're the victims of influence by the evil one, we must always pray for them.
My trip to Philadelphia would never materialize. As it turned out, the clinics in the greater Philadelphia area made a decision at the beginning of Holy Week to close all the clinics in the region. Unless you've been exposed to the Pro-Life movement and been in front of an abortion clinic, it would be hard for you to imagine that they would actually be open, that they would have the audacity to assault the integrity of life even on Good Friday. It really is difficult to imagine the killing of the innocent on Good Friday. But, why not? That's the day that the devil had his seeming great triumph, the day that Jesus died.
To protect themselves from the tremendous media exposure they would get from Christians praying outside on a Good Friday, the clinics decided it would be best to close their doors for that day. You see Good Friday is just another pay day in the abortion industry.
I did not receive the message about the clinics closing until Holy Thursday. It was after I had been spending some time in prayer and devotion that I received the phone call telling me that the clinics would be closed. We would not be making the trip.
12
Shortly after receiving the message I had an inner motivation to speak to my wife and my mother. I wanted to tell them that although I would not be going to Philadelphia that Friday, I would be going to Buffalo on Easter Monday. I also told them that I had an inner feeling that I would be in Buffalo for some time, that I would be imprisoned. I can't explain how I knew that, but I knew it. The condition was so strong that I went to Joanne and my mother and told both of these special people in my life what was in my heart.
Joanne was very supportive from the beginning. My mother was also. However, she had an air of cynicism and said to me, "You're imagining things, don't worry about it. You know the mayor of Buffalo is an Irish Catholic, and he is inviting everyone to come. It wouldn't be good hospitality to invite everyone to come, and then arrest them and put them in jail."
In spite of my mother's consolation, I understood that I would be going to Buffalo and that I would be spending time in prison. I didn't understand how this would happen, because I'd never been involved in an abortion protest. I had much to learn. Remember, my intention was just to pray in front of the clinic. I never dreamed that I would actually rescue. I don't think I knew what rescue was or is. I'll tell you this right now, without hesitation, one of the greatest acts of my life is related to those periods of time when I have been arrested and incarcerated for this cause.
So it was in this state of mind that Holy Week came and passed. On Good Friday, I mourned Jesus, I mourned the innocent babies, and I mourned the poor souls who were taking their lives, yet that Easter was especially glorious. That Easter was especially joyous. I had a spiritual sense that something wonderful was waiting. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I understood it. Joanne had prepared a wonderful Easter meal that we enjoyed after Mass. With my family around we had a big candied ham, and for dessert, her homemade lemon meringue pie. I really did eat a hearty meal. I had no idea it would be the last hearty meal for some time.
Easter Monday morning I left Wilkes-Barre with my new friends and began the six hour drive to Buffalo. I must confess that I had some anxiety on that trip, but more and more I was desiring to abandon myself to God's Divine will.
Late that afternoon we arrived at the church hall of St. Maron's Maronite Catholic Church in Buffalo. The church hall was to be the registration center for all the Pro-Life volunteers who would partake in the following week's activities. Volunteers would pass out fliers, carry signs, do rescuing, do some counseling of mothers, and pray, along with the many other activities associated with a week such as this. All these people were asked to come along and be registered at this center. The cafeteria was open, and a lovely meal was being served. Literally hundreds of people were in the hall milling around, talking, renewing old friendships, and of course having their evening meal. I would come to better understand the evening meal.
You see, rescuers are those men and women who go in front of the abortion clinic doors and pray. They will eat their evening meal and may not get another one for over 24 hours. A rescuer, on the day of a rescue, will not eat or take any fluids when they awake. Mostly they will pray and carry on the fast all day. There are two reasons for this. One is a very practical reason, once arrested and in handcuffs, more likely than not it would be hours before they would be permitted to use a rest room. The other reason is, of course, a spiritual one, the great power that is drawn from fasting gives strength to the rescuer. Our Protestant brothers and sisters openly commented on the strength of the Catholic rescuers who fasted and prayed the Rosary.
Fasting was never an attribute to be associated with me. Even as a young man in high school and college I could not, nor wanted to, fast. I wouldn't even diet to make the required weight for my wrestling team. Up to this point in my life, nothing had ever motivated me to fast. In time, the Holy Ghost would change that. That first day in Buffalo, in front of the abortion clinics, marching around and praying, we were drenched with a heavy spring rain. Filled with the love of God, everyone endured the day. We were back to the hall for another evening meal. This would be the evening before my first rescue. I had not planned on rescuing, but the Holy Ghost had all the conditions laid out for me.
The next morning, at approximately five o'clock, I was awakened from a deep sleep. I sat up in my bed and before me, in golden hues, was our Jesus. It was Jesus in the Holy Sepulchre, lying on his back, with radiant rays of gold streaming off His body. I said, "My God, my God, what do my eyes behold." With that His right arm lifted off His chest, exposing the wound in His right side, and the wound on His right hand where the hand and the forearm formed the wrist. I needed to ask no more questions, not even why.
By six o'clock, while still dark outside, I was on a school bus with a group of volunteers. I was sitting next to my friend Joe O'Hara. It was still dark and no one could see my face clearly. I was helpless and could not restrain the tears. My friend, Joe, was sitting to my right. Bending over to tie his shoe laces, he placed a wooden crucifix in my hand and said, "Would you mind holding this while I tie my shoes?" I clutched the cross and pressed Jesus' sweet body to my lips. Joe was not to get that cross back for several months and this would be the day that I would be taking one step closer to God's holy will.
You see, that afternoon while I was witnessing in front of an abortion clinic, a voice cried out from across the street. "We need more volunteers, they're taking us away so fast. If you're coming over, come over on your hands and knees, crawl. If you walk, they'll just pick you right up and take you away." I could not restrain the tears, and wept openly and bitterly. These tears were not for myself, not even for the babies and their mothers, but for the abortion doctors and those standing across the street. I knew they didn't know Jesus, and probably didn't want to know Jesus. These poor souls had locked Jesus out and were closing their hearts to Him. I crawled across that street and joined my brothers and sisters sitting on the sidewalk. So many responded to that call that the police could not keep up with us. It would be several hours before I would be taken away, and the clinic would be stifled for a day. What a small price we paid to save a little baby that day!
You see, that afternoon while witnessing in front of an abortion clinic, a voice cried out from across the street, "We need more volunteers, they're taking us away so fast. If you're coming over, come over on your hands and knees, crawl. If you walk, they'll just pick you right up and take you away." I could not restrain the tears, and wept openly and bitterly. These tears were not for myself, not even for the babies and their mothers, but for the abortion doctors and those standing across the street. I knew they didn't know Jesus, and probably didn't want to know Jesus. These poor souls had locked Jesus out and were closing their hearts to Him. I crawled across that street and joined my brothers and sisters sitting on the sidewalk. So many responded to that call that the police could not keep up with us. It would be several hours before I would be taken away, and the clinic would be stifled for a day. What a small price we paid to save a little baby that day!
You see, whenever we go to the abortion clinic, babies are saved. I heard of a lady who confessed that she was well advanced with her pregnancy, and shewas intent on abortion. Sitting in the waiting room for the doctor, she could hear the Rosary being prayed outside. She said the more she heard the Rosary, the more the walls melted away, and all of a sudden she felt like she was in hell. She got up and left the clinic, never to return. So take your rosary, crucifix, and an image of Our Lady of Guadalupe, and go to the abortion clinic. Call others and go. Jesus said to Sister Faustina, "There are three ways to give Mercy; prayer, words, and actions." Pray for those involved in abortions. Give them sweet words of comfort and conversion, and let your actions manifest themselves in your prayerful attendance outside the killing center.
There were literally hundreds of people being arrested that day, so many that there was no place to put them. A warehouse that was used to store trucks and heavy equipment was converted into a temporary holding area where a couple hundred of us were placed. I really knew that I was mingling with saints that night as we waited in prayer and song to be processed and taken to prison. There were about 120 of us, 90 men and 30 women. We were held and we refused to pay bail or fines. The local government had determined that the cellar of the old National Guard armory would be a suitable place to store us, so that is where we would be imprisoned for the next several weeks in Buffalo, New York.
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What a blessed and Holy experience this imprisonment turned out to be! We were like my mother's stew, somehow it always tastes good no matter what she puts in it. We were Catholic, we were Presbyterian, Methodist, Pentecostal, Evangelical and others. We were oh so many Christians, separated only by so many titles. We were one in the Spirit. It was in the spirit of the psalm, rescue the innocent. We knew we were right, no matter what the police or the courts were going to say. We knew that to pay bails or fines meant to concede that there was some right in this heinous act of abortion. But no, we had abandoned ourselves to Divine Will. Most all of the original group that I was housed with that night persevered to the end, believing that it was God's will to be where we were. It would be God's will when we went home to our loved ones. We didn't know from day to day when that would be. That was all right, too. The first chance I had, I called my mother's home where Joanne and mother were waiting to hear from me. It was wonderful. My mother said how much she loved me and was praying for me. Our little baby, Mary, couldn't bear the thought of talking to me on the phone while I was in prison, so she cried. Joanne was an instrument for the Holy Ghost and fired me with His Spirit in a manner that I'd never experienced before. She spoke these words, "Honey, I love you. I have always been proud of you. I have never loved you more or been prouder to bear your name than I am right now. Don't worry about anything. I know that God will take care of all of our needs. I know He has called you there to be His witness against abortion. So don't worry, Honey, about Mary or me. Don't worry about the house. I love you, and we are all praying for you."
I got off the phone and went back into the detaining room where about one hundred of my brothers were kept. I spoke to the men and told them what Joanne and my family had said to me. I concluded by saying "Amen, everyone who's heart is with Jesus is praying for us now. No matter what happens, we'll all be better off for this day." It would be a total of 23 days of imprisonment. Most of it was spent in the cellar of the National Guard armory. We would later be relocated from this facility to the Erie County Correctional Facility in Alden, New York. This was only after the State Department of Corrections were directed to move us to a suitable facility. The one we were in was ruled unfit for human habitat and was an asbestos-infected environment. Living in the basement of the old armory with only a vinyl mat and a blanket to sleep on may sound like a harsh environment. The fact is that on the surface it was, but in truth, things are not really as they seem to be. To quote my dear friend, Jay Longacre, "We had converted the basement of the armory into the full gospel armory of God. There were no windows to let fresh air into that basement. There was no natural light, but the spirit of God was over us and filling us." I could almost write a book just on these 23 days of imprisonment. The generous outpouring of the Holy Ghost could not be denied. There were many extraordinary gifts to those of us in prison and to the members of our families who were waiting for us to be released.
One of the men told us of the intercession of his family's guardian angel. His wife and children were staying in a local motel in Buffalo waiting there for his release from prison. While they were asleep, the combination heating and air conditioning unit caught on fire. The mother had 3 children with her. The two smallest were in her bed and the oldest was sleeping in a bed alone when early in the morning she heard a voice calling her name to wake her up. It was a sweet voice, a tender voice, and at first she thought it was her youngest child. Not hearing the child cry any longer, she went back to sleep. This would happen a total of three times. The third time, the voice was more emphatic, calling her from her sleep. She looked for the baby, and the baby was quietly asleep next to her. With that, she turned her head and near the far wall she could see the smoke that was billowing up to the ceiling. With a sense of unusual calmness, she put the three children on the floor and together they crawled safely to the door. Another moment or two and the family would have been overcome by the toxic smoke from the burning heater. Her husband beamed as he told us this wonderful account.
Another extraordinary experience was the one that led to the conversion of an ordained Presbyterian minister to the Catholic Church. His name is Jay Longacre. At the time, Jay was very active with his ministry, a ministry that he believed in. He had a radio talk show and a monthly newsletter that reached thousands of people. Jay had been a world traveler and has a doctorate degree in theology. He is such an interesting man to be with. He is filled with first hand experience and knowledge of so many things and he has a great love of scripture.
We'd been in prison for only a few days when I had noticed that Rev. Longacre had a blue plastic rosary wrapped around his left wrist and would walk around with the crucifix in his hand. I said to myself, "If there's anyone in here that should know more about the Blessed Mother, it must be him." Every time I saw him, that blue rosary was wrapped around his wrist and he clutched the crucifix in his hand.
With this confidence, I approached Rev. Longacre and I said, "Rev, I didn't know you Presbyterians were praying the Rosary these days." He laughed, and said that actually he wasn't. He said that he'd never prayed the Rosary and knew nothing about it. For some reason he was attracted to this rosary and maybe that was because it had a cross on it. "Fair enough," I said, "Would you like to know why Catholics pray the Rosary?" He said that he would, and he was very open to what I was about to tell him.
I began to explain the intimate love that the Catholic Church has for Our Loving Mother, Mary. When I would refer to Our Mother as Immaculate and Ever Virgin, or to the title of Our Lady of Guadalupe, he would receive a scent of roses. After the third time, Rev. Longacre said, "What's going on, Jack? Every time you talk about Mary the Mother of Jesus, and call her Immaculate, Ever Virgin, or her name, Our Lady of Guadalupe, I smell roses. It's happened three times now, and I'm sure there are no roses around here." You can believe Jay when he says there were no roses around there. After a few days, that cellar was beginning to take on the smell of an old high school gym.
Jay really wanted to know. He was open. I explained to him that it was a special gift given by Our Blessed Mother to him and especially for him. He became very excited. He believed and wanted to know more, saying, "If that's the case, Jack, then what should I do?" I said, "Well you can tell her thank you." He insisted that wasn't enough. "What more can I do?" he said.
Remember this, Jay Longacre came into the prison under very special circumstances. He had no intention of being arrested or imprisoned. While praying across the street from the abortion clinic, he saw a new Mercedes headed into the driveway. Someone cried out, "Stop that Mercedes, that's the abortion doctor!" At that point, showing no regard for his own welfare or safety, Jay lay down on the road, forcing the doctor's car to a screeching halt. You can see what a generous heart Jay has. Armed with this knowledge, I invited Jay to pray a Rosary with me. It would be the first of many Rosaries that we would pray together, and it would be the Rosary that would lead Jay, his wife, and his family to enter the Catholic Church. Approximately 18 months later, Jay and his wife would enter the Catholic Church receiving their First Holy Communion and Confirmation in the Chapel of Christ The King at Steubenville University.
Prison policy is that the prisoners do not have the right to gather for prayer, but are permitted to convene once a week for an hour of prayer. In spite of that rule, we had converted this prison into the Full Gospel Armory of God. Our days were spent in the spirit of prayer. Approximately 35 of us were Catholic. That number would hold through the entire period of imprisonment. Our day would begin with the morning Rosary. Our spiritual leader was a holy Franciscan friar from Steubenville University, who had been released from his duties for apostolic work to the unborn. His name was Father John Osterhout, and we loved him. His presence made the Sacraments of Holy Mother Church available to us. Through God's mercy we would have Mass more frequently than our jailers ever knew. We were also able to have periods of Eucharistic Adoration. Father had asked me to be the Eucharistic guard at these times. Understand that it was unlawful, according to the prison system, for us to have Mass. So when we would have this little Mass, we would go off to a hallway out of sight. We would gather there for the consecration. Our Protestant brothers, in a spirit of cooperation and love, and respecting our love and belief of Jesus in the Eucharist, would sing hymns to shield us and draw attention away from us during our Mass. After Mass, we would all come together and spend hours singing, praying, and reading the word of God.
This was the nature of our days and how we passed the time. There were no televisions or radios, and hardly ever a newspaper. We were put in an isolation environment, one that the establishment thought would break our morale. That would not be the case here, we grew stronger and stronger as the days went by. One day, midway through our stay there, one of the brothers collected Styrofoam cups that had been discarded after being used for drinking water and placed them in the openings of a wire fence in the form of a cross. It was a beautiful white Styrofoam cross, almost 5 feet high and about 3 feet wide. Everyone gathered around as he was performing this act of love, and we were all thrilled at the presence of the sign that had drawn us to prison. The prison officials said that the cross must come down, but we said no. Then 120 prisoners came and stood in front of the cross. Prison officials brought in video cameras to record us. They brought guards with night sticks to intimidate us, and finally threatened us with added charges which would result in longer prison stays.
To the man we were united - Methodist, Evangelical, Baptist, Catholic - it made no difference. By this time, some of our Protestant brothers who were ordained ministers were even saying, "It's good for us to know something about the mother of Jesus. We all should have some knowledge of Mary in our theology." How can you intimidate a lot such as us? Our eyes were on the cross, and now even our jailers knew it. In time, most of them would soften.
Standard procedure upon being processed for prison internment requires a strip search. All personal belongings are taken away from us, and prison clothes are issued. Miraculously, my little container of holy oil and a handful of miraculous medals that had been blessed by our Holy Mother were still with me. Somehow, I went through that whole process, put on my new prison clothes, walked over to the table in front of the prison guards, and picked up my holy oil and miraculous medals. No one ever stopped me on that day or at any other time that I was imprisoned for this cause.
We were all filled with a spirit of true humility and we referred to each other as brother, regardless of our religious denomination. I gave many miraculous medals to my Protestant brothers. Many of them permitted me to anoint them with the holy oil in the sign of the cross. It was like it is written in The Acts of the Apostles. You didn't have to be a practicing Christian to see that something was going on. They knew us by our love for each other.
One day a prison guard was walking me down a hallway. While we walked, I asked him if he believed in Jesus. He wasn't sure. He wasn't even sure what denomination of Christian he was. He just wasn't sure. I said, "Brother, did you ever receive the Holy Ghost?" He said, "Not that I know of." "Would you like to receive the Holy Ghost?" I asked. He replied, "yes." With that, I pulled out my little bottle of holy oil, anointed him with the sign of the cross and pleaded for the Holy Ghost to bless him. He was immediately slain in the Spirit and fell back against the cinderblock wall. I said, "Oh no brother, don't fall here." All I could think of was another guard seeing him fall, and me standing over him. I though I would never get out of this place. It was well beyond my control now. He had said yes, and we had invoked the Holy Ghost. Now the Spirit of God was on him. I held him up against the wall for a few minutes and gently talked to him. I told him that everything would be OK, and to just relax and trust in Jesus. From that moment on, that man would become my brother and wherever I was stationed in the prison, he would ask for duty to be there.
When we were released and returned home, he and his wife would call me often. Unfortunately, I was never home to accept the call. After several phone calls, we made contact and I agreed to go back to Buffalo to pray with him and his family and any friends or neighbors that they wanted to bring into their home. His wife had revealed to my wife, Joanne, that she had prayed for his conversion for several years, but he had resisted. Now, however, if he even hears the name of Mary he begins to weep. "Would your husband please come up and help us now?" she asked. I told my dear friend, Brother Depores, about my plan to return to Buffalo. He agreed to go with me. We would arrive in their home on a Sunday afternoon and spend nearly seven hours in prayer with some twenty plus members of their family and friends in attendance. There were conversions that day and many graces received by all.
I could not speak of these events without recalling two very special brothers who were so attentive with the Rosary. One is John Casserly, who is presently serving a two year sentence for praying in front of an abortion clinic in Helena, Minnesota. Th other is Bill Reiser, who since this all began, has left his career position with the state of New York to pursue God's plans for him full time in the Pro-Life Movement.
May thirteenth would come, and I would not be in Conyers. I would be imprisoned with my brothers, John, Bill, and a pro-lifer by the name of Lifeboat Willie. These gents would be my companions when praying the Rosary. Our Mother would give us the gift of roses, and the sun would spin in the sky as we knelt in the prison yard that thirteenth of May. Our stay was coming to an end. Soon, much sooner than I thought, we would be released.
On May 15, 1992, the judge convicted me and 200 others of a minor disorderly conduct charge, and dropped all other charges. The judge said in conclusion, "I know you will not pay any fines or court costs, and the state wants to get rid of you, so I will not fine you or charge you with court costs. I only ask you to leave this courtroom quietly and orderly when I strike my gavel." With the strike of his gavel, this very important time of my life officially ended. Off the record, the judge had told us that we were a courageous group and he admired our convictions.
Once out of prison, I was like a homing pigeon. There was just one place I wanted to go. I could hardly wait for the next morning to head back to Wilkes-Barre where I knew my loving family was waiting for me. I could never have endured if I wasn't convinced of their undying support. I had the firm conviction that what we were doing was in accordance with the will of Our Lord. There were those days in prison when, despite the fact that we had a priest to offer Mass, we would not have Mass due to the fact that the necessary ingredients were not available. There were some days when our fasting went beyond our daily bread and included the spiritual fast from Jesus in the Holy Eucharist. At these times, we would pray and be sustained by a special prayer:
Oh sweet Jesus, today I will not receive you in the Eucharist, but I believe that you are with me and will sustain me for another day. Thank you Jesus, thank you Mother.
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Coming home to Joanne and children and my extended family, those members of our prayer group, was a joyful reunion. I was so happy to see everyone, and I believe they were just as happy to see me. Since I missed being in Conyers for the May apparition, I couldn't wait to return for June thirteenth. But that whole summer - July, August, and September - went by so fast, it is almost like one big moment. By this time, most of us in our prayer group had accepted and were beginning to prepare ourselves and our homes for the three days of darkness that have been prophesied by a number of mystics for several centuries now. A common conclusion drawn from these prophecies is that there will be three days of darkness, approximately seventy- two hours. It will be a true darkness, the absence of sunlight and the absence of God's mercy for almost two thirds of all mankind. The bowels of the earth will open, and every demon will be set loose upon the face of the earth. In this darkness, many souls will be swept away. We were instructed to have holy water, and blessed candles always ready. Mother has told us in Fatima during each apparition to pray the Rosary every day. She told us prayer is a condition and a need we all have. She reiterated several times that prayer is necessary and restates this every month in Medjugorje. Our Blessed Mother constantly tells us, prayer is a condition. It took a while for me to open up and accept the prophesies on the three days of darkness. They go back in Church history and are rooted in bible prophesies.
In the book of Zechariah 13:8-9 we hear the awesome words:
In all the land says the Lord, two-thirds of them shall be cut off and perish, and one-third of them shall be left. I will bring the one-third through fire and I will refine them as silver is refined, and I will test them as gold is tested. They shall call upon my Name and I will hear them. I will say, "They are my people," and they shall say "The Lord is my God."
People from all walks of life can be heard murmuring, questioning what has happened to our society. What has happened to us?. We were such a great country. Only a few decades ago, we put the first man on the moon. The second half of the twentieth century looked so promising for America and the whole world. While we were putting a man on the moon and building sky scrapers to the clouds, we were quietly taking prayer out of all of our schools and removing God from our public institutions. Our country's motto "In God We Trust," would soon become only hollow words. Our faith was no longer in God but in our military strength, in our political systems, and in the right of the individual. Before long, there would be talk about removing the name of God or any reference to Him from our public institutions. We had grown so weak and dulled that a professed atheist was able to have the right to pray removed from our public schools.
In 1973, just a decade later, our courts again would strike a blow against godliness in the Roe v. Wade ruling. With this law, the unborn lost their citizenship and their claim to life. Abortion on demand became commonplace. Abortion on demand means that from the moment of conception right until the moment that the child is born, an abortion may be committed legally. These horrendous acts were done under the premise that the rights of the individual were being jeopardized. In this process, the spirit of the majority of Americans would be mutilated. As a result, millions of children have grown up not knowing Jesus. Millions of babies never saw the light of day. They have been ruthlessly scraped, vacuumed, chemically injected, and surgically removed from their mother's womb. All in the name of democracy and the rights of the individual.
What about our children? Look at what we call the next generation. What about the lost generation that was only conceived, but never born? When will it end? Never before has a country so ruthlessly torn itself away from God. Never before have the unborn been so savagely attacked. The rights of the individual should never precede the law of God.
We failed to uphold God's law, and now we have no law. The papers are filled with accounts of teenagers and children going on killing sprees. A country founded on God, a people believing in God, have, in their passivity, permitted their government to strip God away. The majority of our population, claiming to be Christian, has stood by silently, never raising their voices in protest, their spiritual wits glazed over by their carnal hunger for MORE. Remember, Now is the Time.
We do not have time. Time is quickly moving past us. Jesus has plainly revealed to us His mercy and the need for His mercy. He has informed Blessed Sister Faustina that the reason for the great outpouring of His Divine Mercy at this time was for the great cause of preparing the remnant church for His coming. He has promised that not even the gates of hell will prevail against His Church, and NOW IS THE TIME.
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In this spirit of preparation, The Blessed Mother has come again and again to warn us, to teach us, and to guide us. Who is listening? I tell you simply and honestly, because I am a simple person, NOW IS THE TIME.
I speak to you from my heart and for the sake of the salvation of souls. The glorious and Most Holy Trinity longs for us and invites us into the great mercy of Jesus, through the Sorrowful and Immaculate Heart of Our Loving Mother. I give you witness that the third person of the Most Holy Trinity, has revealed, NOW IS THE TIME.
Anyone who knows me knows that I am the least likely person to bring this message. I am truly an unworthy servant. But in Jesus' great mercy, the Holy Ghost has revealed this message. We have become a confused and disquieted herd of sheep, murmuring amongst ourselves and always wandering off to greener pastures. We listen to any false voice that gives us soothing comforts. We are ready to follow.
Let us keep our eyes on the true vicar of Jesus Christ, our Holy Father, John Paul II. Let us join in communion with him and pray for his intentions and protection. As I speak to you now, a vivid image of our Holy Father is in my heart. It is the image beheld by Christina Gallagher, in which the Holy Father was seen in great distress and on his knees, bleeding from his stomach. After this dramatic scene, Our Blessed Mother appeared to Christi
Jesus, I believe
Mother, pray that I may believe more.