Story by Joe Pisani
Many, many years ago, so many I lost count, I was on retreat at My Father’s House in Moodus, led by the late Father Bill McCarthy. By my reckoning, it was the first retreat I had been on since I went to St. Joseph High School and the Marist Brothers shipped us off somewhere upstate for a few days, where we learned there was more to life than sports, dating and pizza. There was our faith, and as teenagers we had to start taking it seriously.
This Moodus adventure was very important to me. I had been recently married, and we had the first of four daughters. I wanted to get marriage and fatherhood right, but that depended on a deeper upstanding of my Catholic faith.
I’ve forgotten virtually everything I was told that weekend, except for one thing. Father Bill brought in a Gospel group of four women, who entertained us and sang a spiritual that opened my eyes to the larger reality of Christ in our lives. The lyrics were simple, but the message was profound. It was called “Somebody Prayed for Me.”
Somebody prayed for me,
I was lost and alone in a cold dark world.
No peace of mind, no freedom could I see,
But little did I know I had a friend somewhere,
Someone I didn’t know saw some good in me.
Somebody prayed for me,
They had me on their mind,
They sacrificed their time,
They fell down on their knees and prayed for me.
They had no doubt
That God would bring me out,
That he could change my life and set me free.
I’m so glad that someone prayed for me…
I’m so glad that someone prayed for me.
While they were singing — and it was a rousing rendition — a light went on in my head, and I gained an understanding that could have only come from the Holy Spirit. I realized I was at the retreat, trying to get closer to Christ, because somebody prayed for me.
I didn’t know who it was, but at the end of the day, their prayers were the reason I was in Moodus. You see, I was given the grace I needed because, yes, somebody prayed for me.
The first “suspect” on my list was my late grandmother, Angelina. She was an Italian immigrant whose husband died in his 40s. As a result, she had to raise nine kids by herself during the Great Depression on the East Side of Bridgeport in a cold-water apartment, which just happened to be across the street from St. Mary’s Church and next door to the convent.
When I was young, I lived with her and she took me to Mass (in Latin) every morning. In the afternoon, I’d lie on the floor in front of the stove with my crayons and coloring book, as she sat in a rocking chair beside me, praying the rosary, while two sweet potatoes baked in the oven for us.
Her rosaries, I realized years later, saved my life and restored my faith. Somebody prayed for me. There were others. My mother, for sure. Some aunts, although probably not the uncles. And a Sister of St. Joseph or two, who taught me catechism.
One other thing. I’m absolutely convinced that people I didn’t even know prayed for me. I won’t know who they are until we meet in heaven, after I do my time in purgatory.
There are people praying for all of us we don’t even know. That realization should bring you hope and inspire a greater resolve in you to pray for someone else, who is wandering in darkness. As my friend Dean often says, “Pray it forward.”
Every day try to pray for people you encounter who have no one to pray for them. Your simple prayers could be the difference between their getting into heaven or not.
When we meet in the after-life, we’ll be amazed at everyone who is there because we took the time to pray for them. We may not even remember that we said a prayer but Jesus will, because he answers all our prayers in the best way possible and does a lot of heavenly heavy lifting.
I recently read a quote that said, “If you are praying about it, God is already working on it.” So be generous with your prayers. Spread them around, and someday someone will say to you, “I’m so glad you prayed for me.”