On this feast of St. Pio I decided to revisit a homily I delivered earlier this year, when my parish dedicated a special chapel in his name.

A snip:

One of my favorite stories about him happened during the early 1960s

Italy was in crisis. The Red Brigade was sparking violence in Rome, and it was considered dangerous to travel around the country. For protection, people began carrying pictures of Padre Pio.

During this time, Padre Pio had to leave his village to visit Rome, and one of the other friars asked him, “Aren’t you worried about the Red Brigade?”

“No,” he said. “I have a picture of Padre Pio.”

For a fuller picture of the man now known as St. Pio, I did a little Googling.

He was born Francesco Forgione in the small town of Pietrelcina, Italy in 1887. His parents were peasant farmers who tended sheep. Early on, Francesco knew that he wanted to give his life to God, and be a priest. He joined the Capuchins when he was only 15 and took the name of Pio, after Pope Pius V, the patron saint of Pietrelcina.

Like many friars, he was ordered to serve in the army during World War I. Near the war’s end, he returned to his monastery in Pietrelcina. And in the fall of 1918, shortly after celebrating mass, while praying in the church, he had a vision of a man standing before him dripping blood from his hands, feet and side. To his horror, Padre Pio discovered blood flowing from the same parts of his own body. It wasn’t long before news spread around the world that this anonymous friar from Italy had the stigmata — the wounds of Christ. His life would never be the same.

He was often controversial – for a time, Rome suspended his faculties as a priest, and investigated allegations that he’d misused funds, seduced women and faked his wounds. None of it, of course, was true.

But through it all, Padre Pio persevered. Quietly. Humbly. Prayerfully. After a lifetime of poor health and great pain, he died in 1968. He was proclaimed a saint in 2002. Stories of his miracles and wonders abound. His mysticism. His gift for prophecy. But his greatest work on this earth was profoundly humble.

It came not only from how he lived, but how he listened.

Because his most familiar home… was the confessional.

There’s more on the saint and the sacrament here.