An Orange and Candies

“Iwasone of Padre Pio’s altar boys,” engineer Michele Grifa says. “He is part of all my childhood memories. I was born in San Giovanni Rotondo. I lived 200 meters (650 feet) away from the monastery, and I went there every day. Together with other children, I helped him in the afternoon with the Rosary and Vespers, as well as on Sunday during Mass. If I close my eyes, I can still see him: he moved slowly, limping. When we were too agitated, he kindly clipped us round the ear. He smiled at us like a father and looked at us with his sweet eyes. His gaze embraced us. For the children of San Giovanni Rotondo, Padre Pio represented the everyday life, and he was a pillar during our growth.”

Engineer Grifa is sixty-six years old and lives in Viterbo, where he started his own business. I wanted to talk to him because of his experience as one of Padre Pio’s altar boys. I wanted to understand what it was like to be so close to him during Mass, which was the most important part of the day for the friar.

“I felt strong emotions serving as an altar boy, and this affected me. When I was a young man, I chose to attend the seminary because I wanted to become a friar. But Padre Pio already knew that it was not my destiny. He always knew everything.

“As I said, we lived near the monastery. Therefore, we often turned to Padre Pio for every kind of issue: if we needed his advice, his encouragement, or his blessing. My father, Giovanni, for example, came back home once the war was over. He had also been a prisoner of war. He immediately confessed to Padre Pio. ‘You are finally back!’ Padre Pio said. And he added, ‘So tell me, have you killed anyone?’ My father answered that he was a soldier, and he had to use a weapon sometimes. ‘Well, luckily you are not very good at shooting,’ Padre Pio said. This comment was very important to my father because it assured him he had not killed anyone. That is what Padre Pio’s comment meant.

“Those were difficult times, and poverty was common. There were no jobs, and working in the countryside was not profitable. My father decided to leave for Germany, like many others were doing. My mother was worried about being alone. She talked to Padre Pio about it, and he reassured her. ‘There are so many things to do here in San Giovanni … Do not worry; your husband will come back home!’ The following month, my father found a job at the local hospital, Casa Sollievo della Sofferenza, where he worked until he retired. So he was always close to his family.

“One of my first memories of Padre Pio dates back to 1959, when I was five years old. It was July 1, and Padre Pio inaugurated the new church, Santa Maria delle Grazie. It was the new church he had wished for. He was involved in the construction, and he had chosen the architect. The original church of the monastery that was there in 1916 when he arrived in San Giovanni Rotondo was too small. It could no longer welcome all the people that attended Mass, and on several occasions, Padre Pio had had to celebrate Mass outside. The new church was big and spacious, and it was the place where he spent most of his time until he died. When it was inaugurated, there were so many people, including important ones, and they all paid hom- age to him. I remember I was holding my father’s hand, and my new shoes were squeaking as I walked.

“I have another memory from those days. My father used to go out at night. Together with other men, he patrolled the streets to avoid Padre Pio being carried off. I did not understand it at that time, but later I found out that the Vatican often gave orders to take Padre Pio away from San Giovanni Rotondo. They never managed to do it because the people were strongly opposed.

“In the evening, with many other people from our village, we used to go outside of Padre Pio’s cell, waiting for him to look out of the window and to greet the faithful, shaking his handkerchief. Other times, with my friends, we ran in the hallways of the monastery or in the basement of the church, where the crypt was being dug. The friars scolded us and told us that one day Padre Pio’s grave would be there. But I did not believe them: I thought that Padre Pio would never die.

“When I was six years old, I became one of his altar boys. I usually went to the monastery to play around four in the afternoon, together with my classmates, and in the evening, for the Rosary and the Vespers. On those occasions and also on Sunday, during Mass, we helped Padre Pio. When I was next to him, I could often notice his stigmata because when it was time for the Consecration, he took off the gloves that were hiding his wounds. I saw the blood, the dark palms. Sometimes a few ruby red drops dripped. We were not particularly surprised because we were used to it. We had no idea of the meaning of those sores. We can assert that we were used to the supernatural. If I think about it now, I have the shivers.

“Sometimes, the other altar boys and I were distracted. In those cases, Padre Pio’s face became surly, and he scolded us. He occasionally clipped us round the ear, but he did not really mean to be bad. He did not even have much strength because of the sores on his hands. When we saw his serious gaze, we immediately toed the line. Above all, we were sorry to upset him. His gaze was always friendly and affectionate, even when he frowned at us. One day, Padre Pio gave me an orange and some candies, and I took them home. I felt like I had found a treasure, and I happily showed them to my mother. I ate the orange, and it was very tasty. I have never eaten such a tasty orange after that one. I shared the candies with my sisters.

“Padre Pio was there when I received my First Communion. And he was there for my sisters. At that time, it was common to receive First Communion at seven years old. My youngest sister, who was named Pia in honor of Padre Pio, was too young for her First Communion because she was only six years old. But Padre Pio insisted. He asked my parents, ‘What are you waiting for? It is the right time!’ He was aware of my sister’s spirituality more than anybody else. He thought she was mature enough to receive Holy Communion, and my parents trusted him and agreed. Pia got ready in one month, and she received her First Communion in July of 1968. Padre Pio died two months later. It seems like he wanted my sister to receive her First Communion before his death.

“After all those years spent in the monastery close to Padre Pio, I thought that maybe I could become a monk, too. My vocation was not very strong, and I later changed my mind. But when I was ten years old, I actually believed that was my destiny. I talked to Padre Pio about it, and I told him I wanted to go to Pietrelcina for the seminary. He smiled at me: ‘Go! But you will be back!’ Apparently, he already knew that I would change my mind. After my last year of high school, I realized indeed that I was not meant for that kind of life. I had finished a year of novitiate in Morcone, where Padre Pio had also been a novice in 1903. But I understood