Brief thoughts about Rafaellina and Padre Pio

It is astonishing how popular devotion to Padre Pio has become, considering that he died less than 40 years ago. Unfortunately, much of what is written of him centres on the weird - inevitable, I suppose, for those who have stigmata and were alleged to bilocate. In all fairness to Pio, I have no idea if he actually made the 'predictions' which his devotees quoted during his lifetime (and which were about as accurate as those on a psychic hotline). The other side of Pio should be better known - the mystic, the pastoral father, the earthy Capuchin who wrote candidly of normal spiritual struggles, not only diabolical appearances and bearing the wounds of Christ in his hands.

Now and then, I will receive a gift of a well-worn devotional book, and I happened to come into a copy of letters between Pio and Rafaellina, the latter a lady for whom he was spiritual director. His letters to her are lengthy, insightful, loving, and wise. Since I'd always heard that Padre Pio was (if you'll forgive the terminology) a holy terror as a confessor, I'd expected his letters to be strong, and was surprised that quite the contrary was true. (I'm wondering if his reputation for roughness stemmed from that many people visited him as if he were an attraction - rather like the Roman house where lots of visitors from Purgatory left hand marks in the walls - and were not truly 'confessing' but wanting to say they once made confession to Pio.) My surprise doubled when I read Rafaellina's missives. She was unquestionably devout, probably contemplative, and possibly saintly, but she wrote a 'wicked letter.' The correspondence contained many an example of what might be termed 'correction' - but it always was directed to Fra Pio.

Rafaellina, dramatic as is usual amonst those who have southern Italian blood coursing through their veins (myself included), did attempt to write humbly; but, with the possible exception of Francesco, the naturally humble Mediterranean is as likely to be encountered as a pterodactyl on one's front porch. Our friend would, in one paragraph, bewail her wrethedness: "Ah, Fra Pio, I ask your counsel, though a worm like myself realy does not deserve this..." In the next, one may read, "Now, Father, I really don't think you are answering my questions, and I have already asked you twice, to I would appreciate a response at this time. Your last letter was much too short..."

All of us who sincerely desire spiritual guidance can be disappointed when that which we receive does not seem 'special' or original enough. Fra Pio, who assuredly had a double dose of the proverbial patience of a saint, once wrote a beautiful letter (six pages, typeset) in which he spoke of divine love, detachment, and resignation to the divine will. (The letters date from the early decades of the 20th century - when Pio was often barred from public exercise of his apostolate.) Rafaellina responded to the effect that he was not answering her questions.

Sad but true: even if we taught 60 first communion classes that the way to holiness was prayer, common worship, fasting, almsgiving, and the like, we personally would prefer a more novel approach. Whether we receive direction from a living confessor or a canonised author, we refuse to accept that the way to intimacy with God, constant for centuries, must be the same for us as for countless other 'saints.'

Rafaellina, probably irritated that Padre Pio's long and eloquent letters of direction contained concepts that are as old as the Church, must have thought he was throwing her a bone. I wonder if the stigmata was the most painful and inconvenient cross our Servant of God had to bear. (Of course, there is one bright spot. At least Rafaellina did not add the tired line that Fra Pio was talking down to her because she was a woman.) Though the relation between the two topics is strained, I'm recalling how the only confessor who Margery Kempe found acceptable was a man who spoke only German... and heard her daily, general confessions (naturally, in English.)

I think my own director, a man of few words but insightful ones, will not mind my quoting a line which, in full, was a response to one of my own flights into Rafaellinadom. "Try to repose in God's care and shut up your internal monologue so He can participate in the dialogue which is the point of your vocation anyhow."