First Communion
Mission Sermons
Fr Calosso
School in Murialdo
I was eleven years old when I made my first Holy Communion. I knew the entire little catechism. The minimum age for First Holy Communion was twelve years. Because we lived far from the parish church, the parish priest did not know us, and my mother had to do almost all the religious instruction. She did not want me to get any older before my admission to that great act of our religion, so she took upon herself the task of preparing me as best she could. She sent me to catechism class every day of Lent. I passed my examination, and the date was fixed. It was the day on which all the children were to make their Easter duty.
In the big crowd, it was impossible to avoid distractions. My mother coached me for days and brought me to Confession three times during that Lent.
My dear John, she would say,
God is going to give you a wonderful gift. Make sure you prepare well for it. Go to Confession and don’t keep anything back. Tell all your sins to the priest, be sorry for them all, and promise God to do better in the future.
I promised all that. God alone knows whether I have been faithful to my resolution.
At home, she saw to it that I said my prayers and read good books; and she always came up with the advice which a diligent mother knows how to give her children.
On the morning of my First Holy Communion, my mother did not permit me to speak to anyone. She accompanied me to the altar and together we made our preparation and thanksgiving. These were led by Fr Sismondi, in a loud voice, alternating responses with everyone.
It was my mother’s wish for that day that I should refrain from manual work. Instead, she kept me occupied reading and praying. Amongst the many things that my mother repeated to me many times was this:
My dear son, this is a great day for you. I am convinced that God has really taken possession of your heart. Now promise him to be good as long as you live. Go to Holy Communion frequently in the future, but beware of sacrilege. Always be frank in Confession, be obedient always, go willingly to catechism and sermons. But for the love of God, avoid like the plague those who indulge in bad talk.
I treasured my mother’s advice and tried to carry it out. I think that from that day on there was some improvement in my life, especially in matters of obedience and submission to others. It was not easy for me to be submissive because I liked to do things my way and follow my own childish whims rather than listen to those who gave me advice or told me what to do.
One thing that was a source of concern to me was that there was no church or chapel where I could sing and pray with my companions. To hear a sermon or attend a catechism lesson in either Castelnuovo or the nearby village of Buttigliera meant a round trip of six miles. That was why they came gladly to hear the acrobat’s sermons.
That year (1826) there was a solemn mission in Buttigliera. It gave me a chance to hear several sermons. The preachers were well known and drew people from everywhere. I went with many others. We had an instruction and a meditation in the evening, after which we were free to return home.
On one of these April evenings, as I was making my way home amid the crowd, one of those who walked along with us was Fr Calosso of Chieri, a very devout priest. Although he was old and bent, he made the long walk to hear the missioners. He was the chaplain of Murialdo. He noticed a bareheaded, curly-headed lad amidst the others but walking in complete silence. He looked me over and then began to talk to me.
Where are you from, my son?
I gather you were at the mission?
Yes, Father, I went to hear the missioners’ sermons.
Now, what could you understand of it? I’m sure your mother could give you a better sermon, couldn’t she?
Yes, my mother does give me fine instructions. But I like to hear the missioners as well, and I think I understand them.
If you can remember anything from this evening’s sermons,
I’ll give you two pence.
Just tell me whether you wish to hear the first sermon,
or the second.
Just as you wish, as long as you tell me anything from it.
Do you remember what the first sermon was about?
It was about the necessity of giving oneself to God in good time,
not putting off one’s conversion.
And what was in the sermon?
The venerable old man asked, somewhat surprised.
Oh, I remember quite well. If you wish I will recite it all.
Without further ado, I launched into the preamble and went on to the three points. The preacher stressed that it was risky to put off conversion because one could run out of time, or one might lack the grace or the will to make the change. There, amidst the crowd, he let me rattle on for half an hour.
Then came a flurry of questions from Fr Calosso:
What’s your name? Who are your family? How much schooling have you had?
My name is John Bosco. My father died when I was very young. My mother is a widow with a family of five to support. I’ve learned to read, and to write a little.
You haven’t studied Donato or grammar, have you?
I don’t know what they are, Father.
Would you like to study?
Oh, indeed I would.
What’s stopping you?
My brother Anthony.
And why doesn’t Anthony want you to study?
Because he never liked school himself. He says he doesn’t want anyone else to waste time on books the way he did. But if I could only get to school, I would certainly study and not waste time.
Why do you want to study?
I’d like to become a priest.
And why do you want to become a priest?
I’d like to attract my companions, talk to them, and teach them our religion. They’re not bad, but they become bad because they have no one to guide them.
These bold words impressed the holy priest. He never took his eyes off me while I was speaking. When our ways parted, he left me with these words:
Cheer up now. I’ll keep you and your schooling in mind. Come to see me on Sunday with your mother. We’ll arrange something.
The following Sunday my mother and I went along to see him. He undertook to take me for one lesson a day. To keep Anthony happy I was to spend the rest of the day helping him in the fields. He was pleased enough with the scheme because my classes would not start till the autumn, when the rush of field work would be over.
I put myself promptly into Fr Calosso’s hands. He had become chaplain at Murialdo only a few months before. I bared my soul to him. Every word, thought, and act I revealed to him promptly. This pleased him because it made it possible for him to have an influence on both my spiritual and temporal welfare.
It was then that I came to realise what it was to have a regular spiritual director, a faithful friend of one’s soul. I had not had one up till then. Amongst other things he forbade a penance I used to practise; he deemed it unsuited to my age and circumstances. He encouraged frequent Confession and Holy Communion. He taught me how to make a short daily meditation, or more accurately, a spiritual reading. I spent all the time I could with him; I stayed with him on feast days. I went to serve his Mass during the week when I could. From then on I began to savour the spiritual life; up to then I had acted in a purely mechanical way, not knowing the reasons.
In mid-September, I began a regular study of Italian grammar, and soon I was able to write fairly good compositions. At Christmas I went on to study Latin. By Easter I was attempting Italian-Latin and Latin-Italian translations. All this time I persevered with my usual acrobatics in the field, or in the barn during the winter. Everything my teacher said or did – his every word, I could say – provided edifying material for my audiences.
Just as I was patting myself on the back because everything was going so well, a new trial came; a heavy blow fell that shattered my hopes.