The Heralds of the Love of Jesus.

 

“He who does not love cannot become holy.”

 

On the evening of this first Friday, the vision of Jesus—with His radiant Heart, surrounded by many, many saints—reappears to me, grander and more beautiful than before. There are many men present, but in the front row—and more radiant than all the other figures, as if bathed in a light of privilege—stand three holy women.

 

Yet, in this vision—even though I understand that these are already spiritualized bodies—they appear to me clad in their earthly garments, just as happens in my visions of the life of Our Lord. Among the men, I recognize Saint John the Apostle; he stands almost directly behind Jesus, gazing at Him with a smile. Next, I see a Franciscan friar—not Saint Francis himself, though I do not know who he is. But it is the three holy women standing in the front row who truly capture my attention. 

 

One of them is Margaret Mary. I recognize her well. The second is a petite, beautiful little nun, clad entirely in white; only her veil is black. She possesses a countenance of keen intelligence, radiant with supernatural joy. The third is a slender, austere Capuchin nun, with serious, gentle eyes—the eyes of one who has suffered and wept a great deal; she is the eldest of the three. She is not weeping now, however; instead, she gazes at me with profound compassion. 

 

Jesus points them out to me and says: «These are My Heralds. They are the ones who did not keep for themselves their ardent love for My Divine Heart, but rather spread it throughout the world—and this, at the cost of every toil and sorrow. This one is the first in chronological order. She is the first voice to speak of trust in My Heart. The world was a veritable thicket of human savagery and religious rigidity when Gertrude proclaimed to the world: “Love and hope! Jesus assures us that we are reconciled with the Father; His pierced Heart bears witness to this. Let us labor for His glory; let us do His will to bring Him joy, and He, in turn, will work for us the miracles of His mercy.” St. Gertrude had truly grasped the meaning of the words that flow forth from this Wound of Mine. [St. Gertrude of Helfta, known as "the great" (circa 1256-1301), forerunner of devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus.]

 

You know the other one. You saw her last night [see prior chapter]. The third is Veronica, a Capuchin Poor Clare. The “voice” who proclaimed in Italy what Margaret Mary proclaimed in France. [St. Veronica Giuliani (1660-1727), Capuchin Poor Clare.] The two who conquered philosophism—that enemy of Truth—even more effectively than the Church did with her condemnations; they conquered it through the power of their love, which preached the truth of what they had heard and seen. For this, they were tormented by blind men. And among the blind, how many were there who “should have seen”! How many consecrated souls were among them! But they—my messengers, my “voices”—had been created for this very purpose. And this they did, for to do My Will was their joy. 

 

There are more female saints than male saints among the “voices” that speak of My Heart. For the gentleness of loving belongs to woman. John—the angelic one—stands among the saints because he possessed the heart of a maiden within the body of a hero. He was the first to truly comprehend My Heart. Yet all the saints are fruits of My Heart—fruits of their love for My Heart. Even those who appear to have been created to serve as apostles of other devotions are, in reality, fruits of My Heart and of their love for It. 

 

He who does not love cannot become holy. It is the heart that loves. And what is it that one loves in the beloved? Their heart. Just as, within a mother’s womb, the heart of her unborn child is the first thing to take shape, so too—within the hearts of those who bear God into the world—the Heart of their Lord is the first thing to take shape. When It beats within your breast, Jesus has already been born within you; He speaks to you, caresses you, and brings you the Father and the Spirit—for where the One is present, the other Two are never absent. You are, therefore, a Heaven wherein the wonders of God are wrought—a Heaven from which splendors radiate, and from which issue forth words that are, in truth, the lights and words of the God who dwells within you. 

 

Oh, blessed are you who understand how deeply I love you! And who proclaim this love to the world, to persuade it to love Me. I have shown you this family of saints—whose passion was My Heart—because you are a little sister. The Heart of your Jesus and His Cross: these are your goals of love. Yet the Heart of Jesus was opened upon the Cross. Amidst the utmost ignominy, He found therein His supreme refuge. This is to tell you that the more one accepts being reviled in order to fulfill the will of the Eternal One, the more one becomes a source of salvation and blessing for one’s sinful brethren. 

 

Even if their hearts should break from the pain that men inflict upon My heralds, let not these beloved ones of Mine tremble or retreat. I am with them; and here—yes, here within this Wound—lies the nest for My doves of love, wounded by cruel hawks. And I call out to them, saying: “Come—come, O My doves—to find rest beside the One who loves you. Come to the nest I have prepared for you, where I will wipe away every tear and heal every wound; where I will nourish you with the fruit of the Tree of Life and quench your thirst at the river of living water that flows from beneath My throne; where you shall bear My Name upon your foreheads and the sign of My Heart upon your hearts; and where you shall reign eternally, for through love, you have conquered Love.”»

 

Based on Maria Valtorta The Notebooks 1944, June 2, pp. 341-343.

 

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I've had it with the news.

The Lord is passing by . . . can you hear Him over the noise of all the "links.?"

  

Kings 19:11-13;   1 Kings Catholic; 3 Kings Prot. 

11 And he said to him: Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord: and behold the Lord passeth, and a great and strong wind before the Lord over throwing the mountains, and breaking the rocks in pieces: the Lord is not in the wind, and after the wind an earthquake: the Lord is not in the earthquake.  12 And after the earthquake a fire: the Lord is not in the fire, and after the fire a whistling of a gentle air.  13 And when Elias heard it, he covered his face with his mantle, and coming forth stood in the entering in of the cave, and behold a voice unto him, saying: What dost thou here, Elias?

"Let us always have our thoughts fixed on that which is to last eternally, without concerning ourselves with things here below, which disappear even more quickly than we ourselves."

-St. Teresa of Avila

 

If you have risen with Christ, seek the things that are above; mind the things that are above, not the things that are on earth. —St. Paul to the Colossians 3:1-2

 

    Meditation on the life of Jesus in all its details puts us little by little in an atmosphere of supernatural reality, and delivers us from the customary way in which men live, so deceived as to take no account of this great reality. Sin, and the results of sin, has succeeded in creating a world of mirages, illusions, and errors. This has developed to such an extent that men eventually grow accustomed to this world, sensitized, sensualized, humanized, no longer being able to see that all this is vain and ephemeral in relation to the true spiritual and supernatural life, in relation to eternal life.   Archbishop Marcel Lefevbre.

 

O God, Who didst teach blessed Hermenegild, Thy martyr, to choose a heavenly kingdom rather than an earthly one, grant us, we beseech Thee, to despise fleeting things, after his example, and to pursue those that are eternal. Through our Lord Jesus Christ, Thy Son, Who lives and reigns with Thee in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God, forever and ever. 

April 13, feast day of  St. Hermenegild.

 

 

“Immaculate Mary, Victim pierced by the sins of the world.”

         

The Blessed Virgin asks to be invoked under this new title.

The mystic Maria Valtorta writes:

In recompense for my atrocious suffering, Jesus is always with me, renewing the miracle of quenching my thirst with the Blood of His open Heart and immersing me in the fire of His Heart. Such bliss. [This miracle was reported in Valtorta’s Notebooks on March 16, 1947.] And Most Holy Mary comes in the afternoon, appearing in a dull ashen-colored mantle, as she did two nights ago.

And after telling me that she is happy that Rosaries are being recited together in Rome—"for prayer is more effective when offered by many"—she says to me: "Do you wish to know why you see me clad in this unusual mantle of penance—almost a mantle of mourning—even though I weep no more and the joy of my Heart radiates forth? Behold. I tell you now. And I reveal to you a new title by which I desire you to invoke me.

“For however little my sorrow is meditated upon, accepted, or believed—however degrading the description of it may seem, or however much people may wish to deny it—precisely because they know not how to meditate upon my sorrow as both a mother and a believer, I was a victim alongside my Son.

“And I remain so still.

“For every offense committed against Him strikes my Heart and scourges my love for Him, just as every suffering He endured on that Day of the Passion was a scourge, a blow, a thorn, a nail, a violent shock, and a fall for me as well. And so, now that a furious, tireless, and ever-more-violent hail of offenses is being hurled by humanity against its Lord, I don this mantle of penance—I, the victim alongside my Son, the Divine Victim.

“Do you see? I stand in the posture of supplication I assumed at the Sepulcher, at the moment of my complete sacrifice and my supreme prayer for mankind. I implore and I pour forth graces. I gather up prayers and acts of reparation. I offer myself, and I make my offering. I implore the Father—and I implore His mercy. With my graces, I bring comfort to the faithful.

“I gather their prayers and acts of reparation. I offer them to console the Love of My Heart. And to render them powerful, I offer Myself together with you—I, the Mother, a victim of and for humanity.

“Greet Me, O Mary, in this manner: ‘Hail, Mary, Victim Mother for the sins of men, pray for us.’ For this is My new title: “Immaculate Mary, Victim pierced by the sins of the world.”

Then Most Holy Mary vanished, but Jesus remained—still there, still there…

Based on Maria Valtorta, The Notebooks 1945-1950, June 3, 1949, pp. 527-528.

 

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Angels of Purgatory.

Saint Azariah says: "The mission of the Guardian Angel is believed by people to end with the death of the one being guarded. This is not always the case. It ceases, as a consequence, at the death of the unrepentant sinner, and to the great sorrow of the Guardian Angel of the unrepentant. And it is transfigured into joyful and eternal glory at the death of a saint who passes from Earth to Heaven without pauses in purgative service.

But it continues as it was, as a protection that intercedes and loves its charge, for those who pass from Earth to Purgatory to atone and be purified. So we, the Guardian Angels, pray with charity for you before the throne of God, and united with our prayers of love, we offer the suffrages that your relatives and friends offer you on Earth. Oh! I cannot express fully how alive, active, and sweet is the bond that still unites us to you in Purgatory.

Like mothers watching for the return of health in a child who was ill and is convalescing, like wives counting the days that separate them from the reunion with their imprisoned husband, so do we. We, not even for a moment, cease to observe divine, loving Justice and your souls being purified in the fires of love. And we rejoice as we see Love increasingly appeased toward you, and you ever more worthy of His Kingdom.

And when the Light commands us: "Go and bring him out here," more swiftly than lightning, we rush to bring a moment of Paradise—which is faith, which is hope, which is comfort—to those who still remain to atone, there in Purgatory. And we embrace the beloved soul for whom we labored and suffered, and we ascend with her, teaching her the heavenly hosanna.

The two sweetest moments in the Guardians' mission, the two sweetest moments, are when Charity says to us: "Come down, for a new man is born and you must guard him as a gem that belongs to me," and when we can ascend with you to Heaven. But the first is less than the second.

The other moments of joy are your victories over the world, the flesh, and the devil. But just as we tremble at your fragility from the moment you are taken into custody, so we always tremble after each of your victories, for the Enemy of Good is vigilant, trying to destroy what the spirit builds. Therefore, joyful, perfect in its joy, is the moment when we enter Heaven with you. For nothing can destroy what is already accomplished.

And now, my soul, I respond to your inner question: is God pleased that there is another Guardian in your house? [A mother with her newborn child is staying at Maria Valtorta’s home.] O you, who never ask us questions but keep your spirit open [...], know that it is sweet to answer those like you, and to give you comfort, a soul dear to God and tormented by men. Yes. God is pleased. Pleased because in your house there is an angel happy to watch over a newly created soul, a gem of God, and pleased because Jesus is the One who loved little ones.

Based on Maria Valtorta The Notebooks 1945-1950, July 16, 1947, pp. 403-404.

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Azariah: Maria’s Guardian Angel tells her his name.

  

I [Maria Valtorta] took the Holy Relic and began to say the usual prayer against Satan, who I feel is very intent on prowling around my house, me, and her [Maria’s housekeeper Marta]. Then I said the Act of Contrition, made a Spiritual Communion, the prayer: "Here I am, beloved and good Jesus… I am considering your five Wounds, etc., etc." and the prayer of the Cross, plus the Act of Offering, as I do every evening. I conclude with the "Glory Be" to the Holy Archangels and Angels, and finally to my Guardian.

 

As I say these last words to my Guardian Angel, I pause to ask, "But what's your name? You must have a name! I call you 'internal advisor.' But I'd like to call you by a name." He appears to me, next to the bed, to the right, toward the back, and says promptly, all smiles: "Azariah."

 

"Azariah? Really?" He smiles even more and says, "Are you not sure? Let's say together the 'Veni Sancte Spiritus' and seven 'Glorias,' as I have taught you for years in order to find answers and guidance from the Holy Spirit in every need, and then open the Bible at random. The first name you see is mine." 

 

I say the prayers with him and then open the Bible. It opens to 2 Chronicles 15:1. "Azariah, son of Obed, etc., etc.". The angel, still smiling, says: "And you can find the meaning of the name in the Book of Tobit, in the notes at the bottom of the page." I run to the Book of Tobit. I find at the bottom of the 5th chapter: "Azariah means 'help of the Lord,' therefore Azariah son of Ananias means: 'Help of the Lord, son of the goodness of the Lord.'" The angel says: "So it is," and smiles, looking at me sweetly. 

 

I observe him: tall, handsome, with dark brown hair, a round face, perfect in line and color, dark brown eyes, large, sweet, beautiful. I observe him in his loose robe: a straight tunic, very chaste, very beautiful, without a belt or cloak, with wide sleeves and a square neckline. The robe is white and silver. The bottom is a silver color, slightly burnished; The relief of this dress, which looks like precious brocade, is a luminous white, whiter than any snow or petal ever formed. And the relief is a succession of lily stems with open calyxes […] so that the angel seems wrapped in an enveloping bundle of blooming lilies. At the neck, sleeves, and hem, silver stripes. 

 

I say: "The same dress as on January 4, 1932, and the same appearance!" [When she saw her angel who had helped her at home after an illness, as she recounts in her Autobiography] "Yes. It is I. And if on other occasions I appeared to you with the three holy colors [red, blue, and green], it is to remind you that the Guardian watches over above all the life of the three theological virtues in the spirit of his ward."

I contemplate him, contemplate, contemplate, saying and savoring his name throughout the night of bitter suffering and without a shadow of sleep. From now on, "the internal advisor" will therefore be referred to by the name of Azariah, because, as he told me in greeting me before vanishing from my spiritual gaze, "every guardian angel is an Azariah: a helper of the Lord who in special cases makes himself more manifest by his order and for his glory." 

  

While I work with my needle, I mentally contemplate the moral figure of Jesus Christ. I think that if I could have a picture of Him painted according to my instructions and therefore as close as possible to His Holy Human Face, I would like to have a phrase written underneath that would be "all" that Jesus of Nazareth was. I think of "Come to Me," "I am the Way, Truth, and Life," "It is I, do not fear." But I feel that this is not yet what my soul desires to represent "the Christ." 

 

St. Azariah speaks to me: "Jesus is the Compendium of the love of the Three. Jesus is the Compendium of what the Holy Trinity and Unity of God are. He is the Perfection of the Three summarized in One. It is the infinite, multifaceted Perfection epitomized in Jesus. An abyss of Perfection before which the celestial armies and the blessed multitudes of Paradise prostrate themselves in adoration. An abyss of Love that could be, and can be, understood and accepted only by those who possess love.

“Observe, my soul, that both in the time of Christ and in this era there were always two points on which the arrogant intellect of man, who cannot believe unless he is humble and loving, was most obstinate: that Christ was God and Man and performed solely spiritual actions, for which he was hated even by his closest friends and therefore betrayed, and that he created the Sacrament of Love. Then, now, always, the "loveless" heretically said and will say that God cannot be in Jesus and that Jesus cannot be in the Most Holy, adorable Eucharist. Therefore, my soul, if you had to have a word written under the effigy of the Man-God, you should have it written: "I am the Compendium of Love." And St. Azariah is silent, adoring.

St. Azariah tells me: "Angels are superior to men. I say 'men' to refer to the beings so called, composed of matter and spirit. Then we are superior, all spirit. But remember that when Grace lives in man and the Blood of the Mystical Body whose head is Christ circulates, while the seven Sacraments strengthen him from birth to death, for every state and every phase of life, then in you, 'living temples of the Lord,' we see the Lord and adore Him in you, and then you are superior to us, you are 'other Christs,' and you have what is called the 'Bread of Angels,' but it is Bread only for men. Mystical, insatiable hunger for the Eucharist that is within you and that makes us cling to you, when you nourish yourselves with It, to smell the divine fragrance of this perfect Food!”

Based on Maria Valtorta, The Notebooks 1945-1950, entries for January 15, 1946 and January 20, 1946, pp. 170-176.

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Baby Jesus visits Maria Valtorta.

January 2, 1946.

 

A monastery cloister, with a portico, paved with black and white square tiles. The long cloister fades into the darkness at the end […]. There is a small statue of Baby Jesus, about 28-30 months old. Blond, handsome, wearing a pale blue robe with golden stars, his right hand raised in blessing, his left holding a globe. An oil lamp illuminates the statue.

As I look at it, it comes to life and becomes real flesh. It smiles at me and gestures with its little hand, saying, "Come here! Come here!" And it becomes luminous, beautiful. The corner of the cloister glows as if with starlight. I move a little closer, smiling reverently. But I still stop too far away, and the Child insists with his voice and his little hand: "Come here! Here, close!" I approach him. He laughs happily and says: "Will you warm my little feet with a kiss? I'm so cold!" and he offers me his bare feet in turn, on which to warm them I place not only my lips but my feverish cheek.

He laughs. A clear, childish laugh, and says: "I am the Child of little Thérèse of Lisieux. This is Carmel. Do you understand? I am the Child Jesus of Sister Thérèse […]. " I contemplate him in ecstasy, now that I am so close to him. He is so beautiful! Then the light grows, grows, it is so violent, it obliterates the power of seeing, and everything disappears. Only the memory and the peace remain.

January 4, 1946.

And as the other day, the Child of the cloister of Lisieux appears to me again. He calls me close again. He consoles me, with his smiling beauty, for my sorrows, which are so many. He once again gives me his icy little feet to warm, saying again: 'I am so cold!', and I dare take them in my hands to warm them more. This makes him very happy.

But he seems tired of holding the globe in his left hand and takes it with both hands, holding it to his chest. I watch him as I warm his little feet in my hands. Perhaps he notices my surprise at his gesture and says, "It's heavy, you know? And this globe of the world is so cold. Hold it. Feel how cold and heavy it is. Hold it a little. I'm tired of holding it and always feeling it like this."

And he offers me the little globe, which at first glance seems to be made of golden glass, smooth and light. Instead, it is heavier than lead, rough, covered in prickles that dig into my skin, causing pain. I hold it with difficulty and anguish, because of the prickles and the chill it transmits. I look at the holy Child with pity.

"It's heavy, isn't it? And it's cold, isn't it! It even chills my heart. Yet I have to carry it. If I abandon it, who can hold it anymore?"

 

"But how can you, poor little Jesus, resist this torture? Because it's real torture..."

"Yes. Look. My little hands are bleeding. Kiss them to heal them." And he offers me his tender hands covered with tiny droplets of blood. I kiss them in the soft hollows of his palms. But they are cold, cold.

"Thank you, Maria. Give me back the globe. You can't hold it anymore. Only I can. But just finding someone to hold it for a few minutes is enough to give me relief. Do you know how you help me hold it, you who love me? With your sacrificial love. Victim souls hold up the world together with Jesus."

He glows as brightly as the other night and withdraws his little foot, saying, "Now they're both warm. And I feel better. Goodbye, Maria. Thank you also for Mom. She's happy when there's someone who loves and comforts me." And she fades into a blinding light.

 

January 6, 1946.

While I'm working on a piece for an altar, "Mom" comes with her Baby in her arms.

She says, "Here. Hold Him for me a little. I'll entrust Him to you," and she sits Him down on the bed, beside me.

Jesus is truly the Baby of Egypt […], because He is about two years old. Dressed in pale blue wool, a rather short tunic, even at the sleeves, so that His forearms and legs are exposed, plump, beautiful. He plays with His little hands and His little dress, and chirps or watches me work with His innocent, sapphire eyes. He spends the whole morning with me, and I am so happy about it.

Based on Maria Valtorta, The Notebooks 1945-1950, pp. 156-158.

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SSPX says they are the Catholic Church.

  

The SSPX Daily Newsletter for February 7, 2026 features a quote from their founder Archbishop Marcel Levebvre.  He clearly asserts his view that the SSPX is the Catholic Church. 

 

 "We must maintain absolutely our firm opposition and not doubt for an instant the legitimacy of our position. We cannot remain indifferent before the degradation of faith, morals, and the liturgy. That is out of the question! We do not want to separate ourselves from the Church; on the contrary, we want the Church to continue! A Church that breaks with its past is no longer the Catholic Church. There is only one Catholic Church; it is the one that continues Tradition. That is why I do not hesitate to say that you are the Catholic Church! Why? Because you continue what the Church has always done." 

 

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