It’s three in the morning. I don’t sleep. It often happens that, after a few hours of rest, sleep goes out the window. And I remain with my eyes wide open, in the hour when, mercilessly, life presents you with the bill. Who are they? Who are you? God? I look out the window. “They” are always there, stopped, in the car, the flashing lights on. They take turns: Carabinieri, State Police, Financial Police.
I feel guilty, I’m warm in my bed, they’re down there, suffering from the cold to protect me. Yesterday, Ash Wednesday, my “pistoleros” had to endure three Masses, a funeral, the blessing of a body at home, various meetings. Escort for a priest is not easy. As I said goodbye to them at the end of the day, smiling, I said: «I’m sorry, guys. I understand you. With me, either you will become saints or you will lose your faith.”
Since the last anonymous letter arrived last Saturday condemning me to death together with a young Venetian journalist and the Prime Minister, Giorgia Meloni, the dear prefect of Naples, Michele Di Bari and the Provincial Committee for Order and Security deemed it appropriate to strengthen security measures.
But who wants the death of a priest? And why? I am not a saint nor a hero. I have enough courage to not be included in the group of slothful people. How much nonsense has been written about me: «An anti-Camorra priest, an anti-arson priest, an environmentalist priest, an anti…” priest, the truth is that I am simply and simply a priest.
A poor priest. My God, I would never have thought that being a priest today in Italy would border on heroism or recklessness. I read and reread the Gospel. I read and reread the lives of the saints.
I read and reread my perpetually restless soul. I feel like a brother and friend to everyone. I stare at the large cross in the bedroom, and, as always, I start joking with those who had the courage to climb on it: «You deceived me. You deceived me too. You promised me peace and I find myself perpetually restless. House garrisoned, church garrisoned, all day accompanied by men with guns.” I never wanted to see it, the gun from my stash, not even as a joke. The mere thought that something could happen to them to defend me drives me crazy.
Camorra brothers, brothers who scare us: why? Yet, I am sure, deep in your hearts, you love me. Pasqualedo you remember when you accompanied me to the Altar? If only I could come and visit you in prison! And you, Gigi? You remember summer camps with Adriano, Consuelo, Francesca? What happened then? How did you let yourself be enchanted by the lying siren of evil? Have you seen how many friends we lost along the way? How many young people died from murder or overdose? Sociological, psychological, economic and political analyzes are important, but they are not enough. It is the heart of man that must be investigated.
It is into that mysterious jumble that we need to descend. Among my many sins, I have never confessed that of envy. I don’t know why, but I have almost never been bitten by this ferocious animal. A grace, certainly. Yet, today, I find myself “envying” those who are satisfied: with a role, with a promotion, with a religion, with a ritual.
Last Wednesday the priest sprinkled ashes on our heads. Well. And then? Looking at the assembly I thought: are we, therefore, a walking cemetery? And then? And then that Word sharper than a sharp sword. God, Christ, death, the resurrection, the poor, the last, the weak, the sick, the old. I feel like life challenges me. I feel that faith challenges me. I hate privilege.
Speaking to us priests, a bishop one day said: “You are God’s privileged ones.” I didn’t like it.
There was a time when I wanted to become a saint. Not anymore today. Today I long to reach my true humanity. In fact, I am increasingly convinced that holiness and humanity are, in some way, synonymous. To the brothers who have taken the path of unhappiness for themselves and their children, forcing the State to put me under guard, I want to reiterate, once again, the good that our Church and I myself wish for you. SI’m your parish priest. Co-responsible for your eternal salvation. I belong to you. I am a priest for you.
My greatest defeat would be to rise above you, not only on this peppercorn we call earth, but in eternity. Heroes have never made me like them, nor have the holy martyrs. I am repelled by blood.
I love the sanctity of my illiterate mother, that of the baker, the university professor, my sacrist, or that of the street cleaner who, at this moment, is passing by the house.
Saint Ignatius of Antioch scares me, I like to spend time with the three “Teresas”, the one from Lisieux, from Avila, from Calcutta.
Behind every martyr, in fact, hides a murderer with bloody hands. I don’t want to “graduate” forever to your detriment. I would only like, if you allow me, to help you fall into the luminous and liberating trap of God-Love.
