ST. GEMMA'S DETACHMENT: The First Means by Which St. Gemma Attained Perfection TAKEN FROM THE LIFE OF ST. GEMMA GALGANI by Ven. Fr. Germanus, C.P. TAN BOOKS with Nihil Obstat and Imprimatur, 1913   CHRIST Our Lord has said: "If any man will come after Me, let him renounce all that he possesseth, let him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me." He wished all to know that in order to put on the perfect man, that is Himself, God and man, it is necessary to put off the old man, earthly and vicious, renouncing all inordinate appetites and doing continual violence to self. Without this one cannot be His disciple and follow Him in the way of sanctity. Hence the need of constant mortification, of profound humility, of absolute detachment from every created thing, more particularly from oneself, of generosity of soul and great patience in the endurance of trials and sufferings. These are in fact the means that all the elect have used in order to become perfect, and those who have signalized themselves most in their practice have become the greatest Saints.  Gemma from her earliest years ardently desired to follow Jesus, to be like Him, to become a Saint. She had then to put into practice Our Lord's own teaching, such as has just been specified. And indeed she practiced it so well that from the very first she gave proof of being one of the most humble, mortified, patient, generous and strong among the servants of God that are venerated by the Church. In this chapter we shall treat of her detachment ... Everyone knows what a difficult thing it is for a girl in good position to renounce the vanity of dress both in heart and deed, while remaining in society. Nature itself inclines the weaker sex to wish to appear to advantage, and does so with such impulse that without a special grace it is not possible to repress it entirely. Now God gave this grace to Gemma from her very infancy, as I have already pointed out, and confirmed her in it definitely. Her dress was most simple, and consisted of a costume of black woolen stuff, with a cape of the same color and material, and a black straw hat. No cuffs, no collar nor clasps, no ornaments of any kind, nor flowers nor extra trimming to her hat. In vain her friends remonstrated. This was the only way she dressed, winter and summer, on festivals and ordinary days, nor would she hear of any other.   And what we say of her dress applies to everything she used, such as books, purse, pictures and similar articles that even the poorest possess. A rough wooden box holding a little underclothing, a Crucifix, a Rosary and two or three little books of devotion made up the belongings of this chosen spouse of Christ. "I have nothing," she used to say so sweetly, "I am poor, poor, for the love of Jesus." When little pictures or the like were given to her she quickly got rid of them, feeling much more free when she had given away what she did not absolutely need. "Jesus has said to me," she used to repeat, "'Remember that I have created thee for Heaven; thou hast nothing to do with the earth.' Oh, what then would you have me do with these things of which I have no need." Even when ill she was never known to manifest the least desire for anything. Nay, in order that the servants should not have extra work on her account, she used to say she was well and had no need of anything. And she strove to appear well to them so that they might not become aware of her great sufferings and try to procure her remedies and restoratives. Without doubt she was quite dead to herself.   Gemma loved her parents tenderly, particularly her mother. And yet we have seen how calmly she received the announcement of her mother's death, and how bravely she assisted her father in his last moments, as she had previously assisted her beloved brother Gino. Later on in one year she lost an aunt, another brother and her younger sister Julia, eighteen years of age, the dear confidante of her spiritual secrets. Announcing these losses to her director, she wrote: "Father, my Aunt, whom you knew to be ill, is dead. She was so good! Recommend her to Jesus, in case she may have need of prayers. Tonino (Antony) also is dead. My poor brother! He suffered so much! Ask Jesus to be merciful to him." Somewhat more expressive is the letter in which she tells him of Julia's death. Her grief is more transparent, yet resigned and calm. "You, Father, knew how good this sister was, but Jesus has wished to take her to Himself. The day before yesterday, Julia died. Don't scold me, Father, for not having cried, for I knew that Jesus did not wish it. Viva Gesit!" We are assured that these were the true sentiments of her heart, by her benefactress and adopted mother, who wrote to me thus: "Father, you know how much these two sisters loved each other, and yet poor Gemma is not upset. She immediately made an offering to God of her sister's soul, and then thanked Jesus. See what heroic virtue! I instead have shed many tears, and it was Gemma who consoled me saying: 'You must not cry.'" It is certain that this holy child, although she seemed to be more of Heaven than of earth, and indifferent, indeed almost rude, to strangers, was nevertheless of most tender and affectionate heart. Not knowing, because of her perfect detachment, what share the senses might have in her affections, she never had any doubts or scruples on that point. Hence, she loved with fullest liberty of spirit all those with whom she came in contact. It was not always easy to discern this, but whoever watched her closely became well aware that she knew how to love, and that with the most exquisite delicacy. Her great heart at the same time remained perfectly free, and the receiving or not receiving correspondence to her love was one and the same thing. For even though she might feel pain at the loss or absence of persons that were dear to her, this was only an impression of the moment. She turned at once to Jesus and said to Him, "O Jesus, for Thee I willingly make this other sacrifice; alone with Jesus only!" And then her soul remained in peace. Even from her spiritual father, whom with child-like simplicity she used to call "my Papa," she was most detached. Nor did she ever complain to him either of the rarity of his visits, or delays in answering her letters. "Don't scold me," she wrote to him, "when I tell you that I really need to see you. But if you don't come, I shall be content all the same. At any rate ask Jesus about it, and if He says yes, come at once. I have written you three letters, and you have not given me any answer. It seems to me that Jesus really wishes you to tell me how I should act in that matter. I will be good, will mind and obey. But if you have no time, nor wish to write, do as you think best. I have abandoned myself entirely to God." And when she was near death, being asked if she wished the Father to be called from Rome by telegram, she answered, "Yes," but immediately corrected herself, saying, "Even of him I have made the sacrifice," and did not wish him to be sent for. ... she died alone with Jesus only, drowned in an ocean of pain. Our Divine Saviour Himself acted as her good Master in order to perfect her every day more in this most important virtue of detachment. To give one example out of many: I had made her a present of a precious relic, a tooth of Blessed Gabriel. She valued it as a great treasure and carried it always about her. It happened then that, treating with Our Lord in familiar colloquy as often happened, she said to Him with her usual ingenuous candor, "Jesus, the Father is always talking to me of detachment, but I understand very little or nothing of what he says, because I have nothing and don't know from what to detach myself." Then said Jesus to her, "And art thou not too much attached to that tooth?" "I remained thunderstruck" --- these are her words to me --- "and was about to remonstrate, saying: 'But my Jesus, it is a precious relic.' And I was almost crying. But Jesus said, somewhat seriously: 'My child, Jesus has said it, that is enough.'" "Ah, Jesus, Jesus," she afterwards exclaimed, "what have You not seen and weighed? Nothing is small or to be disregarded that gives Thee glory, or that would prevent our giving all to Thee." I should not end soon were I to relate the many edifying particulars that I have in my hands on this subject and to repeat the sublime outbursts in her conversation, letters and ecstasies, to which this dear child so often gave expression. She did so in order that all in Heaven and earth might know that her only wish was to love God. "I wish to be all and only of Jesus," she used to say, "and what is there to love on this earth now that I possess Jesus? World, creatures, all you are no longer for me, nor am I for you, and so I cannot love you and will not love you more." Once, when giving me the account of her progress, she wrote thus: Yesterday morning, in a meeting that I had with my loving God, I besought Him to detach me from everything, to free me from my body, and let me, having broken every bond, go straight to Him, to Him only and for ever. But Jesus answered me, "Where wouldst thou fly to?" To Thee, my dear and sweet Lord. And Jesus again, "Let Me come yet a little longer to thee, and then, when I set thee free, thou shalt come to Me." Thus life had become a weight and pain to this dove. As she kept her heart turned toward Heaven, she felt like a stranger who knows no one and takes no interest in earthly things. Let her again speak for herself: "I live on this earth, but I seem to dwell here like a soul that has lost its way [see what an expressive figure: "like a soul that has lost its way"] because never for a moment do I cease to look back to Jesus, apart from whom I despise all things." Thus wearied and unsatisfied, she counted the days like a pilgrim who, longing to reach the desired land, from time to time, standing still, looks back to see the distance done and count the remaining way. The simile is Gemma's, who so gracefully applies it to herself. "I greatly rejoice that time flies so quickly, because that means so much less to spend in this world, where there is nothing to attract me. My heart goes incessantly in search of a treasure, an immense treasure that I do not find in creatures, a treasure that will satisfy me and console me, and give me rest." ... If temporal life was of such small concern with this young girl, it was not a wonder that she was always so ready to give it away, as happens with valueless things. Did anyone fall dangerously ill, then you would see Gemma running to her director for leave to give that one, two, three, four years of her life, saying to him: "Jesus, you know, will accept the exchange, provided you, Father, approve of it." And in order to get my consent, she used to bring forward certain arguments of her own, putting them with such dexterity that if I was not on my guard, I was in great danger of giving way. "Look, Father," she would say, "it concerns the mother of a family with many children. Oh, what would these little ones do without their mother? Let me tell Jesus about it. What difference can a few years less make to me?" The same thing used to happen when she had the conversion of any sinner at heart, and she was sure to have some such in hand. "Jesus, I give You three years of my life. Convert him for me." That was a way she had of putting it. At last I allowed myself to be persuaded by her amiable and forcible eloquence. I gave the leave asked; God accepted the exchange and Gemma died exactly at the time agreed upon, in the richest bloom of her youth, and contrary to all human expectation. It is well known how attached women are to their own judgment in matters of piety, and how difficult it is to get them to alter their minds, even when a wise director judges them at fault. From material and external things perhaps they will keep their hearts more or less detached, but it is not so with spiritual matters. They do not know and do not wish to believe in any but themselves. How much more strikingly is this the case when it is a question of supernatural things, as of supposed visions, locutions and the like! The confessor must give in to these deluded creatures on all points, thinking as they think, praising their highly favored state, etc. Otherwise, complaints, grumbling, and often declared hostility. So great is the pride of the poor daughter of Eve! The contrary however was manifest in our Gemma. She had good reasons for believing that the wonderful things continually wrought in her were, without doubt, the work of God. God Himself, by evident and palpable truths, assured her of it and said to her: "Don't fear, it is I Who am operating in thee." And yet that was not enough. She wished that her spiritual father should give judgment, and to his decision she bowed unreservedly. "Let you, my Father, decide it for me. Am I to believe it is Jesus, or the devil, or my own imagination? I am ignorant and may be deceived. What would become of me if I were deluded? You know that I don't wish these things. I only desire that Jesus be pleased with me. What must I do to please Him? Tell me. I wish to do His Will at any cost." It happened that one of her first directors, either to try her or because he really was in doubt, opposed her. He went so far as to mortify her bitterly, saying that she was a victim of delusions. Another director also, full of perplexity in the presence of facts that were so new to him, in order to get himself out of all difficulty, commanded her to ask Our Lord to remove or prevent these extraordinary manifestations and put her on the common beaten path. Gemma thanked the former with all humility. To the second she brought the following answer:  "Yesterday you told me to ask Jesus to take all these things away or to make them quite clear to you or to whom you desired. I prayed so much because I want this favor granted! Oh yes, I want it at any cost. I feel persuaded that He will do all that the confessor wants. I said to Jesus that if it is He Who really manifests Himself to me, well and good. But if it is the devil, to drive him away, because I won't have him. And if it was a delusion of my brain, I could not bear it any longer, my head would split. If you think these words were not sincere, tell me so, for I would not willingly tell lies, and I am resolved not to commit any more sins." One day Our Lord reproached her sweetly because, after so many proofs, she still seemed to doubt. She answered modestly, "I doubt because others doubt. But if Thou art Jesus, make Thyself known for a certainty. Believe me, neither the confessor nor I can bear the strain." When Our Lord drew her to Himself so that she could not resist, she had to yield to His power. No sooner, however, had she returned from those Divine communications, than she hastened to her confessor to repeat the old story with humble simplicity. "Tell me, Father, what must I do?" And how touching and tender the contest that she was often obliged to have with Jesus Himself, when He made Himself felt. "But the confessor," she would say, "has told me that you are not Jesus. Or can the confessor be mistaken?" The life of the just on earth is a network of consolation and pain. ... Here I will only observe that this virgin soul made no account of her consolations, which were many and frequent. She was perfectly detached from them. When God sent them, she received them with gratitude and knew well how to use them as a stimulus to greater perfection. But when He withdrew them, leaving her to languish in darkness and abandonment --- imagine what agony this must have been to a soul on fire with the love of God! --- even then she declared herself content. "Let Jesus do as He wills! Provided He is pleased, let all be satisfied. Do I, forsooth, deserve His consolation? It is enough for me to be able to enjoy Him in the other life. I don't mind suffering here." And now, find supposed illusions if you can in such a soul. Those only who are ignorant of the things of God, and those with idle minds could think it. We, on the other hand, are aware that whoever denies himself for the love of Christ divests himself of the old man and is reclothed in Christ, and in His virtues. And whosoever is reclothed in Christ cannot be subject to illusions. Forward takes you next sequential page of this series. E-Mail HOME--------------------------THE SAINTS www.catholictradition.org/Tradition/silence13.htm