(A true story about the power of prayer and charity)
The new priest was standing in the atrium of his church one humid and stifling afternoon in mid-June.
A whiff of cheap perfume announced the arrival of a young woman who stood provocatively before the parish priest. Her curly hair framed a face that, despite its expression of precocious malice, was childlike and insignificant. Those cat-like eyes stared with insolent intensity. Her hands, clasped together with nervous insistence, made her bracelets jingle.
At that moment, a voice spoke, sounding both annoyed and nonchalant:
"Well, look at me! Cheer up, I haven't come here to do penance, or for anything religious."
"Then what brings you here?"
"Very simple." I promised my mother I'd go to confession. She's waiting for me just a few steps from here. I'll go into the church and stay a little while so she'll think I'm confessing.
—My child...
—Call me Agatha—she corrected herself.
—I'm not asking your name—the priest replied—but you should know that Agatha comes from Greek and means "good."
—Really? What a disappointment it'll be if she thinks I'm good—the young woman remarked with as much liveliness as insolence.
—Here I am, I've just come out of the Reformatory, the re-for-ma-to-ry—she repeated, emphasizing each syllable, and began to vomit a torrent of obscene words.
The young priest understood that such language was nothing more than the projection of the inner contempt the rebellious creature felt for herself, and this indicated to him that there was still hope for her.
“My only wish was to be out of the reformatory,” she continued. “I went to the chapel to ask God to take me out of there, but, apparently, He was too busy to pay attention to a girl like me…”
“Perhaps I didn’t ask Him with faith,” the priest interjected.
“Believe what you will. The truth is, He didn’t listen to me. And so, instead of asking God, I asked the Devil.”
The priest paled. It was something unheard of: through a monstrous misguidedness, faith was leading her away from God and toward Satan…
“But the Devil doesn’t come for free…” he suggested, testing her.
“I know that.” Neither the Devil nor anyone else, not even the priests... But I promised to take nine sacrilegious communions if he got me out of the reformatory. And I started taking them. I received the Host and cursed God and the entire heavenly court under my breath. After the eighth communion, they released me. What do you say to this, Father?
The priest remained silent for a moment and then said:
“I say that Satan has made a magnificent deal. In exchange for what you consider your freedom, you gave him your soul.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, man, it’s not that bad…”
“You’re right; Satan will be the one who gets mocked. Blessed be God. Your soul doesn’t yet belong to the Demon Agatha: you can still save it.”
“Where did you get that idea?” the young woman cried, almost weeping with rage.
“From what you yourself have said. Why did you come to this church?” Wasn't it to please your mother? This proves that, despite everything, you love her very much. And a soul capable of pure affection is not irretrievably lost. Come; we will ask God to forgive you, and everything you've told me will vanish like a nightmare. Overwhelmed by violent and conflicting emotions, Agatha breathed heavily.
"I'm leaving," she finally said, her voice panting. "You can't fool me."
"Go into the church and pray, Agatha," the priest pleaded. And when she, without a word, turned her back on him, he added, "You will return, my child... You will return tonight."
The only response he heard was the sound of Agatha's heels clicking away into the street.
Perplexed and pondering this situation, he sat down in the confessional and decided to employ two weapons, the most effective in such cases: prayer and charity. He heard confessions and listened to people's sorrows. And to everyone, after imposing penance, he said: “I am going to ask you to help me implore a special grace from Our Lord. Would you like to stay in the church for an hour praying for a soul in great need?”
No one refused. A man who had to leave on a trip postponed it. Others who had commitments postponed them. Soon there was a large group of people in the church praying for that unknown soul. The priest went forward to the sanctuary and there began to pray: “Our Father…”.
He prayed hour after hour. Night fell; the last peal of the bells descended from the tower; the sounds of the street faded away. The church remained alone, and in it, the priest, still kneeling... And the door open. It was past midnight when the nervous tapping of heels echoed on the pavement. When the newcomer knelt a few steps from him, he remained motionless, his eyes never leaving the altar for a single instant. But the sobs of the repentant woman reached his ears.
"If I hadn't waited for her," the parish priest later said, "she might never have returned, finding the church closed."
From then on, Agatha was an exemplary woman.
Thus ends the account of the priest who later became Monsignor Fulton Sheen, professor at the University of Washington.
Father Lauro López Beltrán
Taken from Mexican Integrity, Nov-Dec, 2001.
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