No saint ever lived who did not have a profound understanding of the human soul, for a saint is rooted in the love of Christ who knows and loves the human heart more than anyone. Blessed Clelia on many occasions knew how to speak words filled with comfort and practical wisdom to her Daughters, offering them true spiritual manna to resist the snares of evil so often fueled by an endless whirlwind of “whys” or, more insidiously, masked by the veil of discouragement: “Do you want a word of advice from your Mother? Here it is: entrust your heart to Mary and have a very special devotion and preference for the holy practice of the holy Rosary as well as for eucharistic Communion. […] Don’t stay there racking your brain with constant reflections and questioning; surrender yourself to God […] and then let Him do the rest. The Heart of Jesus will not let your soul fall into the precipice; […] be patient and absolutely don’t let discouragement penetrate your heart. Remember daughter, that nothing that disturbs come from God. God is peace, gentleness and calm. Become familiar with that beautiful and consoling ejaculation; ‘In you, O Lord, have I hoped.’” We seem to hear in these words an echo of Saint John Paul II’s homily for the inauguration of his pontificate on October 22, 1978. Many people do not go beyond a merely political vision of the Pope limited to the Berlin Wall. They forget that the invitation to “open wide the doors for Christ” was followed by an explanation directed to the wounded and restless soul of contemporary humanity: “Do not be afraid. Christ knows ‘what is in man.’ He alone knows it. So often today man does not know what is within him, in the depths of his mind and heart. So often he is uncertain about the meaning of his life on this earth. He is assailed by doubt, a doubt which turns into despair. We ask you therefore, we beg you with humility and trust, let Christ speak to man. He alone has words of life, yes, of eternal life.”

In the month of September, in which we remember the birth and name of Mary, we cannot but bring to light these words of Mother Clelia addressed to her Daughters: ‘Who could have imagined such greatness in a simple creature? It was a true day of rejoicing, because in Mary’s birth the world saw appear the forerunner star of the sun of justice, she whom heaven had chosen to be the mediatrix and advocate of men before divine justice! It was a day of hope, because this holy Child will one day be our mother and the cooperator of God’s plans of love and mercy above us’. The Blessed cultivated in her life a special devotion to the Infant Mary, perhaps because she sensed that in her virtues of candour and humility lay the key to a privileged access to the Heart of Christ, and to the Mother of God in general. When she ended her exile in 1928 by returning to her new general house in Rome, she found a beautiful Marian painting waiting for her in the chapel, placed there just two years earlier. We do not know what emotional thoughts her refreshed soul could formulate, but we like to imagine that they were not far removed from those written in 1951 by a pupil at the school: ‘Even the Child Jesus has His eyes closed… But He sleeps in a serene, childlike sleep […] Mother and Son are united in a wonderful fusion of souls. Now I understand. That is why so many times I have come to kneel before this Virgin Mary… because with Her I would also have found Christ!’.

By the late 1960s, the Apostles of the Sacred Heart of Jesus shared a single deep desire: to finally take the decisive step of beginning the beatification process of their beloved Foundress. Yet, the obstacles of every sort that continually stood in the way only instilled a troublesome doubt—that their desire might not respond to God’s will. In the constant “what ifs” that seemed to be placed in the Institute’s winding paths, a passageway to a magnificent “yes” was opening up, a “fiat” that would open wide the doors of grace. In the notes of Sr. Redenta Libutti, one of the sisters who in that period worked for the cause, we find some significant signs of that grace. Two important mystics of the time, the Salesian Giuseppe Tomaselli, a great healer and exorcist, and Padre Pio, were questioned explicitly. Both of them confirmed that they perceived in their hearts an authentic word from God: “Yes, it is my will. Seek to do everything possible.”

Unconditional trust in God’s providential love is the greatest strength hidden in the hearts of the saints, who, despite their frailties, manage to become children ready to throw themselves into the Father’s arms. When Blessed Clelia was overwhelmed, only four years after the founding of the Institute, by the avalanche of calumnies and debts related to the financial collapse, the Franciscan friar Serafino Bigongiari, who had helped her take the first steps for the birth of the congregation in Viareggio, could only allow himself to be gloomily pessimistic. On March 14, 1899, she wrote thus to the archbishop of Lucca: “Behind the huge financial disruption suffered by the Institute itself, I do not know where to base my hopes. And I would like to be a bad prophet, but for me this Institute is finished,” adding ‘the foundress replied to me that I should not listen to sinister voices […]: ’She fears, but for me the least disturbing thought is the storm, the Sacred Heart will provide.’” And indeed, more than a century later, we can say that Fr. Seraphim was a bad prophet, while the Sacred Heart did not fail to provide for the needs of his beloved daughter.

Anyone who has had the good fortune to read Mother Clelia’s diary, the luminous fruit of the exile years, will have been surprised by the centrality of the dimension of humility, pursued with so much effort by the Blessed through filial entrustment to the Blessed Virgin and the constant call to conformity to Christ. Daily spiritual communions turn out, not surprisingly, to be extremely recurring on a par with Marian invocations: after all, one can stand at the foot of the Cross or cross the desert in the face of Herod’s threat – a ruthless Herod who often lurks in the ego – only if, like Mary, one has “dear Jesus” with him. A beautiful spontaneous prayer of the Blessed One reminds us of this: “O courageous Mother of mine Mary Most Holy, I too, you see, am in the desolate land of Egypt, that is, without a fixed abode, and many enemies surround me on all sides; among them an infernal Herod covetously seeks and pursues me. Deh. come to my rescue, O mighty Mother of mine, be my faithful companion in my pilgrimage, and let nothing separate me from the love of Jesus. O Mother of mine, let me imitate your generosity, docility, readiness to indulge all the inspirations of grace, without listening in the least to the prolonged barks of my nature.”

The vocation to holiness, that is, to the fullness of self-giving, is a call that God extends to everyone, inviting them to remain in his love so that they may know how easy is his yoke and then radiate to others the light of his presence. To remain in his love implies familiarity with the Sacrament of the Eucharist, the foundation that no saint every lost sight of, recognizing in it a “highway to heaven,” as Blessed Carlo Acutis affirmed very effectively in these our difficult times. Mother Clelia was always anchored in the power of the sacrifice of the Mass. During her harsh exile, “her spirit raging,” she dedicated a touching reflection in her Diary to the Eucharist: “But why, O my divine Savior, did You choose to hide Yourself under the appearances of a piece of bread? This self-annihilation to which You chose to reduce Yourself, O Jesus in the Eucharist, is something too great, too deep and incomprehensible to me. What an example of the most profound humility You offer me, O Jesus! In order to remain with us, to become our food, You condemn Yourself as a prisoner of love to live in a little and perhaps very squalid tabernacle! You let Yourself be handled by both good and unworthy priests as they will, You let Yourself be carried wherever they want, deep within the most terrible prisons, in the most filthy and wretched rooms, in stables among donkeys where some sick person is lying on a little straw. There is no man, no matter how miserable or despised he is, however excluded he is from all human companionship, who will be turned away from Your table, as long as he reconciles himself with you. Even one condemned to the gallows, even the refuse of society and the wretched prisoner can approach You and receive You, O Jesus, in the Eucharist, no less than the most powerful monarch, and say to You: You, Jesus, are my food.”

Through the Holy Spirit, the Christian at Baptism receives not only the gift of Christ’s Kingship, which elevates the person to the dignity of a son or daughter of the King, but receives as well the gifts of priesthood and prophecy. Mother Clelia’s awareness that she was first and foremost consecrated to God, His honor, and His worship impelled her to let each of these charisms shine through her. In particular, the gift of prophecy, which is primarily the ability to interpret the plan of God in the twists and turns of life, was often manifested in her supernatural capacity to predict the future. Testimonies to this fact are numerous. We recount here one in particular. Sr. Rufina Crippa attests that Mother Clelia, a year after she had returned to Rome from her long exile, wanted one day to meet the novices who had arrived from Alessandria. Among them was Sr. Pia Tonin, who was very concerned about her brother in America whom she had not heard from for several years. When she entered Mother Clelia’s room, without asking her anything, she heard her say: “Be at peace that your brother is fine and will write you soon.” Sr. Rufina concludes her account with these words: “We were greatly amazed and confirmed in our opinion that Mother Clelia was a saint when Sr. Pia returned to Alessandria and there in fact received a reassuring letter from her brother.”

When fate brought Mother Clelia to the village of Roccagiovine, her exile entered a new phase of charity and self-emptying. The few sisters who accompanied her perhaps were not fully aware of the life principle hidden behind the cross they felt constrained to follow. Several striking accounts of that period remain from the people of that locality as well as some holy cards we have received from people who were children at the time. “Pray to Mary for me, a poor soul,” reads an inscription on a laced card of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, given to a little girl named Anita Facioni. The handwriting, different from that of Mother Clelia, suggests that it was written by one of her Daughters in exile. Despite the image of suffering that it brings to mind, we cannot but sense a spark of light, that prayer for one another is the indispensable support of our faith. Blessed Clelia took this to heart more than ever in her life, leading her to write in one of her letters: “The Communion of Saints assures us of powerful protectors in heaven and of brothers and sisters on earth.”