Education Message from hell: "Clara, don’t pray for me, I’m damned!”

Jan 16, 2020
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In the papers of a young German girl, Clara, dead religious, this manuscript was found. The superior of the monastery published it. Although short, this letter went around the world in a flash and made numerous conversions. Clara and Annetta, very young, worked in a commercial company in *** (Germany). They were not linked by deep friendship, but by simple courtesy. They worked every day next to each other and an exchange of ideas could not be missing. Clara openly declared herself religious and felt the duty to educate and recall Annetta, when she proved to be light and superficial in terms of religion. They spent some time together; then Annetta contracted marriage and left the company.

In the autumn of 1937, Clara spent her holidays on the shores of Lake Garda. Mum sent her a letter from the village: “Annetta is dead. She suffered a car accident. They buried her yesterday in the “Waldfriedhof” “. The news frightened Clara, knowing that Annette hadn’t been so religious. – Was she prepared to present herself before God? … Dying suddenly, where had she gone? … – The following day he listened to the Holy Mass and made Communion in his suffrage, praying fervently. At night, ten minutes after midnight, she was awakened with a feeling of terrible fear, from very strong knocks on her bedroom door. From the cracks, lights emanated like flames. A sulfur smell penetrated the room. Then the sound of a pack of papers thrown violently on the ground behind the door … Clara crossed herself. Then there was silence.

Still frightened, she didn’t dare get up to go and see behind the door. He said some Hail Marys for the souls of purgatory and fell asleep again. In the morning, going out of the room to go to church, he stumbled upon a pack of letters. He took them in his hand and immediately recognized Annetta’s writing with the first words: “Clara, don’t pray for me, I’m damned!” He put them in his backpack and went away in the woods to 1 quiet place. He began to read. Here is the manuscript. “Clara don’t pray for me! I’m damned! If I communicate it to you and I tell you quite long. do not believe that this is done as a friendship. We no longer love anyone here.

I do it as forced. I do it as “part of that power that always wants evil and does good.” In truth I would also like to see you come to this state, where I have now dropped my anchor forever. Don’t be upset with this intention. Here, we all think so. Our will is petrified in evil in what you precisely call “evil” -. Even when we do something “good”, as I am now opening my eyes to Hell, this does not happen with good intention.

Do you still remember that four years ago we met at **** You were then 23 years old and you were already there for half a year when I got there. You got me out of some trouble; as a beginner, you gave me good addresses. But what does “good” mean? I praised your “love of neighbor”. Ridiculous! Your help came from pure coquetry, as I had already suspected since then. We don’t know anything good here. In none. You know the time of my youth. I fill certain gaps here. According to my parents’ plan, to tell the truth, I shouldn’t even have existed. “It was just a misfortune for them.”

My two sisters were already 14 and 15 years old, when I tended to light. I had never existed! I could now annihilate myself, escape these torments! No voluptuousness would match that with which I would leave my existence; like an ash suit, lost in nothingness. But I must exist. I must exist like this, as I made myself: with a failed existence.

When dad and mom, still young, moved from the countryside to the city, both had lost contact with the Church. And it was better this way. They sympathized with people not related to the Church. They met at a dancing meeting and half a year later they “had to” get married. During the wedding ceremony, a lot of holy water remained attached to them, which the mother went to church for Sunday Mass a couple of times a year. He never taught me to really pray. He was exhausted in the daily care of life, although our situation was not uncomfortable. Words, such as Mass, religious education, Church, I say them with an unequaled internal repugnance.

I abhor all this, as I hate those who attend the Church and in general all men and all things. From everything, in fact, there comes torment. Every knowledge received at the point of death, every memory of things lived or known, is for us a prickly flame. And all the memories show us that side which in them was grace and which we despised. What torment is this! We don’t eat, we don’t sleep, we don’t walk with our feet. Spiritually chained, we look dazed “with screams and grinding teeth” our life gone up in smoke: hating and tormented! Do you hear? Here we drink hatred like water. Even towards each other.

Above all we hate God, I want to make it understandable. The Blessed in Heaven must love him, because they see him without a veil, in its dazzling beauty. This beatifies them so much that they cannot be described. We know it and this knowledge makes us furious. The men on earth, who know God from creation and revelation, can love him; but they are not forced to. The believer – I say gritting his teeth – who, brooding, contemplates Christ on the cross, with his arms stretched out, will end up loving him. But he, whom God approaches only in the hurricane, as a punisher, as a righteous avenger, because one day he was repudiated by him, as happened to us. He can only hate him, with all the impetus of his evil will, eternally, by virtue of the free acceptance with which, by dying, we exhaled our soul and that even now we withdraw and we will never have the will to withdraw it. Do you understand now why Hell lasts forever? Because our obstinacy will never melt away from us. Forced, I add that God is merciful even to us. I say “forced”, because even if I say these things deliberately, I am not allowed to lie, as I would like to. I affirm many things against my will.

I also have to throttle the heat of abuse, which I would like to vomit. God was merciful to us by not letting our evil will run out on earth, as we would have been ready to do. This would have increased our sins and pains. In fact, he killed us time, like me, or made other mitigating circumstances intervene. Now he shows mercy to us by not forcing us to get closer to him than we are in this remote hellish place; this lessens the torment.

Each step that would bring me closer to God would cause me a greater pain than what would bring you a step closer to a burning stake. You were frightened, when I once, during the walk, I told you that my father, a few days before your first Communion, had said to me: “Annettina, try to deserve a nice dress: the rest is a frame”. To your fright I would almost have even been ashamed. Now I laugh about it. The only reasonable thing in that frame was that admission to Communion was only twelve years old. At the time, I was quite taken by the craze of worldly entertainment, so I unscrupulously put religious things into a song and I did not attach great importance to the first Communion.

That several children go to Communion now at the age of seven, makes us furious. We do everything we can to make people understand that children lack adequate knowledge. They must first commit some mortal sins. Then the white Particle no longer does much harm in them, as when faith, hope and charity still live in their hearts – puh! this stuff – received in Baptism. Do you remember how he already supported this opinion on earth? I mentioned my father. He was often in dispute with his mother. I alluded to it only rarely; I was ashamed of it. What a ridiculous shame of evil! For us here everything is the same. My parents didn’t even sleep in the same room anymore; but I with mom and dad in the adjoining room, where he could come home freely at any time. He drank a lot; in this way he squandered our heritage. My sisters were both employed and they themselves needed, they said, the money they earned. Mom started working to earn something.

In the last year of his life, dad often beat his mom when she didn’t want to give him anything. To me, however, he was always loving. One day – I told you about it and you, then, you bumped into my whim (what did you not bother about me?) – one day he had to bring back, twice, the shoes bought, because the shape and heels were not modern enough for me. On the night my father was struck by a deadly apoplexy, something happened that I, for fear of a disgusting interpretation, could not confide in you. But now you need to know. It is important for this: then for the first time I was attacked by my current tormenting spirit. I slept in a room with my mother: her regular breaths said her deep sleep. When I hear myself called by name. An unknown voice tells me: “What will it be if Dad dies? I no longer loved my father, since he treated his mother so rudely; as I did not love absolutely anyone since then, but I was only, fond of some people. who were good to me.

The hopeless love of earthly exchange lives only in souls in a state of grace. And I wasn’t. So I answered the mysterious question, without realizing where it came from: “But it doesn’t die!” After a short pause, the same clearly perceived question again. “But he doesn’t die!” He ran away from me again, abruptly. For the third time I was asked: “What will it be if your father dies?”. It occurred to me how daddy often came home quite drunk, screeched, mistreated mom and how he put us in a humiliating condition in front of people. So I cried out in annoyance: “It suits him!” Then everything went silent. The next morning, when Mum wanted to put Father’s room in order, she found the door locked. Around noon the door was forced. My father, half-dressed, lay dead on the bed. Some accident must have occurred in going to the beer cellar.

It had been sickly for a long time. Marta K … and you led me to join the Youth Association. Actually, I never hid that I found the instructions of the two leaders, ladies X, to be in tune with parish fashion … The games were fun. As you know, I had a direct part in it. This suited me. I also liked the trips. I even let myself be led a few times to go to Confession and Communion. Actually, I had nothing to confess. Thoughts and speeches didn’t matter to me. For more gross actions, I was not corrupt enough. You admonished me once: “Anna, if you don’t pray, go to perdition!”. I prayed very little and this too, only listlessly. Then you were unfortunately right. All those who burn in Hell did not pray or did not pray enough.

Prayer is the first step towards God. And it remains the decisive step. Especially the prayer to She who was Mother of Christ – the name of which we never mention. Devotion to her snatches countless souls from the devil, which sin would infallibly hand over to him. I continue the story, consuming myself with anger. It is only because I have to. Praying is the easiest thing man can do on earth. And it is precisely to this very easy thing that God has tied everyone’s salvation. To those who pray with perseverance He gradually gives so much light, fortifies him in such a way that in the end even the most bogged down sinner can definitely get up again. It was also flooded in the slime up to the neck.

In the last days of my life I no longer prayed as I should and I deprived myself of the graces, without which no one can be saved. Here we no longer receive any grace. Indeed, even if we received them, we would cynically reject them. All the fluctuations of earthly existence have ceased in this other life. From you on earth man can rise from the state of sin to the state of Grace and from Grace fall into sin, often out of weakness, sometimes out of malice. With death this rising and falling ends, because it has its root in the imperfection of earthly man. We have now reached the final state. Already as the years go by, changes become rarer. It is true, until death you can always turn to God or turn your back on him. Yet, almost carried away by the current, the man, before passing away, with the last weak remnants of the will, behaves as he was used to in life.

Custom, good or bad, becomes second nature. This drags him along. This also happened to me. For years I had lived far from God. This is why in the last call of Grace I resolved myself against God. It was not the fact that I often sinned that was fatal for me, but that I no longer wanted to rise again. You have repeatedly warned me to listen to the sermons, to read books of piety. “I don’t have time,” was my ordinary answer. We needed nothing more to increase my internal uncertainty! After all, I must note this: since it was now so advanced, just before I left the Youth Association, it would have been enormously difficult for me to put myself on another path.

I felt uneasy and unhappy. But a wall stood before the conversion. You must not have suspected it. You represented it so simple, when one day you said to me: “But make a good confession, Anna, and everything is in place”. I felt it would be like this. But the world, the devil, the flesh already held me too firmly in their claws. I never believed the influence of the devil. And now I testify that he has a strong influence on people who were in the condition I was in then. Only many prayers, of others and of myself, combined with sacrifices and sufferings, could have snatched me from him. And this too, little by little. If there are few obsessions externally, there are an anthill internally. The devil cannot abduct the free will of those who give themselves over to his influence. But in pain of their, so to speak, methodical apostasy from God, he allows the “evil one” to nest in them. I also hate the devil.

Yet I like him because he tries to ruin you others; I hate him and his satellites, the spirits who fell with him at the beginning of time. They are counted in the millions. They wander the earth, dense as a swarm of midges, and you don’t even notice it. It is not for us to try again to tempt you; this is the office of fallen spirits. This really increases the torment every time they drag a human soul down here to the infirm. But what doesn’t hate do? Although I walked on paths far from God, God followed me. I prepared the way to Grace with acts of natural charity, which I often performed by inclination of my temperament. Sometimes God attracted me to a church. Back then I felt like a nostalgia. When I treated the sick mother, despite the office work during the day, and in some way I really sacrificed myself, these enticements of God acted powerfully.

Once, in the church of the hospital, where you had led me during the midday break, something came to me that would have been a single step for my conversion: I cried! But then the joy of the world passed again like a stream over Grace. The wheat choked between the thorns. With the declaration that religion is a matter of sentiment, as was always said in the office, I also trashed this invitation of Grace like everyone else.

Once you reproached me because instead of a genuflection down to the ground, I just made a shapeless bow, bending my knee. You considered it an act of laziness. You did not even seem to suspect that since then I no longer believed in the presence of Christ in the Sacrament. Now I believe it, but only naturally, as we believe in a storm whose effects can be seen. In the meantime, I had made myself a religion in my own way. I supported the view, which was common in the office, that the soul after death rises again into another being. In this way he would continue to pilgrim endlessly. With this, the anxious question of the afterlife was at once put in place and made harmless to me.

Why didn’t you remind me of the parable of the rich man and the poor Lazarus, in which the narrator, Christ, sends, immediately after his death, one to Hell and the other to Heaven? … Besides, what would you have obtained? Nothing more than with your other bigotry talks! Gradually I created myself a God; sufficiently gifted to be called God; far enough away from me that I don’t have to maintain any relationship with him; vague enough to allow myself, according to need, without changing my religion, to compare to a pantheistic god of the world, or to allow myself to be poetized as a solitary god.

This God had no Hell to inflict on me. I left him alone. In this consisted my adoration for Him. What pleases is believed willingly. Over the years I kept myself fairly convinced of my religion. This way you could live. Only one thing would have broken my neck: a long, deep pain. And this pain did not come! Now understand what it means: “God chastises those he loves!” It was a Sunday in July, when the Youth Association organized a trip to * * *. I would have liked the tour.

But these silly speeches, that bigoted act! Another simulacrum quite different from that of the Madonna of * * * recently stood on the altar of my heart. The handsome Max N … from the adjacent shop. We had joked together several times before. Just for that Sunday he had invited me on a trip. The one she usually went with was lying sick in the hospital. He understood well that I had set my eyes on him. I didn’t think about marrying him then. He was comfortable, but he behaved too kindly to all the girls. And I, until then, wanted a man who belonged only to me. Not just being a wife, but an only wife. In fact, I always had a certain natural etiquette. In the aforementioned tour Max lavished himself on kindness.

Eh! yea, pretense conversations were not held as between you! The next day, in the office, you reproached me for not having come with you to ***. I described to you my fun on that Sunday. Your first question was: “Have you been to Mass?”. Silly! How could I, given that the departure was already set for six ?! You still know how excitedly I added: “The good Lord does not have a mentality as small as your pretaces!”. Now I must confess: God, despite his infinite goodness, weighs things with greater precision than all priests. After that day with Max, I came to the Association once again: at Christmas, for the celebration of the party. There was something that enticed me to return. But internally I had already moved away from you.

Cinema, dance, trips went on and on. Max and I quarreled a few times, but I knew how to chain him back to me. Molestissirna was succeeded by the other lover, who returned from the hospital and behaved like an obsessive woman. Luckily for me: because my noble calm made a powerful impression on Max, I ended up deciding that I was my favorite. I had been able to make him hateful, speaking coldly: on the outside positive, on the inside vomiting poison. These feelings and this demeanor prepare excellently for Hell. They are diabolical in the strictest sense of the word. Why am I telling you this? To report how I definitively detached myself from God. Not, moreover, that Max and I had often reached the extremes of familiarity.

I understood that I would have lowered myself to his eyes if I had let myself go completely ahead of time; therefore I was able to hold back. But in itself, whenever I thought it useful, I was always ready for anything. I had to win Max. Nothing was too expensive for that. Furthermore, little by little, we loved each other by possessing both not a few precious qualities, which made us esteem each other. I was skilled, capable, of pleasant company. So I firmly held Max in my hand and managed, at least in the last months before the wedding, to be the only one to own it. This consisted of my apostasy to God: to raise a creature to my idol. In no way can this happen, so that it embraces everything, as in the love of a person of the other sex, when this love remains stranded in earthly satisfactions. This is what forms its attraction. its stimulus and its poison. The “adoration”, which I paid to myself in the person of Max, became a lived religion for me.

It was the time when in the office I poisoned myself against church churches, priests, indulgences, the muttering of rosaries and similar nonsense. You have tried, more or less wisely, to take the defense of such things. Apparently, without suspecting that in the innermost part of me it was not really about these things, I was rather looking for support against my conscience then I needed such support to justify my apostasy also with reason. After all, I turned against God. You did not understand him; I still considered myself Catholic. Indeed, I wanted to be called that; I even paid ecclesiastical taxes. A certain “counter-insurance”, I thought, could not harm. Your answers may have hit the mark sometimes. They didn’t hold on to me, because you didn’t have to be right. Because of these distorted relationships between the two of us, the pain of our detachment was petty when we separated on the occasion of my marriage.

Before the wedding I confessed and communicated once again. It was prescribed. my husband and I thought the same on this point. Why shouldn’t we have completed this formality? We too completed it like the other formalities. You call such an Communion unworthy. Well, after that “unworthy” Communion, I was more calm in my conscience. After all, it was also the last. Our married life was generally spent in great harmony. On all points of view we were of the same opinion. Even in this: that we did not want to bear the burden of the children. Actually my husband would have gladly wanted one; no more, of course. In the end I was able to divert him from this desire too. Clothes, luxury furniture, tea hangouts, trips and car trips and similar distractions mattered to me more. It was a year of pleasure on earth that passed between my wedding and my sudden death.

We went out by car every Sunday, or visited my husband’s relatives. They floated on the surface of existence, neither more nor less than us. Internally, of course, I never felt happy, however externally I laughed. There was always something indeterminate inside me, which was gnawing at me. I wished that after death, which of course must still be very far away, everything was over. But it is just like that, as one day, as a child, I heard in a sermon: that God rewards every good work that one does and when he cannot reward it in another life, he does it on earth. Unexpectedly I had an inheritance from Aunt Lotte.

My husband happily managed to bring his salary to a substantial sum. So I was able to arrange the new home in an attractive way. Religion no longer sent its voice, dull, weak and uncertain, from afar. The cafés of the city, the hotels where we went on trips, certainly did not bring us to God. All those who frequented those places lived, like us, from outside to inside, not from inside to outside.

If during the holidays we visited some church, we tried to recreate ourselves in the artistic content of the works. I knew how to neutralize the religious breath that prevailed, especially the medieval ones, by criticizing some accessory circumstances: a clumsy converse friar or dressed in an unclean way, who acted as a cicerone; the scandal that monks, who wanted to pass for pious, sold liquor; the eternal bell for the sacred functions, while it is a question of making money … So I was able to continually drive away Grace from me every time he knocked.

I gave free rein to my mood in particular on certain medieval representations of Hell in cemeteries or elsewhere. in which the devil roasts souls in red and incandescent breeches, while his companions, with long tails, drag him new victims. Clara! Hell can be wrong to draw it, but you never go too far! I have always targeted the fire of Hell in a special way. You know it like during an altercation, about it. I once held a match under my nose and said sarcastically: “Does it smell like this?”. You quickly put out the flame. Here nobody turns it off. I tell you: the fire mentioned in the Bible does not mean torment of conscience. Fire is fire! it is to be understood literally what He said: “Get away from me, cursed, into the eternal fire!”. Literally. “How can the spirit be touched by material fire,” you will ask. How can your soul suffer on earth when you put your finger on the flame? In fact it does not burn the soul; yet what torment the whole individual feels! In a similar way we are spiritually related to fire here, according to our nature and according to our faculties.

Our soul is devoid of its natural beat of a wing, we cannot think what we want or how we want. Do not be surprised by these words of mine. This state, which tells you nothing, burns me without consuming me. Our greatest torment consists in knowing with certainty that we will never see God. How can this torment so much, since one on earth remains so indifferent? As long as the knife lies on the table, it leaves you cold. You see how sharp it is, but you don’t feel it. Dip the knife in the meat and you will start screaming in pain. Now we feel the loss of God, before we only thought it. Not all souls suffer equally.

With how much greater malice and the more systematically one has sinned, the more serious the loss of God weighs on him and the more the creature he has abused suffocates him. Damned Catholics suffer more than those of other religions, because they mostly received and trampled more graces and more light. Those who knew more, suffer more severely than those who knew less. Those who sinned through malice suffer more acutely than those who fell from weakness. Nobody ever suffers more than he deserved. Oh, if this were not true, I would have a reason to hate! You told me one day that nobody goes to Hell without knowing it: this would have been revealed to a saint. I laughed. But then you will hold me behind this statement: “So in case of need there will be enough time to make a turn”, I said to myself secretly. That saying is right. Really before my sudden end, I did not know Hell as it is.

No mortal knows it. But I was fully aware of it: “If you die, you go into the world beyond, straight as an arrow against God. You will bear the consequences”. I did not turn around, as I said, because dragged by the current of habit, driven by that conformity whereby men, the older they get, the more they act in the same direction. My death happened like this. A week ago I speak according to your calculation, because, compared to the pain, I could say very well that I have already been burning in Hell for ten years. A week ago, therefore, my husband and I went on a Sunday trip, the last one for me. The day had dawned radiant. I felt better than ever. A sinister feeling of happiness invaded me, which wound through me throughout the day. When suddenly, on the way back, my husband was dazzled by a car that was flying. He lost control. “Jesus” ran away from my lips with a shiver. Not as a prayer, only as a cry. An excruciating pain squeezed me all over. In comparison with that present a bagatella. Then I passed out. Strange!

Inexplicably, that thought arose in me that morning: “You could once again go to Mass.” It sounded like an exploration. Clear and resolute, my “no” cut the thread of thoughts. “With these things you have to do it once. I have all the consequences! ”- Now I bring them. You know what happened after my death. The fate of my husband, that of my mother, what happened to my corpse and the conduct of my funeral are known to me in their details through natural knowledge that we have here.

Moreover, what happens on earth, we know only nebulously. But what somehow affects us closely, we know. So I also see where you stay. I myself woke up suddenly from the dark, at the instant of my passing. I saw myself as flooded by a dazzling light. It was in the same place where my corpse lay. It happened as in a theater, when the lights suddenly go out in the hall, the curtain divides loudly and an unexpected horribly illuminated scene opens. The scene of my life. As in a mirror, my soul showed itself to itself. The graces trampled from youth until the last “no” before God. I felt like a murderer. to which, during the judicial process, his lifeless victim is brought before. Repent? Never! … Shame on me? Never! But I could not even resist under the eyes of God rejected by me. There was only one thing left: escape. As Cain fled from Abel’s corpse, so my soul was driven by that sight of horror. This was the particular judgment: the invisible Judge said: “Get away from me!”. Then my soul, like a yellow shadow of sulfur, fell into the place of eternal torment … Thus ended the manuscript.

Clara concludes: In the morning, at the sound of the Angelus, still trembling with the frightening night, I got up and ran down the stairs to the chapel. My heart was throbbing right down my throat. The few guests, kneeling beside me, looked at me, but perhaps they thought I was so excited about the ride. Made down the stairs. A lady from Budapest, who had observed me, said after smiling: – Miss, the Lord wants to be served calmly, not in a hurry! But then he realized that something else had excited me and still kept me agitated. And while the lady addressed me other good words, I thought: God alone is enough for me! Yes, He alone must suffice me in this and in the other life. I want one day to be able to enjoy it in Paradise, for how many sacrifices it can cost me on earth. I don’t want to go to Hell!



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