Padre Pio Parish Glenmore Park

As we always say when we return from an overseas trip, “there is no place like home!”

But if we could take all our household appliances with us, we would definitely want to stay on holidays longer! I think the most frustrating part of travelling is having to take all your clothes and things you need with you! Otherwise I would be quite happy being in Italy for much longer. We hardly had enough time to take in any of the sights we saw as we travelled before we had to move on to some other place.

The places we went were much prettier than their postcards and the experience of being there makes it all so difficult to comprehend why so many Italians have left their homeland to become market gardeners and fruit shop proprietors in suburban Sydney and Melbourne.

Italy truly was an experience that I would have preferred to have had much earlier in life. As one pilgrim reflected, “If I had been here when I was 20 years younger I would have been happily married at this point in my life!” Venice is described as the city of love and other places equally as romantic such as Sorrento and Capri, although magnificent to behold are not as deeply etched in my mind as Assisi or Padua where I felt a deeper sense of peace than I have ever felt possible. The tranquillity of the place where Francis often prayed and retreated was an oasis of peace in an otherwise busy and hectic country. Traffic crawls through narrow streets and pedestrians battle with Vespas to traverse impossibly winding roads. Our coach often squeezed its way up steep hills to find our accommodation at one point of our pilgrimage when we were staying in the movie-like hills of Tuscany as we collectively held our breath as it negotiated roads which I am certain a coach has never before ascended. There was one hairy moment when the driver (distracted by a person shouting abusively at him as he was going “the wrong way” as he was speaking to his sweetheart on his mobile) backed into a guard rail on a bridge! That incident marred an otherwise perfect driving record but caused me anxiety every subsequent time I heard his phone ring. The driver who was with us most of the journey was too smooth for my liking, but the women were all suckers for his Turin accent and his deep melodic voice. They all loved to be around him and would ask him inane questions I felt sure, just to get a look at his big brown eyes (which was scary because he would turn to look even when he was driving along treacherous mountain roads).

I have been asked what was the highlight of the pilgrimage for me. It is impossible to choose which of the many moments of emotion was the most deeply impressed on my poor memory. I loved the ancient majestic Roman buildings (some more than 2,000 years old) that had been converted into Christian churches. The Pantheon stands out as an impressive structure, as was the Colloseum with its columns hiding the cruelty that had been its occupation for many decades.  The magnificent Cathedral of Milan which rose out of the blue as we passed the commercial centre took our breath away. The pink marble gothic building is impossible to describe so you will just have to go there yourself to see the views which overlook that whole southern area of Italy (from the turrets of the marble roof I could count 18 other spires of nearby churches and basilicas).

The Vatican Museum is something not to be missed. There was simply not enough time to view all the impressive art which is contained therein.

And of course there was the important visit to the birthplace and death-place of our patron Padre Pio at Pietrelcina and San Giovanni Rotondo respectively. As many of you would know, the body has been exhumed and is lieing in state 40 years after his death in order to impress those of weak faith.

It was an eerie thing looking at the body of someone I had only previously seen in photos and in effigy. 

We had an interesting encounter with a woman who had known Padre Pio in life and her testimony of his sanctity is very impressive. She looked at me in contempt when I was introduced as “our parish priest” and through Rita and Jeanie our interpreters said, “Are you a priest? If you turned up at my death bed to administer the last rites, I would send you away! You don’t look like a priest”. That statement which is echoed many times throughout my 16 years of priesthood now comes as a compliment. I mean, imagine accepting that you look like a priest? It would be time to retire should that day come! (Of course she is referring to my lack of a religious identity through recognisable clothing).  After that meeting I did purchase a medium sized cross that I have been wearing around my neck ever since.