sensed that there was something extraordinary about Padre Pio. The curious would peer into his cabin to watch the “mad monk” take “the discipline” on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays in accordance with the practice of the Capuchins — thrashing himself with a whip in order to subdue his bodily passions. Even though his mother insisted on making his bed, Padre Pio would usually sleep on the ground with a rock for a pillow. Giuseppa complained to a relative who was a priest and lived nearby, and he called on Padre Pio, explaining that his refusal to sleep on the bed his mother prepared for him was a breach of the obedience he owed to her as a son. Thereafter, he slept on the bed.
During Mass, Padre Pio tended to take interminably long pauses, seemingly oblivious to his external surroundings, conversing with God and celestial beings. During the prayers for the living and the dead, he paused for an unconscionably long time, interceding for various souls. He seemed to perceive the spiritual state of certain people when he was in this state. Moreover, during the consecration, he seemed to identify so closely with Christ’s sufferings that at times he was barely able to speak the words of the liturgy. Masses that were supposed to last about half an hour were prolonged to more than two hours, leading many men to complain that Padre Pio was making them late to work. After a while, only old ladies were attending his Mass. Pannullo had to explain to Padre Pio that, although it was wonderful that he was having supernatural raptures during the Mass, he had to be considerate of the congregation, many of whom had other obligations.
After Mass, while making his prayer of thanksgiving, Padre Pio frequently went into ecstasy, just as he did at Venafro. Other priests were horrified when they found him in a state resembling death. In fact, one day the sacristan went to Pannullo to say he found Padre Pio dead in church. “No, he’s not dead,” said the archpriest. “Let him be. Ring the midday bell and go home.” Returning later that afternoon, the sacristan found Padre Pio still without signs of life. “Uncle Torey,” he told Pannullo, “this time the monk is dead. He’s really dead.” Still the archpriest was unconcerned: “I told you, don’t worry. He’ll revive.” Thereupon Pannullo went into the church and commanded Pio on his vow of obedience to revive — and he did.9 Padre Pio described his experience that day in a letter to Padre Agostino:
It seemed as if an invisible force was immersing my whole being into fire…. My God, what fire! What sweetness! I felt many of those transports of love, and for some time I remained as if out of this world…. Had this lasted a moment, nay, a second, longer, my soul would have been separated from my body and I would have gone to be with Jesus!10
At first, there were some who wondered if Padre Pio was insane. Gradually, however, they came to respect and revere him — not so much because of any miraculous occurrences, but because of his exemplary conduct and his love and concern for others.
Whenever Padre Pio passed the home of his old tutor, Don Domenico Tizzani, he would ask his wife and daughter, whom he frequently saw outside, to give his greetings to him. Tizzani, who had left the priesthood to marry, had become an unhappy recluse and refused to have anything to do with the clergy. When the archbishop of Benevento came to call on him, Tizzani refused to see him. One day, when Padre Pio asked Tizzani’s daughter about him, she said that her sixty-nine-year-old father was sick and close to death. When Padre Pio asked if he could visit, the daughter told him, “Certainly you can!” and led him into the house, calling out, “Daddy, Padre Pio is here!” Tizzani began to weep when he saw his old student. And, even though for years he had seemed to be hopelessly hardened, impenitent, and irreligious, he asked Padre Pio to hear his confession. He wept bitterly over his sins and committed himself to the mercy of Jesus. When Padre Pio told Pannullo what had happened, the archpriest was so overcome with joy that he fell to his knees, thanking the Lord. One day later, Tizzani died.
When walking back to town after celebrating Mass in neighboring villages, Padre Pio would always stop to talk to farmers in the field. Everyone found him friendly, concerned, and approachable, yet he wrote to Padre Benedetto:
Most of the time it gives me great pain to talk to anyone except those of whom God speaks to me…. Because of this, I am a great lover of solitude…. When I am passing the time of day and conversations are prolonged … and I cannot decently get away, I force myself to remain with the greatest of effort, since these conversations give me great pain.11
As a priest, Padre Pio was friendly, cheerful, polite, and witty — but basically serious. He would mince no words if he had reason to believe a parishioner was violating any of God’s commandments. But so effective was he at reaching people’s hearts that the townsfolk accepted rebukes they would often refuse to tolerate from other clergy.
For instance, Padre Pio was totally opposed to any labor whatsoever on the Sabbath, although he was not against wholesome play. He organized Sunday games for the townspeople so that they could have recreation and not think about breaking the Sabbath by doing work. His father, who returned to oversee the harvest, insisted that at harvesttime it was necessary to gather ripe wheat as quickly as possible, lest it be scorched by hot sun or beaten down in rainstorms. Surely, Orazio reasoned, God would not fault a man for working on Sunday to provide the necessities of life. Padre Pio disagreed. The Scriptures say: “Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor, and do all your work; but the seventh day is a sabbath to the Lord your God: in it you shall not do any work” (Ex 20:8–10). Was this not God’s word? Could there be any excuse for breaking it? Conceding that his son was right, Orazio skipped his Sunday labors and found that his crops were none the worse for it.
In town, near “The Tower” where Padre Pio stayed during the winter months, lived a woman by the name of Mariandreana Montella. One Sunday, coming from Mass at the new parish church, Padre Pio saw her sitting on her front steps, sewing a ribbon onto a dress. “‘Ndrianella,” he said sternly, “today is Sunday. Today no one must work.” ‘Ndrianella made it clear that she did not want to be bothered. Padre Pio, in a huff, went home and reappeared a few minutes later, armed with a pair of scissors. He seized the ribbon and cut it to pieces. The woman was so furious that, according to some accounts, she chased the priest down the street, but later she admitted doing wrong in laboring on the Sabbath.12
“Our Saint”
The people grew to love this strange, zealous priest, and soon some were calling him “our saint.” More and more people were attracted to his Masses, which, though he was trying to shorten them, still lasted far longer than customary. During Padre Pio’s Masses, they came to feel the presence of God in an uncanny way. They seemed to comprehend the mystery of the Cross as never before. Early on, it was agreed that if anyone had a special intention “the little friar who lives in the Castle and whom everybody considers a saint”13 should be sought out.
In April of 1912 or 1913, all the trees in the area were infested with lice and the fruit crop was threatened with ruin. One day “a simple peasant” approached Padre Pio and asked him to come with him to his field to bless the trees and curse the lice, and he consented. The peasant was amazed that within a short time all the lice fell to the ground. When they heard about this, farmers miles around begged Padre Pio to go through their fields, cursing the lice on their trees. It was claimed that the lice on all the trees died and that an excellent harvest ensued. Whatever natural explanations a scientist might offer, the Pietrelcinese were certain that a calamity had been avoided solely through the intercessions of their “little saint.”
In September 1912, Padre Agostino gained impressive evidence of the presence and activity of Padre Pio’s guardian angel. Agostino wrote Padre Pio a letter in Greek in order to keep its contents hidden from various local busybodies eager to read Padre Pio’s mail. Although Padre Pio had taken a course in Greek, the little he learned he had forgotten. Padre Agostino wrote, “What will your angel say about this? God willing, your angel will be able to make you understand it. If not, write me.”
Padre Pio took the letter to Pannullo, who understood Greek well. The archpriest later recounted, “Padre Pio … explained the contents to me, word for word.” When he asked Padre Pio how he could read and understand the letter, Padre Pio replied, “You know, Pati, my guardian angel has explained everything to me!”14
For