The Feast of the Immaculate Conception
The Beginning of the Festive Oratory
Hardly had I registered at the Convitto of St Francis, when I met at once a crowd of boys who followed me in the streets and the squares and even into the sacristy of the church attached to the institute. But I could not take direct care of them since I had no premises. A humorous incident opened the way to put into action my project for the boys who roamed the streets of the city, especially those released from prison.
On the solemnity of the Immaculate Conception of Mary (8th December 1841), I was vesting to celebrate holy Mass at the appointed time. Joseph Comotti, the sacristan, seeing a boy in a corner, asked him to come and serve my Mass.
I don’t know how, he answered, completely embarrassed.
Come on, repeated the sacristan, I want you to serve Mass.
I don’t know how, the boy repeated. I’ve never served Mass.
You blockhead, said the sacristan, quite furious,
if you don’t know how to serve Mass, what are you doing in the sacristy?
With that he grabbed a feather duster and hit the poor boy about the head and shoulders.
As the boy beat a hasty retreat, I cried loudly, What are you doing? Why are you beating him like that? What’s he done?
Why is he hanging round the sacristy if he doesn’t know how to serve Mass?
But you’ve done wrong.
What does it matter to you?
It matters plenty. He’s a friend of mine. Call him back at once. I need to speak with him.
Tuder! Tuder! he began to shout, as he ran after him. Promising him better treatment, he brought the lad back to me. He came over trembling and tearful because of the blows he had received.
Have you attended Mass yet? I asked him with as much kindness as I could.
No, he answered.
Well, come to Mass now. Afterwards I’d like to talk to you
about something that will please you.
He promised to do as I said. I wanted to calm down the poor fellow’s spirit and not leave him with that sad impression towards the people in charge of that sacristy. Once I had celebrated my Mass and made due thanksgiving, I took my candidate into a side chapel. Trying to allay any fear he might have of another beating, I started questioning him cheerfully:
My good friend, what’s your name?
My name’s Bartholomew Garelli.
Where are you from?
Asti.
Is your father alive?
No, my father’s dead.
And your mother?
My mother’s dead too.
How old are you?
I’m sixteen.
Can you read and write?
I don’t know anything.
Have you made your First Communion?
Not yet.
Have you ever been to Confession?
Yes, when I was small.
Are you going to catechism classes now?
I don’t dare.
Why?
Because the other boys are smaller than I am,
and they know their catechism.
As big as I am, I don’t know anything,
so I’m ashamed to go.
If I were to teach you catechism on your own, would you come?
I’d come very willingly.
Would you come willingly to this little room?
I’d come willingly enough,
provided they don’t beat me.
Relax. No one will harm you.
On the contrary, you’ll be my friend
and you’ll be dealing with me and no one else.
When would you like us to begin our catechism?
Whenever you wish.
This evening?
OK.
Are you willing right now?
Yes, right now, with great pleasure.
I stood up and made the sign of the cross to begin; but my pupil made no response because he did not know how to do it. In that first catechism lesson I taught him to make the sign of the cross. I also taught him to know God the Creator and why he created us. Though Bartholomew’s memory was poor, with attentive diligence in a few feast days he learned enough to make a good Confession and, soon after, his Holy Communion.
To this first pupil some others were added. During that winter, I concentrated my efforts in helping grown-ups who needed special catechism, above all those who were just out of prison. I was beginning to learn from experience that if young lads just released from their place of punishment could find someone to befriend them, to look after them, to assist them on feast days, to help them get work with good employers, to visit them occasionally during the week, these young men soon forgot the past and began to mend their ways. They became good Christians and honest citizens. This was the beginning of our Oratory. It was to be blessed by the Lord with growth beyond my imagining at that time.