Roman Catholics: A Padre’s Patience

In Italy, as in other Mediterranean countries, the sacred and the profane exist side by side. There is nothing like a good shrine, for example, to attract a raggle-taggle of sausage vendors, post card hawkers, fortune tellers, pickpockets, shooting-gallery barkers and common gyp artists — all waiting to peel the pilgrims of their lire. And if the shrine honors a particularly popular saint, the traffic in counterfeit relics is brisk.

Such was the situation in the moun tain town of San Giovanni Rotondo, not far from Foggia in southeastern Italy. Here was a shrine to a saint who was not only popular but who provided the extra added attraction of being alive as well. Padre Pio was not officially a saint; to qualify for sainthood, one must be dead and have been responsible for at least four unchallenged miracles. But one day in 1918, the Capuchin friar looked at his hands and what he saw terrified him so that he fainted; the frightened monks who came to help crossed themselves and called a doctor. The credulous who saw the blood flowing from Padre Pio’s hands, feet and side cried, “It is the stigmata!” And the monk’s fame began to spread.

Shrewish Daughters. The church was officially skeptical. Not until 1933 was the Vatican satisfied that the wounds were not self-inflicted and were truly of mysterious origin.

Pilgrims arrived every day by the hundreds. Hotels sprang up. A hospital, Casa Sollievo della Sofferenza, was built with the help of $400,000 raised by New York’s Mayor Fiorello La Guardia. In the piazza outside the church where Padre Pio said Mass and heard confessions, hand-painted tiles bearing the padre’s bearded face and other tasteless souvenirs were on sale.

At the church, the goings on were even more tasteless. When the doors were opened at 4:45 a.m., there was a stampede of pilgrims—three-fourths of them women—for the choice pews. These, however, had been chained and locked off by a group known as the Spiritual Daughters of Padre Pio—a shrewish ladies’ auxiliary made up of the wives and relatives of local big shots who defended their squatters’ rights.

Bubbling Scandal. Donations continued to pour in from all over the world. The monastery prospered astonishingly, to the envy of other Capuchins. Padre Pio, who had been relieved of his vow of poverty in 1957 by Pope Pius XII in order to supervise the donations and administer their good works, became known as “the richest monk in the world.” In fact, he declared truthfully, “the money does not belong to me; it belongs to the charities for which it was intended.” But jealousy—and, by this time, scandal—began to bubble.

It is said that when money talks even the angels listen. In Rome rumors of thefts, mismanagement and waste began to filter into the Vatican. In 1960, Girolamo Bortignon, Capuchin Bishop of Padua, began to complain to powerful friends in the Holy See that the activities in San Giovanni Rotondo would bear an investigation. Pope John sent an emissary, Msgr. Carlo Maccari, to the busy shrine with directions to set things in order. Maccari saw plenty that needed to be set in order. He saw the dread Spiritual Daughters squabbling over a cushion on which the padre had knelt, finally tearing it to bits. He saw other women following the padre about, armed with scissors to snip off pieces of his cassock. When he discovered that bandages dipped in chicken blood were being sold as having come from Padre Pio’s wounds, he declared, “This is superstition, not faith,” and returned to Rome.

For a Cleanup. A few days later, on the 50th anniversary of Padre Pio’s ordination, congratulations came from all over the world, including a warm message from the Archbishop of Milan, Giovanni Battista Montini, a longtime friend. But from the Vatican came not a word. Instead, Maccari returned for a cleanup. Result: the trinket vendors drifted away, and the Spiritual Daughters were shorn of their powers. There were cries of “inquisitor,” but Maccari had his way. Padre Pio was put under guard, and he soon found himself virtual prisoner in his own convent; his mail was opened and read; he was forbidden to celebrate Easter Mass in 1961 and to perform weddings or baptisms.

Stoically, Padre Pio went about his work, saying “I am patient, I will wait.” He did not have much longer; on June 3, 1963, Pope John died. When a new Pope was elected, he was Padre Pio’s old friend, Montini—Paul VI.

Life changed swiftly for the padre. Many of the men who had made things so difficult for him were consigned to the ecclesiastical boondocks; Maccari himself has been sent to an obscure parish in the Piemonte. Padre Pio once more hears confession without fear, is available to everyone. Once again, the tide of pilgrims has begun to swell. Would the crooks also resume their sordid trade? Padre Pio could not say.

At 76, he looks happier than he has in years, restoring the faith of his followers in the legend that he will live to be 99. Last week, looking back on the years of his disfavor, the frail friar, whose still-bleeding hands are hidden in red knit mittens, said: “The wretchedness of men equals the mercy of God.”