It was April 1960. He felt he had to go to visit Padre Pio, the monk who bore the stigmata.
The Indian Herald had articles on the miracles happening through this priest’s intercession.
But San Giovanni Rotondo was in Italy, far, far away from India. Yielding to his mother’s request to go “for my sake,” he went to meet this man of God.
His mother was going blind. An unfortunate “tonga” horse carriage accident had resulted in a head injury that affected her vision. The journey to Padre Pio was long and adventurous as he met strangers who befriended him. A ship, a train, and a bus ride brought him finally to the place where hundreds gathered to pray, and be in the presence of this saintly man.
A kind nun had reserved a room for him at his destination. As he boarded the bus at Foggia, he heard a male voice ask in English, “Does this bus go to San Giovanni Rotondo?” It was Brother Bernard, who was also on his way there. A friendly conversation ensued when Bro Bernard revealed that he had made an appointment to meet Padre Pio six months earlier. Unaware of this requirement, he was disappointed, but offered to share his room with the Irish Christian brother who had no lodging. In return he was told, “For the kindness you’ve shown me, you can share my time with Padre Pio.” A miracle already!
At dinner the previous night he was advised to arrive between 5:00 and 5:30 am, because the church opened at 6 am. The next morn at 5:30, he found a big crowd gathered in front of the church saying the rosary in Italian. Following the hotel manager’s suggestion, he went to the left side entrance where all the nuns and priests were assembled.
A cold draft came from the open window as they waited for Pio (as he fondly called him) to arrive. Suddenly he smelled raw tobacco, but found that no one around smelt of tobacco. It disappeared as Pio walked in limping to say Mass. As Mass went on, the stigmata was bleeding. At Elevation time, Pio was talking loudly to the Host, to Jesus. It went on for ten minutes, after which from exhaustion he rested his head on his hands on the altar. Padre Pio did not distribute the Eucharist, because a woman had once torn the bandage from his hand, and it started bleeding.
After Mass, all those who had appointments lined up in the sacristy. Bro.Bernard went first, and he followed, met by a tall Franciscan monk who asked if he spoke Italian. The conversation was translated into English. Pio asked, “What intentions do you want me to pray for?” to which he replied, “My mother is losing her eyesight…” Pio raised his hand to stop him from talking further. He already knew that she had fallen from a horse carriage and was losing her vision.
“Tell her to keep praying,” Pio said, as he walked up to him, held him by the lapels of his coat and asked, “What do you want?” to which he earnestly said, “I’m looking for peace, I can’t find peace.” Pio assured him, “If you’re looking for peace, you will find peace. Always pray.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cross and gave it to him saying, “Whenever you feel unsure, pray with the cross in your hands.”
On his return, he bought a book which explained the smells associated with Padre Pio. If you got a carbolic smell, you had no intention of improving your spiritual life. If you smelled tobacco, you were trying, yet stumbling, but still had faith. If you smelled the scent of flowers, you were close to God.
To capture the memory of his visit, he took a photo of Pio in the verandah, and another at the confessional in the yard. The pictures taken with his Minox camera came out well, except for the two of Pio. They were blank, a strange phenomenon connected to God’s humble servant.
He left San Giovanni Rotondo lifted by the words and prayers of the saintly monk. Six months later, his mother had regained her eyesight as Pio had predicted. The miracle had happened.
He, is now my almost 91 year old uncle, and his mother, my paternal grandmother who received God’s grace through the intercession of St. Padre Pio.