Vacations
Holidays were dangerous times for clerical students. In those days our summer break ran to four and a half months. I spent a lot of time reading and writing; but not knowing how to organise myself properly, I got little out of it. I tried different kinds of handicrafts as well. On the lathe, I turned spindles, pegs, spinning tops, and wooden balls. I made clothes and shoes and I worked wood and iron. To this very day, there are, in my house, at Murialdo a writing desk, a dinner table, and some chairs, masterpieces to remind me of my summer holiday activities. I worked in the fields, too, harvesting hay and wheat. I trimmed the vines, harvested the grapes, and made the wine, and so on.
I also found time for my youngsters, as I used to, but this was possible only on feast days. It was a great consolation for me to catechise many of my companions who were sixteen or seventeen years old but were deprived of the truths of the faith. I also taught some of them quite successfully to read and write. They were so anxious to learn that many youngsters of a variety of ages surrounded me. I charged no tuition, but I insisted on diligence, concentration, and monthly Confession. At first some were not inclined to accept these conditions. They went their own way, but their departure served to inspire and spur on those who stayed.
I also began to preach and to lecture with the permission of my parish priest, and with his help. In Alfiano I preached on the Holy Rosary, in the holidays after my year of physics. In Castelnuovo d’Asti, at the end of my first year of theology, I spoke on St Bartholomew the Apostle. In Capriglio I preached about the nativity of Mary. But I do not know how much fruit this bore. Everywhere I got high praise. In fact vainglory somewhat carried me away, till I was brought down to earth as follows:
One day, after my sermon on the birth of Mary, I asked someone what he thought of it. He was full of praise for it but spoiled it by saying,
Your sermon was on the souls in purgatory.
And I had preached on the glories of Mary.
The parish priest of Alfiano, Joseph Peleto, was a learned and holy man. I also asked for his opinion of my sermon there.
Your sermon, he said, was very good. It was well put together, well delivered, and embellished with scriptural quotations. Go on like that and you will be a success as a preacher.
Did the people understand it? I asked him.
Hardly, he replied. Only my priest brother and I, and perhaps a few others, knew what it was about.
How is it that such simple concepts were not understood?
To you they are simple, he explained, but to ordinary people they appear difficult. Allusions to the Bible, philosophising on one or another aspect of church history, are things the people do not understand.
What do you suggest I do?
Give up your high-sounding language and stick to dialect where possible, and when you use Italian, speak the language of the people, the people, the people. Instead of speculations, use examples, analogies, and simple, practical illustrations. Bear in mind always that the common people understand hardly anything you have to say because the truths of the faith are never sufficiently explained to them.
This fatherly advice has served as a guiding principle for the rest of my life. I still have copies of those early sermons in which, to my shame, I can now see nothing but affectation and vanity. But God, in his goodness, saw to it that I should have that kind of correction. It was a lesson for me which henceforth bore fruit in my sermons, catechism classes, instructions, and in the writing in which I began to engage.