Saint Gabriel of Our Lady of Sorrows

 

 text by by João Silveira.

You can read the original text (in Portuguese) herre. 

 

Gabriel of Our Lady of Sorrows, whom Leo XIII called the “Saint Aloysius Gonzaga of our days,” was born in Assisi (Italy) on March 1, 1838, the son of Sante Possenti of Terni and Agnes Frisciotti. On the very day he came into the world, he received the grace of Baptism in the same font where the great Patriarch St. Francis had been baptized, in the church of San Rufino.

His father, already at the age of twenty-two, was Governor of the city of Urbania, a position he subsequently held in San Ginesio, Corinaldo, Cingoli, and Assisi. As one of the magistrates of the Papal States, he enjoyed great esteem from Pope Pius IX, and Leo XIII honored him with sincere friendship. His mother belonged to a noble family from Civitanova d’Ancona. These two spouses were models of Christian marriage, living in holy fear of God, united by a bond of respect and most faithful love, which only death could dissolve. God blessed this holy union with thirteen children, of whom Gabriel was the eleventh. At Baptism, he received the name Francis, in honor of his grandfather and of the Seraphic Saint of Assisi.

Bearing witness to the education they received in the family, in the process of beatification of the Servant of God, his brothers declared: “We were educated with the greatest care regarding piety and instruction. Our mother was very devout and raised us according to the principles of our holy Religion.”

In the arms, upon the knees of a deeply religious mother, little Francis learned the rudiments of Christian life and to pronounce the holy names of Jesus and Mary.

The great happiness that reigned in his childhood suffered a severe blow when, unexpectedly, the Angel of Death visited that home and took their mother. Mrs. Inês, sensing her end was near, in fulfillment of her duty as a Christian mother, gathered all her children at her bedside, embraced them one by one, sealed their foreheads with a final kiss, gave them her blessing—showing special affection for the youngest, among them Francis—and, fortified with all the Sacraments and comforted by God’s grace, died at the age of 38, leaving this world to receive in eternity, near God, the reward of her rare virtues.

Regarding his father, Francis himself gave the following testimony to his spiritual director:

 

“My father,” he declared, “used to rise very early. He devoted an hour to prayer and meditation; if someone wished to speak with him during this time, they had to wait until his religious exercises were finished. Afterward, he would go to church to attend Holy Mass and would usually take with him those children who were not prevented. After Mass, he would begin his work. In the evening, he gathered his children and gave them wise advice and useful exhortations. He spoke to them about their duties toward God, the respect due to paternal authority, and the danger of bad company.” “Bad companions,” he would say, “are the assassins of youth, the agents of Lucifer, hidden traitors, and therefore must be feared and avoided.”

 

The biographers of Francis emphasize, above all, the extraordinary kindness of the boy’s heart, especially toward the poor. Many times he went without his snack because he had given it to the poor. Among his siblings, he was the angel of peace, always ready to excuse and defend them when they were unjustly accused. He could not tolerate injustice, whether directed at himself or at one of his own. He easily gave away objects of some value that had been given to him. Thus, he once gave one of his brothers a beautiful silver chain he had received from a relative.

These good traits in Francis’s character do not hide certain shadows that also remained in him. Those who knew him as gentle, kind, and compassionate also knew him to be nervous, impatient, and irascible.

Fortunately for him, his father Sante was not among those who excuse the whims of their children under the pretext that “they are just children,” without realizing that later they will have to pay dearly for such indulgence. True Christian love led him to firmly combat all defects. Francis was obedient and had great respect for his father, although this did not prevent him, when severely reprimanded, from giving way to his impulsive temperament with words and gestures of displeasure and anger. But all this was fleeting. Soon he returned to calm; his good nature did not allow these outbursts to last long. It was moving to see the boy shortly afterward in tears, seeking his father and, in his innocent and childish manner, asking for forgiveness and assurance of his father’s love. Sante, pretending not to be convinced by these displays, would respond harshly: “No affection; I want deeds.” Then the boy would throw himself into his father’s arms, kiss him, and feel happy to have returned to peace through paternal forgiveness. In this school of wise pedagogy, Francis early learned to fight and overcome his faults.

For some time, Francis was entrusted to a teacher; later he attended the college of the Christian Brothers, where he made rapid progress, always ranking among the best students. At the age of seven he made his first confession. A year later, in June 1846, he received the sacrament of Confirmation. All this shows that the boy was already well instructed in the truths of the Faith, thanks to the solid teaching of the meritorious Brothers.

At that same time, the date of his First Communion arrived, for which he prepared with great care. An eyewitness of that grand event said:

 

“The fervor with which I saw him approach the Holy Table, the spirit of faith that shone on his face, and the strength of his affection were such that one could believe he was being carried by a Seraph.”

 

These sentiments of faith and piety, those flames of love for the Blessed Sacrament, never left Francis’s heart in his youth, even amid a somewhat worldly life. It is no less certain that frequent Holy Communion preserved him from grave deviations amid worldly temptations.

After completing his elementary studies, his father sought a higher education for Francis, in accordance with his social position, and entrusted him to the Jesuit Fathers who ran a college in the city of Spoleto. In this school, Francis spent his entire youth and completed four semesters of philosophy studies. An intelligent and diligent student, he left a good memory at that college, and great hopes were placed in him. He never went a year without winning a prize, and at the end of his studies he was awarded a gold medal. Teachers and classmates also esteemed him.

Everything about him was charming: his delicate and gentle manners, modest speech, the kind smile that played on his lips, the grace with which he carried himself in solemn circumstances, and the noble sentiments that guided his conduct. He always showed the greatest esteem and gratitude toward his teachers. He was a strict observer of religious practices and regularly received the Sacraments. It is true that, given the occasion, his impetuous temperament led him to outbursts of anger and vehemence. But these excesses were always followed by tears of repentance and penance.

From childhood, he showed particular devotion to Our Lady of Sorrows, whose image was kept in his family; it was his duty to adorn it with flowers and keep a lamp burning before it. One of his brothers testified that Francis once wore a leather cilice with iron points during his last year at home. Another testimony from the Parenzi family states: “His religious and moral conduct was irreproachable; given the strict supervision of our parents, he would not have been admitted into our family if he had not been truly virtuous.”

To complete the image of the young student, and to better understand the change that would later occur in him, we must consider the solemn prize distribution ceremony of September 1856, his last at the Jesuit college in Spoleto. Francis stood among the best students chosen to enhance the ceremony with speeches and poetic declamations. No one equaled him in elegance, grace of performance, charm of recitation, expressive gestures, or voice. On stage, he seemed in his element and performed with perfect ease.

His appearance was impeccable: dressed according to the latest fashion, carefully styled hair, elegant attire, white gloves, silk tie, polished shoes—all of this he valued greatly. On one occasion, he recited with such enthusiasm that the Apostolic Delegate, Monsignor Guadalupe, said to his father: “If your son were here, I would embrace him on your behalf.”

However, the rare moral qualities that adorned him, his attractive youth, and his vivacity were tinged with a slight shadow of vanity. This showed itself in his concern for dress, perfume, hairstyle, dislike of the smallest stain on his clothes, and his fondness for worldly amusements.

The enemy of souls took advantage of these weaknesses. If he did not succeed in robbing him of innocence, it was not for lack of attempts. His passion for theater, his mania for dances, and his love of novels were all dangers that make it remarkable he did not fall completely. So strong was his passion for dancing that he was nicknamed “the dancer.”

Francis was aware of the danger he was in, and many reminded him of the need for prayer, vigilance, mortification, devotion to Jesus and Mary, and eternity. A letter from Father Fedeschini, S.J., contained all these warnings.

Despite his youthful faults, Francis remained a good and pious young man, to whom wise and virtuous men could write with confidence and esteem.

 

“Many times,” says one who knew him well, “Possenti felt the call of God to leave worldly life and embrace religious life.”

 

His director, Fr. Norberto, a Passionist, declares:

 

“The vocation, although neglected and suffocated, had been in him for a long time, and he felt it from his earliest years. The servant of God often told me this, lamenting his ingratitude and indifference.”

 

The same priest relates:

 

“His vocation manifested itself as follows: I do not know in which year it was, but he was struck by an illness that made him think of death. He then had the inspiration to promise God that he would enter a religious Order if he recovered his health. The promise was accepted, for he improved quickly and in a short time was restored. But the promise remained as if it had never been made. The young man returned to his affection for the world and gave himself over to dissipation as before.

It was not long before God sent him another illness, an internal and external inflammation of the throat, so severe that death seemed imminent already on the first night, making breathing extremely difficult. Once again the sick young man turned to God and, invoking Saint Andrew Bobola, applied an image of the same saint to the painful area and renewed his promise to embrace the religious state. Improvement came almost instantly, and he spent a peaceful night; the attacks of breathlessness never returned. The young man always remembered this extraordinary favor with great gratitude. He also kept for some time the intention of becoming a religious, but delaying its execution, his love for the world returned, and he continued to live in the world.”

 

Among Francis’s passions, one of the strongest was hunting. To this passion he paid a heavy price, and his spiritual director did not hesitate to attribute to this sport the cruel illness that cut him down in the flower of his youth. On one occasion, while jumping over a fence, he fell so badly that he broke a bone in his nose. The gun discharged, and the projectile passed very close to his forehead, narrowly missing his skull. Francis, immediately recognizing the providence of this warning, renewed his promise. He was left with scars, but remained in the world.

Divine grace, however, was not defeated. Rejected three times, it attempted a fourth blow, even more painful. Of all his family, Francis had a very tender affection for his sister Maria Luisa, nine years older than him, and this affection was fully reciprocated. In 1855, cholera broke out in Spoleto, and Maria Luisa was the first victim of the terrible epidemic. It was on Corpus Christi day, and the news reached Francis while he was carrying the cross in the procession. His sister’s death deeply wounded the young man’s heart and plunged his soul into darkness he had never before experienced. He lost all taste for life and fell into inconsolable sadness. It seemed that with this blow divine grace had removed the last obstacle to the fulfillment of his promise.

Yet this was not yet the case. Deeply saddened, Francis expressed to his father his decision to enter the convent, even saying that for him everything in this life was over. Sante Possenti, fearing the loss of his beloved son, did not receive the news well and asked him never again to speak of it. He advised him to distract himself, to drive away sad thoughts, to seek company, attend the theatre; he even suggested he consider forming a friendship with a distinguished young lady from a similarly respectable family, hoping that innocent social interactions might make him forget his religious intentions.

In the metropolitan church of Spoleto, a particularly venerated image of Our Lady was honored; this image was simply called “the Icon.” During the octave of August 15, this image was carried in solemn procession inside the church, and everyone knelt as it passed. In 1856, Francis Possenti was among the faithful, and, filled with love for the Blessed Virgin Mary, his eyes remained fixed on the revered image as if expecting a special blessing. When the “Icon” approached him, it seemed to cast upon him a special gaze, as if saying: “Francis, the world is not for you; the life of the convent awaits you.” These words, like a burning arrow, pierced his heart; he left the church in tears. He was now resolved to carry out the plan he had long considered. However, he decided not to reveal his intention for the time being.

Although certain of his vocation, but distrustful of his own weakness and not wanting to be deceived by illusion, he sought his teacher at the lyceum and spiritual director, Fr. Bompiani, a Jesuit, and confided everything to him, making his final decision depend on his advice.

The examination was carried out with complete sincerity, and after considering all the factors of his past life, Fr. Bompiani did not hesitate to affirm that it was a true vocation and encouraged him to follow it. Consultations with two other priests of his full confidence reached the same conclusion. Francis then decided to request admission to the Congregation of the Passionists.

Communicating his decision to his father was not easy. But this time Mr. Sante, a conscientious man, seeing his son’s distress and firmness, no longer opposed him; however, he was shocked to learn that the Congregation chosen by Francis—the Passionists—was the most austere of all. Although he did not oppose his son’s will, he sought to delay the execution of the plan and impose conditions.

Francis, however, remained firm. He took part one last time in the prize-giving ceremony at the Jesuit college, once again performed brilliantly on stage, said farewell to his teachers and friends, and, accompanied by his brother Louis of the Dominican Order, visited his uncle Cesare, canon of the Basilica of Loreto, and a relative of his father, Fr. John Baptist of Civitanova, guardian of a Capuchin convent, carrying letters from Sante Possenti asking them to examine his son’s vocation. Both the canon and the Capuchin strongly emphasized the austerity of the Passionist life, which, they said, would not suit a young man of eighteen accustomed to following his own will without restriction.

During his visit to the Holy House in Loreto, Francis took the opportunity to entrust himself to Our Lady. He did not turn back from his chosen path. From Loreto he went to the Passionist convent of Morrovalle, where on September 21, 1856, he received the religious habit with the name Gabriel of Our Lady of Sorrows. Admitted to the novitiate, he wrote to his father and brothers informing them of the fact. To his father he asked forgiveness; to his brothers he recommended filial love and good conduct. The letter, though simple, is a remarkable document of filial and Catholic sentiment. He also wrote to his school companions, asking forgiveness for any bad example he thought he had given them, and urging them to avoid bad company, theatre, bad books, and useless conversations.

Fully convinced of his religious vocation, far from the world, society, and family, he had no other ideal than to ascend to the heights of perfection.

His personality remained unmistakable among his fellow novices. Without losing the characteristic traits of his nature—joyfulness, cheerfulness, and kindness—he excelled not only in the exact observance of the rules, but also in the practice of Christian and monastic virtues. If we examine the deep causes of this radical change in Gabriel’s life, we find two: his ardent love for Jesus Crucified and the Holy Eucharist, and his singular devotion to the Mother of God (especially Our Lady of Sorrows), as well as his constant mortification, by which he subdued his disordered inclinations one by one.

After the year of probation, Gabriel was admitted to profession and sent to various houses of the Congregation to complete his theological studies. During the years of preparation for the priesthood, superiors and companions saw in him the most perfect model of all virtues and an exact observer of all his duties.

At the age of twenty-three, the first symptoms of the illness that would take him to the grave within a year appeared: pulmonary tuberculosis. During his long sickness, Gabriel took the opportunity to deepen even further his devotion to the Passion and Death of Jesus Christ and to Mary, Mother of Sorrows.

In February 1862, he was still able to walk and receive Holy Communion in church with his companions. Suddenly, his condition worsened; he was told to receive the Last Sacraments. The news frightened him only for a moment; he immediately regained his usual calm, which soon turned into an extraordinary joy. The manner in which he received Holy Viaticum moved and edified all present. He never let go of the image of the Crucified, which he kissed repeatedly, and he kept close to him a statue of Our Lady of Sorrows, which he often pressed to his chest, uttering affectionate prayers such as:

 

“My Mother, hurry!”

“Jesus, Mary, Joseph, may I die in peace in your company!”

“Mary, Mother of grace, Mother of mercy, protect us from the enemy, and receive us at the hour of death.”

 

A few moments before his passing, the dying man, who seemed to be asleep, suddenly smiled, turned his head to the left, and fixed his gaze on a point. As if moved by a profound emotion at a vision, he gave a deep sigh of love, and in that attitude—still smiling, holding the Crucifix and the Mater Dolorosa in his hands—passed from this life to the next.

Thus the holy young man died at the age of twenty-four, on the morning of February 27, 1862. He was buried in the church of the Congregation in Isola del Gran Sasso. Thirty years later, his body was exhumed. On that occasion, through the simple contact with his relics, a miraculous healing occurred of a young woman reduced to the last stage of pulmonary tuberculosis. Countless miracles followed through his intercession.

In 1908, Pope Pius X inscribed the name of Gabriel of the Virgin of Sorrows among the Blessed, and in 1920 Benedict XV solemnly canonized him. Pius XI extended his feast to the whole Church in 1932.

 

PRAYER – O God, who taught Saint Gabriel to honor with devotion the sorrows of Your most sweet Mother, and through her raised him to the glory of sanctity and miracles, grant us, through his intercession and example, the grace to share intimately in the sorrows of Your Holy Mother, and through her maternal protection, to obtain eternal salvation.