1. GOD HAS ALWAYS BEEN A GOOD FATHER TO ME

An essential introduction

My entire life came into being, grew and developed in intimate contact with the supernatural. If the world has been my testing ground, faith has been my response as a believer. I have been accustomed to saying: "Amidst life's toughest challenges it takes great faith in God".

I have always told others this, and myself in the first instance. After all, at home I had learned from my mother to interpret the signs of God's loving and provident presence in the events and vicissitudes of life.

Certainties which have always sustained me

One certainty has always guided me: I have always felt a guarantee from on high in everything. Even being aware of my own limitations, I have always felt the zeal of the biblical servant burning within me, the call of the prophet who knows he cannot back away from the divine will. Even though, when I spoke of my “dreams” I never used the biblical term “proclaim”, I always maintained they were authentic reminders from on high to be treated with prudent humility and trusting acknowledgement. In the years after I had grown up, when I took another look at my apostolic experience, I almost felt giddy, and evangelical wonder made me exclaim: "I was a poor priest, alone, abandoned by everyone, and worse than just being alone because I was despised and persecuted; I had a vague idea about doing good… Back then the thoughts of a poor priest just seemed a dream, but God made them come true, fulfilled the wishes of that poor priest. I would hardly be able to describe how it all happened. I couldn't give an answer to that. But this I do know, that God wanted it".

I felt like the useless servant the Gospel speaks about. Just like Our Lady I blessed the Lord because in my nothingness He, the Almighty, had done great things.

And I encouraged my early Salesians, whom I had encouraged since they were boys: "The Lord is expecting great things from you: I can see them clearly… God began and will continue his work, and you will play a part in it… it was the Lord who began these things. It was He who set them in motion and gave them increase. And as the years continue He will sustain them. He will bring them to completion. God is ready to do these great things… He just asks one thing of us: that we do not make ourselves unworthy of such goodness and mercy".

I allowed myself to be guided by a phrase I had so often heard from my mother's lips: "We are in the Lord's hands, and he is the best of fathers who constantly watches over us for our good and knows what is and what is not best for us".

A good dose of faith was needed, of courage and abandonment to the Lord's Providence; I was not lacking this, although towards the end of my life I would have to humbly admit: "If I had had a hundredfold more faith, I would have done a hundredfold more than I have done".

I tackled life with all the challenges it offered, with calm and filial trust in the Lord. In 1847 I was already writing for my boys in a book of prayer and Christian formation entitled The Companion of Youth. It became a genuine best-seller with a felicitous style and content: "You are not in the world just to enjoy yourself, get rich, eat, drink and sleep like the animals do, but your purpose is to love your God". I described the Christian as "someone journeying towards heaven". For me the Lord and heaven were substantially the same. In fact I wanted my boys to be "happy now and in eternity". When I spoke of God as a "merciful and provident Father" my prayer would change in tone: in general, my prayer was simple and warm, without too much inflection of the voice, but when I said the words Our Father I said it in a tone – and those present would very simply make reference to it – which betrayed an unusually heartfelt enthusiasm. I wept at the death of my father, Francis, with the innocent and heart-rending sorrow that only a child barely two years old is capable of. That death introduced me to the mystery of a God who never abandons his children. From the earliest days of my life I related to Him as a good and merciful Father. I always suggested: "Let's put our trust in God and push ahead". My trust let me say: "To gain a good result when you have nothing, you need to set to work with complete trust in the Lord".

An endless task

I would like to reveal something of my inmost world to you. Perhaps it is one of those rare flashes of light in which I have revealed myself. Let me do it in the words I wrote in 1854. "When I began to devote myself to this particular aspect of the sacred ministry I set out to consecrate my efforts to the greater glory of God and the benefit of souls, and to work to make good citizens on this earth so that one day they would then be worthy inhabitants of heaven. May God help me to continue until my last breath. Amen". As you can see, more than being a promise it was a prayer, a consecration of life and thinking on behalf of the young. That “Amen” at the end sealed my offering forever.

Looking back now over many years, these demanding words demonstrate the definitive program of my entire life, and it never waned. So much so that in presenting The Companion of Youth, I was able to say something very courageous, but very true: "My dear friends, I love you with all my heart, and it is enough that you are young for me to love you very much, I can assure you that you will find useful books by people far more virtuous and gifted than I am, but only with great difficulty will you find someone who loves you more than I do in Jesus Christ and who desires your true happiness".

I was always committed to young people, even if I went through a period of great uncertainty. A little earlier (it was July 1846) I suffered a physical collapse that brought me to the brink of the grave; then, after a brief period of convalescence spent at the Becchi, I returned to Turin. And there I had a rather tense and difficult discussion with the good Marchioness Barolo. So I'm happy to repeat once more the clear stance I then took with my generous benefactor (who loved me like the son she had never had), my official and definite “yes”, my “credo” on behalf of the young. And so it is today, too, when I see the Congregation spread across 130 countries: "My life is consecrated to the good of the young. I thank you for what you have done for me, but I cannot diverge from the path that Divine Providence has traced out for me". And without any human support I abandoned myself "to what God had laid out for me".

I trusted in God, He who had always been a good "dad" to me.

2. JESUS, MY FRIEND

A memory from my childhood

I have always lived amongst friends. I recall my childhood years: "I was much loved and feared amongst my peers… For my part I did good for whoever I could, and ill to no one. My companions loved me very much… Although I was small in stature I was strong and courage. I could make much older boys fear me". My mother used advise me and suggested: "It is experience and not your heart which should guide you in friendship". This lesson in life helped me later to guide my boys, by suggesting to them: "Always choose your friends from amongst those who are well known to be good, and choose the best of them. Imitate the good that the best ones do and steer clear of their faults, because we all have them".

Over the ten years I spent in Chieri, first as a student and then as a seminarian, I nurtured some wonderful friendships. Along with many of my peers I shared commitment to real piety, enthusiasm for study, contagious and serene cheerfulness and looking for the most outstanding ideals to enrich our life with.

Friendship, that extra touch we get from education

For me, friendship was a value to be taken seriously, not just a teenage adventure. Once I was ordained priest I came into contact with many youngsters who had been cut off from their families and cultural ties and catapulted into such a lively city like Turin. My early experiences in the field convinced me of one thing: either I win these boys over with kindness or I will lose them forever. It was a new and pioneering path.

One episode comes to mind spontaneously. I didn't even know the name of the boy who had taken refuge in the sacristy at St Francis of Assisi church that Wednesday morning, December 8, 1841. I had never seen him before then. So when I saw that the sacristan was about to take to him with a broom, I intervened with words that would become my customary ones: "He's a friend of mine". These were magic words that I used until I lay on my death bed. They became my visiting card; today we'd call them my tweet.

I said them often: "See that everyone you speak to becomes your friend". And I set out a programme of life for the boys, saying: "Remember that it will always be a great day for you when you overcome an enemy or make a friend out of kindness".

Jesus, our friend

In order to become a priest I had to renounce things, endure sacrifice and humiliation because my dream was to dedicate myself to the young. But note well: I didn't want to be a philanthropist (a word often used those days) taking care of lots of neglected youth without a family; a philanthropist who also happened to be a priest. No! I was a priest who loved the Lord so much that I wanted those boys to know and love him. The affection I showed the boys mirrored the love that bound me to God. He was my guide and it was to Him that I need to direct the youth who surrounded me and whom I found on the squares or in pubs, or whom I visited at their workplace, or found in prison.

I believe it was a beautiful, defining discovery when, still a teenager, I had already begun an intimate friendship with Jesus. Devotional books hardly spoke of this; this was still a novelty for religious experience. In fact there was a rather forbidding atmosphere, result of the Jansenist current where God was seen more as a judge than a father. It was not easy to structure Christian living as a loving response between friends. The three years I spent at the Pastoral Institute were providential. I learned to become a priest with clear ideas and a heart open to trusting the human being as well as the mercy of a good God.

Many of the boys I developed a friendship with were orphans: they needed to be able to discover a faithful friend in the Lord, someone they could trust unreservedly. When I heard their confessions I told them a secret: Jesus is a friend who always guarantees the Father's forgiveness. I insisted much on divine mercy. The words were few but they were sufficient to arouse a longing for God in them. I reignited hope and joy in their lives, because they felt they were loved. I used tell them: "Your confessor is a friend who only wants what is good for your soul, a doctor who can heal your soul, a judge who is not out to condemn you but to absolve and free you". I told my Salesians: "Don't make confession hateful and heavy through impatience or by raising your voice".

I saw Christian life as a constant effort at spiritual detachment. It was never enough to receive forgiveness; there was also a need for something more, something special. This is why I insisted on the value of Holy Communion. I didn't force the boys but just made the suggestion: "Some say that you need to be holy to go to Communion often. That's not true. Communion is there for people who want to become holy. We provide remedies for those who are sick, food for those who are weak". I was convinced that "everyone needs Communion: the good to stay good and the bad to become good".

Approaching Jesus as a friend present in the Eucharist was not something to do just out of habit, even though it be a good one. It needed commitment and a lifestyle which matched. I never yielded on this point; I was never a laissez-faire educator with the boys. I knew they were capable of generosity, sacrifice. Experience guaranteed that for me. Therefore I was not afraid to tell them: "And what about Communions that do not produce improvement?"

In 1855 I succeeded in convincing Minister Rattazzi to allow me to take all the boys locked up in the Generala for a walk, without guards and jailers. When we got back in the evening not even one was missing from the roll-call. The Minister marvelled at it and asked me for my secret, so I was able to tell him: "The State only knows how to command and punish, while we speak to the hearts of the young and ours is God's word".

I recommended that my Salesians "get young people to love Jesus". That wasn't ever said much in my time, especially by priests! I spoke of Jesus as a friend and suggested to the boys: "How much good this friend can do for you. You understand that I am speaking of Jesus. Receive him frequently but well; guard him with your heart; go and visit this friend often and fervently. He is very good and will never abandon you".

I often prodded my boys with questions that went straight to their heart: "Why is that we often don't have much taste for spiritual things? This happens because our hearts are not in love with Jesus".

3. HOLINESS WITHIN EVERYONE'S REACH

An essential introduction

Amongst the many and varied writings I have produced you will look in vain for my diary of a soul, an account of my intimate journey, or a spiritual autobiography. That wasn't my style. Perhaps it was the innate reserve typical of the farmer, probably because my upbringing did not lead me to opening myself up in this way, and certainly because I preferred to keep the memory of so many apostolic and spiritual experiences in my heart instead of displaying them in public.

Therefore you will find neither descriptions or testimonies in my words or books about my personal relationship with God and his mystery.

My experience with the Lord

I wasn't born a saint, I can tell you in all simplicity and frankness. I struggled somewhat to be faithful to the Lord and to remain consistent with my Christian commitments. I can guarantee that it was not easy. Saints become so, little by little. No tool has been invented yet that measures the extent of holiness one has reached. It is all about grace and the creature's cooperation. Grace lies outside of human control because it is God's gift.

I have always been an optimist by natural formation and personal conviction. I was not easy-going and much less so a mere simpleton. Life has been – and continues to be – a demanding and wise master. I knew that it meant challenges and never excluded difficulties and trials.

So you can understand the ideal I had in my heart, I will write down some reflections made as I was about to enter the seminary in Chieri. I was already 20 years old! I was no longer a callow or stargazing youth… "The life I had led up till then needed to be radically reformed. I hadn't been particularly bad in earlier years, but I had squandered time, been vainglorious, gambled a bit, played games, did somersaults, all that sort of thing, which were momentarily pleasurable but didn't satisfy the heart". For her part my mother – while clearly moved at seeing me in a cassock – was quite categorical: "You have put on the priestly habit. remember it is not the habit that gives honour to your status but the practice of virtue. I'd much prefer to have a poor farming boy than son who is a priest and neglects his duties".

I have sought to serve God and his glory with humble sincerity. Those are not cheap words, believe me; when I was alive it was a true programme of life. It was the secret of my relationship with God, summed up in a phrase that also explained my service of the young. That's what I believed, you see. I was convinced, and experience confirmed it day after day, that the young people I met in the gambling dens, in Turin's squares, in the prisons, or with inhumane bosses clearly needed a friendly hand, someone who'd look after them, nurture them, lead them to virtue and away from vice. The dream I had at the Becchi when I was just 9-10 years old continued to hammer at my mind and heart. I was convinced that only a priest fully focused on God, a holy priest would be able to offer them certainty and trust, full meaning of life, joy in their heart and much hope. So here is the conclusion I arrived at: holiness would be the most wonderful gift I could give them.

When I came across St Francis of Sales

Evidently this was not a meeting between individuals: I was born 250 years after him. Reading one of his books that was circulating around Piedmont I found one sentence that struck me and became a programme for my priestly life. I recall having read: "It is an error, indeed heresy, to want to exclude the exercise of devotion from the military setting, of the craftsman's shop, the princely court, or from homes of married people… Wherever we are we can and should aspire to a perfect life". It became my ideal! I tried to live that and offered it to my boys as well. It took some courage! Speaking of holiness (and yes, that was the word I used!) to the boys seemed an impossible goal to most. Instead, I believed in it. And I said with conviction that to be a saint is a wonderful ideal, even easy; our friendship with and loyalty to the Lord will be rewarded one day. I presented holiness as an “engaging” and attractive vocation, but I also explained that it was a demanding one that required sacrifice and renunciation. It was a practical sort of holiness, made up of duties carried out carefully, friendship with the good God who made us friends with everyone. It was a holiness that made us apostles of our companions through being polite and simple, a daily kind of holiness. Then I added a feature I have always regarded as essential: it had to be a happy holiness, one interested in what is good, one which fascinates and makes us "saviours of other young people".

I was very nearly rejected by the Vatican…

At the time I was already in Heaven. I knew that on earth they were discussing a problem which, in my view, had never existed. Given the huge amount of work and concerns that besieged me, some were convinced that I would have had no time to pray. Hence the question: “When did Don Bosco pray?” was not a silly one; indeed it deserved an answer. Then they discovered a secret that I thought wasn't necessary to spread to the four winds: my entire life was prayer, because I made life prayer! I pointed this out as a programme for my Salesians and I also recommended it to the boys. Prayer was being in the confessional for hours, writing dozens of letters by flittering candlelight late into the night, going up and down the endless marble staircases of so many large residences, chatting in homely ways with the boys on the playground, celebrating Mass, gazing ecstatically on the face of the Help of Christians. Prayer was living in God's presence, as I had learned since I was a boy from my good mother; for me praying was abandoning myself trustingly to Providence, teaching a trade, some kind of work to so many boys so they could always be "good Christians and upright citizens". I prayed when I said goodbye to the first missionaries leaving for Argentina, when I visited the Pope, when I welcomed bishops evicted from their dioceses, or when I was writing so many editions of the Catholic Readings, or then I multiplied the bread rolls in the basket or the hosts at Communion time. I was at prayer when I was travelling from Turin to Barcelona, and to Paris to find the funds needed to build the church of the Sacred Heart in Rome, or urgent items for spreading the Gosepl in the pampas in Argentina…Always thoroughly busy but my heart was in intimate connection with the Lord.

A holy youth for young people

I have already said it many times: I felt I was called for the young, especially those in greatest need of love and hope. They were always the reason for my being and action. But I didn't want them for myself. As I ended up saying to one priest , my dearest friend: "As a mother feeds herself in order to nourish her own child, so Don Bosco nourishes himself with God, so he can nourish us with God". In all humility I can assure you that I find something very simple and true in those words. I wanted the young to be my friends because I passionately wanted them to be friends with God. And when someone is friends with God he is on the road to holiness!

4. MARY A MOTHER FOR ALL DAYS

She took me kindly by the hand

I have a beautiful, fine memory from my childhood days. I was just 9-10 years old when I had a dream. It was a dream that left an indelible mark on my life. I saw a group of boys intent on playing; all of a sudden the game degenerated into a furious fight: fists flew, kicks, swearwords and unfortunately, blasphemy. I headed into the attack. Then a noble Gentleman made me pause, showing me a much better way to make them better. then immediately afterwards this wonderful Woman appeared, affectionate and beautiful: she made a sign that I should approach her. Since I was confused by this rapid change of scene, she took me by the hand. This exquisite gesture of motherly kindness won me over forever. In all simplicity I can assure you that I have never tired of that hand; indeed I have always held it tightly, to the end…

When you came into the world…

Since I was a baby I had absorbed the religious atmosphere, devotion to Our Lady of my times. Mary was at home amongst us. I also know that a good Salesian once wrote of me: “Mary was everywhere around him". I liked reading this statement because that's the way it was. We said the rosary each day in the family, in the evening. The Angelus measured out our day, from six in the morning, then at midday and again at six in the evening. I learned from my mother to venerate and celebrate Mary through popular devotions in the places I lived: Our Lady of the Rosary, Our Lady of the Castello, the Scala, Our Lady of Graces, of Sorrows, of Consolation. So many ways of holding her by the hand…

I still recall the night before I joined the seminary at Chieri. In our humble little house at the Becchi my mother was folding my clothes. She chose this moment for an important revelation, a secret between mother and son: "John, when you came into the world I consecrated you to the Blessed Virgin; when you started out at school I recommended that you have devotion to this Mother of ours; now I recommend that you be completely hers". My holy mother knew that in those times the infant mortality rate was terribly high, both in the poor dwellings of ordinary people and in the palaces of kings. “I consecrated you” she sought to tell me: I entrusted you to Mary, offered you to her, you are hers! An act of trusting delivery into the hands of a Mother who can do everything. "There is much hope in something who can do everything": I told others what I had so often heard from my mother. So, when I was in the midst of the boys, I aimed to pass on the same kind of devotion: not like something you only wear on feast days, something just for Sunday wear, but for daily wear, something familiar; every day with Mary, a mother for all days!

Immaculate and Help of Christians: it was she who did it all

It was a solid, practical almost essential kind of devotion but never superficial, without affectation. I constantly reminded the boys: "Mary wants what is real and not appearances". So I insisted: "In order to loved by the Mother you need to honour the Son". I presented Mary as the one who leads us to Jesus. I summed it all up in "Flee what is evil, and do what is good out of love for Mary". A more concrete and practical way…

Two certainties sustained me.

I insisted especially on presenting Mary as the Immaculate. There were historical motives, like the definition of this dogma (1854) and then, almost as a confirmation, the apparitions in Lourdes (1858). They were important dates. In my small experience I could not forget December 8, 1841 when I had a providential encounter with Bartholomew Garelli. Forty five years later, while I was catching the train in Spain back to Turin, I remembered that encounter with emotion and gratitude: "All the blessings which have poured down on us from heaven are the result of that first Hail Mary said so fervently and with right intention".

There were also pastoral reasons: in my contact with youthful frailty I became aware of the huge need my boys had of fixing their gaze on Mary, full of grace and receiving an attractive message of purity and holiness from her in order to experience the joy of being children of God.

At Valdocco, in 1854, I was able to rely on Dominic Savio, that wonderful boy to whom I had proposed the ideal of being “a beautiful garment for the Lord”. There were other boys as well as him (almost all of them future Salesians!) who were part of the Immaculate Conception Sodality and who became a wonderful leaven in the masses. In their regulations they proposed that they would “overcome every obstacle, keep their resolutions, be strict with themselves, loving with their neighbour, and precise in everything”. Thanks to them, a new road to youthful holiness was coming into being.

Then, as the years went by and noting that the faith was growing less even amongst simple folk, I felt it was ever more urgent to spread devotion to Our Lady under the title of Help of Christians, the one who gives us her hand, helps us, never lets us out of her sight, keeps us united to the Church. I wasn't the one who invented devotion to the Help of Christians but I was a tireless and convinced populariser of it, that's for sure. I explained to the early Salesians: "It is no longer the lukewarm who have to be fired up, sinners who need to be converted, innocent who are to be preserved, but it is the Catholic Church herself under attack".

I recall, even though a shiver still runs through me when I do, the morning I began excavations to build the beautiful sanctuary dedicated to her. With all solemnity I emptied my poor little purse into the hands of the master builder: eight little copper coins came out, the first payment. But I was certain of one thing: "I placed all my trust in her". that very morning various letters I had written the previous evening still lay on my desk; we had no money in the house to pay for stamps! Our Lady was always my 'beggar'. I can assure you: she was a beggar par excellence!

When I eventually finished the building I could tell the faithful who came there: "Do you see this church Mary raised it up", I would say, "as a miracle".

Now and at the hour of our death

Salesian scholars who have written so many things about me with so much love and sheer detail are aware that during those final prayers on my bed of agony, it was not the usual Mary Help of Christians that was heard from my lips, but: Mother, Mary most holy, Mary, Mary. Had I forgotten? No! There is an explanation.

At the end of life, in the final throes of agony, I had finally succeeded in understanding everything. I wanted to die just like that child of 62 years earlier. With Our Lady who took me kindly by the hand, while I was whispering to her: "Oh Mother…Mother… open the gates of Paradise to me".

5. YOUR EXCELLENCY, KNOW THAT DON BOSCO IS A PRIEST…

My visiting card

In December 1866 I was in Florence at the invitation of Bettino Ricasoli, the Prime Minister. I went to the Pitti palace for an audience. Shortly beforehand, a Salesian had lent me his cassock because my own clothes, worn out and threadbare, did not seem appropriate. I had been assigned a thorny and delicate mission which demanded a lot of diplomacy, patience and a good dose of shrewdness. It was a case of choosing and appointing many bishops for dioceses that had been without one for a long time. Before beginning discussions I thought it opportune to present the Minister with my visiting card; I did so in these words: "Your Excellency, know that Don Bosco is a priest at the altar, a priest in the confessional, a priest in the midst of his boys, and if he is a priest in Turin, he is also a priest in Florence, a priest in the home of the poor, a priest in the palace of kings and ministers". In those days, the word “priest” was often used disparagingly; I willingly used it 7 times. It was not some kind of petty revenge; it was an honest profession of faith in a value that had cost me enormous suffering to achieve and which I always considered to be my best and most sublime badge. In fact I used say that "a priest is always a priest and as such it must show up in all his words".

When I became “Don Bosco”

There was no lack of priests in Turin when Archbishop Luigi Fransoni ordained me. I remember it well: that 5th June was a Saturday in 1841, the vigil of the Feast of the Trinity. From then on I became “Don Bosco”. I was 26 years old: behind me lay both a tough but splendid life experience, a thousand skills learned, sleep lost over many nights to be able to read and study, and so many friendships cultivated. And a dream! The one I had when I was 9-10 years old in our poor home at the Becchi. It was a dream that came back many times, in a replay that was ever clearer and more complete: working with the young, full time.

I never thought I was just one more priest, the 852nd priest in Turin. There were good priests, lots of them! Zealous and generous, involved in parish work, concerned about clerical decorum. But priests who were friends of the young and their confidants - very few and far between. I never forgot the disappointment I had at chance meetings with them when I was a child, and I also recall my mother's words when she tried to justify their standoffishness and apparent detachment; I admired what she said but was never fully convinced.

I never succeeded in identifying with any kind of 'work': neither that of a simple parish priest, or private tutor and not even as a chaplain to female religious institutes. They were jobs that didn't quite fit; they offered a social function worthy of respect and also good financial security. But I felt called to another mission. Providentially I spent three years at the Pastoral Institute; there, at a school that today we would define as one of ultimate pastoral perfection, I really learned to become the priest! More than “acting the priest”, I chose to “be the priest” for young people. I wasn't, nor was I ever, just someone marching to a different drum. To be the priest was my ideal. To be a priest for the young was my response to so many dreams. I wanted to be a priest for the street, the playground! And that's just how, one day, I wanted my Salesians to be. On the other hand I felt I was in communion with my archbishop who valued my work, so much so that he made me “director of the Oratories in Turin”. I was not the first to be interested in the world of the young; there were other very attentive and courageous priests before me. Just the same, I did not simply copy them. I understood that the times demanded an answer to the phenomenon of youth immigration, the problem of young workers exploited and growing up to the sound of slaps and curses so they could produce and thus beat foreign competition. They grew up with the horror of prisons crammed with petty thieves and kids mixed in with dangerous brigands and hardened murderers. I had known other boys and young men: they were hard-working peasants at the Becchi, and students with wonderful and worthy ideals in Chieri. But the youth I was now getting to know were the “wolves”, the wild animals I had seen in my first dream. Innocent magic tricks or tightrope walking was not enough for them. They needed something very different! These boys needed someone who would approach them without bias, with affection and lots of patience.

I had made my decision: I would be a priest for the young with two special features: above all, pastoral charity for the young would lead me to live my priestly vocation full time. I was convinced that the priest's actions could not be limited to certain functions; I felt that I had to be fully involved in the life and happiness of these boys. It had to be a constant work: by me and others. The dreams that kept coming and cumulatively showed me wild animals turning into meek lambs; some of these became shepherds. With the accumulated experience of years and effort, I determined my ideal clearly: "I want you to be happy now and in eternity".

Secondly, I felt a stronger more impelling need to give a human, real, understandable shape to my love for the young. After July 1846 a radical change took place in my life. I had put my finger on the fact that it was so important that a priest be a friend to these youngsters. After which, thanks also to their sacrifices, prayers, the many vows they made to obtain my recovery from the serious physical collapse which brought me to the brink of death, I dragged myself back to Valdocco to thank them, and I understood that a relationship had been created of trust and life between me and them, a real covenant between us. It was then that I made a promise I remained faithful to till the end :"I owe you my life. Know that I will spend it entirely for you, until my last breath". In that field at Valdocco, beside the poor Pinardi shed a priest who was enthusiastic about his mission and happy to be a priest had made his “solemn profession” consecrating himself totally and forever to the cause of the young. I was identifying ever more with the priestly mission, minus complexes and useless complaints. Looking carefully at them, one day I would say with humility and joy: "For you I study, for you I work, for you I live, for you I am even ready to give my life".

That evening my mother told me

On June 10, 1841, a Thursday and the Feast of Corpus Christ, I celebrated Mass in my town for the first time. It was a great Mass with singing, a Eucharistic procession through festooned streets; the parish priest organised dinner with lots of people invited. In the evening, after a frugal supper, my mother took me aside; she was radiant and emotional. She told me: "Now you are a priest you are closer to Jesus. I haven't read your books, but remember that beginning to say Mass means beginning to suffer. You will not immediately become aware of that, but little by little you will understand that your mother was telling the truth. From now on think only of the salvation of souls, and do not be worried about me". These were sacred words, a real spiritual testament I never forgot!

Going back over my life

As a personal lifestyle I had chosen to help boys in their education, especially those who found themselves in a precarious situation for growing up and being part of society. I did not want to be a politician by profession, or social reformer, or a wise person in the social field, nor a business person caught up in a thousand projects. I dedicated my entire being to the glory of God and the salvation of souls. I was convinced that only a holy priest, filled with divine grace, could sow hope and joy in the hearts of so many youngsters. I focused on this ideal because I was convinced that "souls are a treasure entrusted to priests". In other words, but with equal firmness, I said that "when it's a case of saving a soul I fear no consequence". At Fr Cafasso's school I had learned that "the priest does not go to heaven alone, nor does he go to hell alone". With the sincerity I always employed with the boys, I told them of a certainty that had always enlightened me: "How happy I am to be a priest!". This was my inner picture, how I revealed my identity to them. Being a priest in those turbulent years was not an easy calling nor a peaceful one, but it was a marvellous one! As time passed I understood better what my mother told me in our humble kitchen at the Becchi on that evening of my first Mass in the village: “It means beginning to suffer”…

Years later, I encouraged my Salesians, guaranteeing them that "the thorns that prick us now will become flowers in eternity".

Mama Margaret was no mere improvised 'theologian'… Illiterate as she was, she was proven to be completely right…

6. WE CAN ALSO PUT OUR PEBBLE IN…

In the church erected to the honour of Mary Help of Christians at Valdocco there is a majestic item I have always looked upon with great reverence: the beautiful pulpit in precious wood which a woman from the noble class in Turin donated for a grace she had received. This pulpit has a wonderful history and memories behind it. While I am normally shy and reserved, I could never hold back my emotions whenever I looked at it. The picture of the ten Salesians, all of them young and brave, comes back to me, men I had picked out to be pioneers for an historic turn of events in the growing Salesian Congregation.

It was a leap of quality

In 1874 my religious family was finally approved by the Holy See; they were long and difficult years. But now it was finally recognised. The following year, halfway through November, I sent the first Salesian missionaries to Argentina: it was a courageous, almost rash response. My sons, I felt, were not called to work only with young people in Turin, Lanzo or Nice, but to expand their activity into foreign lands, on behalf of other peoples, different cultures. My Salesians now were now involved in the Church, with the Church, for the Church throughout the world. It was a staggering task! this was not just the result of a burst of enthusiasm. The Congregation had placed itself humbly at the disposition of the Church, flanking centuries old Orders and Institutes with a rich history.

I still recall that evening of November 11, 1875: the church of Mary Help of Christians was overflowing with the faithful as I climbed the steps leading into the pulpit. It was a moving spectacle. I looked at the pressing mass of people, friends, benefactors; But I could see no one because my eyes were filled with tears: it was joy, a sense of the separation about to happen, the promise of work, sweat and blood. The 'wolves' in the first dream were ones that my sons also had to approach in the boundless pampas in Argentina or on the dangerous outskirts of Buenos Aires, amongst Italians and the children of Italians scraping out a living in the suburb known as La Boca. In a voice that betrayed my emotion and hope I spoke: "We are beginning a great work not because we have pretensions or we think we will convert the entire universe in a few days. No; who knows, but this departure and this handful might be a seed from which a huge tree springs up? Who knows whether a little grain of millet or a mustard seed, spreading out little by little might accomplish great good?" And then I concluded: "as small as we are we too are now placing our own little pebble in the great edifice which is the Church".

That first team

I had personally chosen the first ten missionaries: 6 priests and 4 lay brothers. I would like to recall each of them with infinite gratitude: Fr John CAGLIERO (37 years of age, the undoubted leader ), Fr Joseph FAGNANO (ex-Garibaldi supporter, but with a pioneers soul), Fr Dominic TOMATIS (professor and Chronicler for the first expedition), Fr Valentine CASSINI, Fr John Baptist BACCINO (who would die two years later from overwork), Fr James ALLAVENA, all three of them primary teachers, and the four Brothers to whom I gave the official title of “catechist”: Bartholomew SCAVINI (carpenter), Vincent GIOIA (cobler and cook), Bartholomew MOLINARI (teacher of vocal and instrumental music), Stephen BELMONTE (in charge of music and domestic economy). This group carried out the dream that I myself had once fondly held of being a missionary. During the years of my seminary formation there was a broad acceptance of these wider horizons. A number of especially missionary congregations were founded, many bishops called to Rome to attend Vatican Council I made enthusiastic appeals which struck a chord in the minds and hearts of many priests, various bishops passed through Valdocco, were welcomed enthusiastically and their requests for personnel created a live missionary atmosphere.

For my part, rather than losing myself in abstract definitions, I firmly insisted: "Whoever does not have the Church as a Mother cannot have God as their Father". Therefore I was convinced that "where the Church is at stake, any least effort is valuable". I recommended: "I would like every Salesian to work for the Church to his last breath".

How often I spun that globe of the world around!

The choice of Argentina was neither easy nor immediate. “Missionary dreams” piled up in my mind; but we needed a slow and detailed process of selection and discernment of the lesser known and more obscure factors. I tried to unravel things by consulting the atlases of the day, involving geography scholars. A number of countires far from each other were part of the options, and some of them we knew almost nothing about. Little by little we discarded Ethiopia, then Hong Kong, then it was Australia's turn and finally India. Finally, a detailed letter arrived from Argentina with explanations that removed all doubts. I was convinced that Argentina would be the departure point for missionary activity, also because in recent decades a good 210,000 Italians had embarked for that place, 30,000 or more of them living in Buenos Aires.

I went to Genoa with the first missionaries, said goodbye to them one by one, giving each a copy of the 20 Reminders which then turned out to be a veritable summary of Salesian missionary spirituality and strategy. My pastoral heart lay in those recommendations. I had condensed the essentials into just a few lines: I insisted on life witness, I recommended respect and cooperation with authorities, I declared the need to live in joyful and transparent poverty, I reminded them of a life of prayer and family life, I hinted at likely vocations and concluded with thoughts of eternity: "In your labours and sufferings do not forget that we have a great reward prepared for us in heaven".

Always with them!

I watched them go, but my heart never forgot them. They were my 'sons', heading off for distant parts. I would never see many of them again. But I was not just throwing them mindlessly into the fray. I wanted them to be prepared, able to speak correct Spanish, with good knowledge of the places where they would be carrying out their missionary efforts. I accompanied them with my prayer; in their name and in the name of those they were working for I knocked on many a door, became a beggar, kept up a regular correspondence with each of them, even complained when they were slow in answering my letters, and I sent them whatever they needed.

To one confrere who I knew was easily discouraged, I wrote: "Listen to me, friend: a missionary must be ready to give his life for the greater glory of God: so should he not be able to put up with a bit of antipathy from a companion, even if his faults are considerable?".

To Fr Cagliero, whom I knew had settled in pretty much, and whose apostolic zeal I knew of and whose magnificent creativity I appreciated, I wrote on October 31, 1876 (so just 11 months after his departure!) : "I really need you to make a trip to Europe in 1877 then one to Ceylon in the Indies to open another very important mission where they really need a Castelnuovo type". I was dreaming big, but always in very practical terms.

A Brother who was going through a serious crisis was thinking of leaving the Congregation. My fatherly heart suggested the following words to me: "Don't do this. You are consecrated by vow to God, and you are a Salesian missionary, one of the first to go to America, and you are a great confidant of Don Bosco's - and you now want to return to the secular world where you run so much risk of perversion? I hope you will not make this error of judgement. Write down what is worrying you, and as your father I will offer you advice as to a beloved son who wants to make you happy now and for eternity". In just a few words I pressed all the buttons needed to get him to take another look at things.

I drew up a plan of life for a young cleric: "My dear friend, you have always been the delight of my heart, and even more so now that you are totally dedicated to the missions, meaning to say: you have left everything in order to consecrate yourself fully to winning over souls. So courage: prepare yourself to be a good priest and a holy Salesian".

Some unplanned marketing, but providential just the same

When the missionary era began our Congregation “exported” its charism to other cultures. The word “missions” ended up being providential, arousing enthusiasm, vocations, consensus and benefactors. At my death, other than the 23 Houses in Italy, 6 in France, 2 in Spain and 1 in England, the Salesians were in Uruguay, Brazil, Chile. (Salesians arrived in Quito on January 28, 1888 and immediately sent a telegram which was read out to me on the morning of January 30. In my final agony, I simply nodded my head to show I had understood).

Little by little the missionary strategy became a felicitous historical instrument, thanks to which the Salesian charism was embodied in and spread throughout the various cultures of the world. To the first cleric from Uruguay, to show him how happy I was, I wrote: "May the Lord who called you to be a Salesian, a fervent and exemplary Salesian, help you to win over many souls for heaven, and you will do this with good example and the exact observance of our Rules". Our presences increased in number, along with new labourers for the Lord's vineyard.

With humility and gratitude, barely three months after the first missionary expedition, I told the rectors who were meeting with me at Valdocco: "The Lord expects great things of you. In truth, the wonders the Lord wishes to achieve through us poor Salesians, are great ones. You yourselves will marvel and be amazed at seeing that you have been able to do all this before the eyes of the world and for the good of human society. The Lord was the one who began these things. He set them in motion and gave them increase; as the years progress he will support them, bring them to fulfilment. He simply requires one thing of us: that we do not make ourselves unworthy of so much kindness and mercy".

While “extremely moved” (or so those who were there told me!) I concluded these words, and one idea kept hammering at me insistently. It was something I had said on other occasions. But how much more could have been done had Don Bosco had more faith".

7. HOW CAN I REST IF THE DEVIL NEVER RESTS?…

Introduction

My peasant origins had accustomed me to work since I was a child, so much so that work became one of the most characteristic features of my DNA. A line that often came to my lips was: "We can't confront an evil word with just the ‘Pater noster’. It takes work!" The accumulated experience of many years led me to say: "Once it was enough to come together in prayer, but today there are so many means of perversion that we need to come together in action and work together". It was my belief that "we work on earth for heaven". I let myself be guided by this principle: "I do everything as if it were the last thing in my life. But I work as if I had many years of life yet to come". That wasn't activism, no! I felt the urgency of the Kingdom, I experienced prayer in daily life and immersed myself every day in God. It was not my style to draw up some kind of systematic spiritual doctrine; I preferred to live and pass on experience, a way to holiness through simple, immediate terms available to everyone. The work I proposed was done for the Lord, in the certainty that "Paradise would reward everything".

At Valdocco one of the most humiliating and serious words you could level at a young man was to label him a 'lazy bones'. That put fear into them all, because it meant someone who didn't fit in with the family, a young man without dignity, no sense of belonging, useless. I insisted with the boys: "There is bread at my house, and Providence sends us this every day; there is work, and everyone has to do the work of three people; there is paradise because whoever works for God has a right to a place in Heaven".

The first dream: the beginning of everything

My life was traced out by an almost uninterrupted succession of dreams. Some could call them enlightenment, annunciations, revelations, but I never dared use terms like that. They seemed too solemn to me, although I know (in Heaven you get to learn a bit about everything…) that a Salesian who was very dear to me but little inclined to triumphalism, wrote of me one day: “The persuasion of being under special divine pressure dominated Don Bosco's life. His belief that he was the Lord's instrument for a singular mission was solid and deep. In everything Don Bosco felt and saw a guarantee from on high. That gaven him the characteristic religious attitude of the biblical servant who could not back away from divine will”. I think he was completely right. And I thank him for this insight.

What was the mission that noble gentleman who appeared in my dream had given me? “Set about immediately to teach them the ugliness of sin and the beauty of virtue”. I was “a poor and ignorant boy incapable of speaking about religion to those boys”. Teaching that it is beautiful to follow the Lord, live joyfully in his friendship, pass on to others the same experience, was the aim of my who life as a farming lad, student, seminarian and ultimately a priest for 47 years!

My life: a ceaseless struggle against sin

In myself above all. I wasn't born a saint: I had to struggle somewhat let me assure you! "Pride had put down deep roots in my heart" I wrote, and it wasn't a cheap comment; unfortunately it corresponded to the truth. I was pretty hard-headed then, easily lost patience, did not accept others' opinions, considering my own to be better. I got upset for no reason … Becoming a more intimate friend of the Lord's and his mystery was not a one day wonder, but a lifetime's effort. I did not leave behind any book on spirituality and ascetics but you can always read a few lines where I speak up with calm, real humility. Here they are: "Had the Lord not led me on the way of the Oratories, I fear I might have risked taking the wrong path altogether". I won't get down to details, but I believe I have put it as it essentially was.

At Valdocco I went to confession regularly every Monday morning. I chose that day because there were fewer penitents on Mondays. Fr Giacomelli, a priest who had been with me at the seminary, came at 8 a.m.. First I would hear his confession and then he would hear mine. Without fail.

In my familiar chats after night prayers, the word “sin” was often heard. I wanted my boys to be happy, joyful, free, not empty and thoughtless. I knew well that sin robs us of joy and takes away our freedom. My catechesis on sin was condensed and simple. More than insisting on the evil of the sin committed, I insisted on the beauty and joy of experiencing the Lord's friendship. I used explain: "When I commit sin I turn my back on God the Creator, the God of kindness who has given me so many good things, and I scorn his grace and friendship. The one who sins says to the Lord: get away from me, God. I no longer want to obey, no longer want to serve, I don't want to recognise you as my God". I insisted on the 'emptiness of heart' that sin causes: it was an appeal to yearn for God, a frequent theme of mine and one that was dear to me and it easily impressed both youngsters and adults. All my words were aimed at forming honest and upright consciences, convinced, mature consciences able to make consistent and responsible choices. My instinctive horror of sin led me to press various 'buttons' as required: perfect sorrow, the thought of God's presence, the duty to sacrifice everything and never compromise with wrongdoing, focusing courageously on the strength we get from encountering Christ in the Eucharist, and childlike devotion to Mary.

I spoke often to the boys about the Lord's forgiveness and mercy; I wanted them to repent and decide to do good, and never to get discouraged due to their inevitable human weaknesses. I assured them that "the confessor is a father" and "looks at your good will and is not surprised at your failings; in fact it is one of the greatest consolations in the world seeing a young person who is sincere, who wants to overcome the devil and be in God's grace, who wants to grow in virtue. Let nothing, my dear children, rob you of this confidence. Do not let shame rob you of it: human misery is human misery, we know that. You don't go to confession to talk about miracles! That would need the confessor to think that you were impeccable and you yourselves could rightly laugh at such a view".

Give me souls

There were two sayings I wrote and spoke of most frequently: the glory of God and the salvation of souls. I have always worked for God, for his Kingdom, because I was convinced that "God wants us to be a in a better world than this". Therefore I set up my mission as priest and teacher of the young on the concrete basis of healthy Christian humanism. When I spoke of ‘souls’, I was referring to the whole person, the whole being I was talking to, the boy who was asking me for a piece of bread and a safe friendship, the boy looking for work, wanting meaning in life. I am sure I never committed the sin of angelism or 'earthism'! For me a youngster was real, concrete. Undoubtedly, everything was seen as in function of the spirit; nothing however was refused, only offences against God. The salvation of souls was the remote driving force behind my activity, but the proximate goal was to transform the boys whom God brought to me into “good Christians and upright citizens”. The thought of the salvation of souls was at the deepest roots of my inner being, of my dialogue with God, and all my work. The first of the twenty reminders I gave the first missionaries was a programme for life, a summary of apostolic life: "Look for souls".

I was working for ‘souls’ when I went out looking for an apprentice bricklayer; I felt terrible seeing him dragging a ramshackle wheelbarrow with a heap of bricks along the rickety scaffolding; I was looking for ‘souls’ when I stopped to talk, in Porta Palazzo with a thin and lanky chimney sweep who kept that way so he could slip more easily up the chimney, or when I spoke with the little vendor selling matches, or a child being exploited in a cotton and wool factory, one of the 7,184 children under 10 years of age in Piedmont (this was in 1844 and the figures are official!). They had a face, a name, a surname and a thread of hope. I was looking for ‘souls’ when I spent hours and hours (who could ever count how many?) hearing confessions, preaching, speaking about God as a kind father, celebrating Mass, offering the classic “word in the ear” which wrought so many good changes.

Until the end

Even on my deathbed, assailed by nightmares, I was shaking, clapping my hands, shouting: “Hurry, hurry, quickly and save these young people!” I had done that all my life…

But I was like a lamp going out for lack of oil. But one of the last things I said, like a kind of prayer, was still to my boys. I managed to whisper into Fr Bonetti's ear as he leaned towards me: "tell my boys I will be waiting for them in Heaven!" I finally succeeded in “understanding everything”, like that mysterious voice in my first dream had told me I would. There was a great celebration awaiting everyone in Heaven. Forever!

8. CAREFUL OF THAT PERGOLA OF ROSES!

That glance at the Crucifix

The battle between the “Piedmontese” and the “Austrians” was fierce. With 200 rifles without barrels which the Government had given us, the boys – trained by Brosio, the “sharpshooter” - had had an unforgettable afternoon. By sunset, the “Piedmontese” had gained the upper hand; the “Austrians” were already in retreat. There was one more charge while the “sharpshooter” sounded the mythical trumpet. Unfortunately there had not been just a solemn military drubbing; the thing that suffered the worst consequences of that strategic retreat was Mama Margaret's vegetable garden, invaded and trampled upon by both the conquerors and the conquered. When she came upon this 'massacre', she told me in desolate terms: “Look, Look John, what they have done. Now, what will I prepare for soup? They've ruined everything!” Then untying her apron she said: “I just can't continue. I'm going back to the Becchi”. I felt lost. What would I do without her there, her advice, her work? There was a crucifix on the wall. I pointed to it with a brief movement of the hand. My mother bowed her head and simply said: “I understand”. And she remained till the end.

I have so often drawn courage to hold on, not get discouraged from the Christian strength of that woman. She was my teacher, full of faith and patience.

“I can't carry on”

Yes, those are my words,and I wrote them in a letter in 1853 addressed to Canon De Gaudenzi, a real friend, the complete priest; later Bishop of Vigevano. Years later, I was pouring out my soul in a letter to Countess Callori di Vignale: "How many expenses, upsets, tasks are weighing on Don Bosco's shoulders. Don't think, however, that I am beaten; just tired". With complete spontaneity and confidence I was opening my heart to a wonderful benefactress, one of the women for whom I had affectionately reserved the title “Mama”.

These were little confidences I gave quite naturally to my friends and that I am now offering you. Believe me, however, I wasn't just playing victim, but just stating the facts, pure and simple. Don't forget that at Valdocco word had got around that the greater were the problems and the heavier the tribulations the more the Salesians (and first the boys!) saw me calmer than usual. They guessed the conclusion: “Don Bosco must be really in difficulties today if he looks so happy and smiling”.

The “baker” nightmare

I can assure you I really lost sleep over this one. Perhaps it is the most striking aspect of a life marked by poverty, insufficient means and tireless search for aid. (In my letters, when I referred to this nagging problem, I usually used to say “panattiere” (baker); it was a little bit like the Piedmontese dialect word, “panaté” which also means baker). I think I need to remind you of my innate reluctance to put out my hand. Maybe it was the natural reluctance of the farmer who is not accustomed to ask for things given that his hard work brings in the minimum necessities of life; maybe it was because of my proud, not yet fully tamed temperament. I reminded (it was 1886) some Salesians of this to their face, ones who had been with me since the beginning; they were just kids then, but by now major superiors, members of the Superior Chapter. I revealed to the most reluctant of them: "You have no idea how much it cost me to ask for charity".

Sorry for the digression. I was speaking about the baker, Mr Magra. I wrote to a benefactor: "I still have a reminder from the baker from March about payment and I don't know where I can get the money; if you can help me it's about giving hungry boys something to eat". (Note that the letter was dated 7ith March!). When I spoke about my boys to many generous people who always helped me, I would describe them in terms somewhere between being serious and facetious as: loaves destroyers. The bread I offered them was much more than a simple bread roll: it was a pledge of life, friendship, hope. Certainly they could not be left without material bread; but spiritual nourishment was important above all, made up of Christian commitment, Eucharist, calm friendship with the Lord, earnest devotion to Mary.

That also cost me!

The retreat at Lanzo was from 10-18 September 1876. There was a good and well-knit number of Salesians there. I often gave the goodnight and gave them three conferences. In one of them I spent some time on the topic of patience. As always my language was simple, family style and to the point. Amongst other things I said: "Realise that it also cost me something. Don't believe that it is the greatest thing in the world spending whole mornings tied down giving audiences or being stuck at the desk every evening dealing with business matters, letters and the like. Oh! I can assure you that often I would willingly have gone out for a breath of fresh air and perhaps I really needed to… Don't believe that it didn't also cost me, after having asked someone to deal with something, or after having sent him something important, delicate or urgent to do, oly to find it not done in time, or badly done. That cost me to remain calm; I can assure you my blood boils in my veins sometimes, a tingling all over. So?... should we be impatient?... It will not get done what was not done and anger won't correct the individual". Probably, while I was saying these words it was my mother who came to mind. I recall the sadness and disappointment on her face when she saw what had been done to her garden. I have never forgotten the scene: she looked at the crucifix then bowed her head.

I saw my life as a mission, not just a gift but a duty, a talent to be put to use. Poor by birth, I felt part of the popular masses I came from; as a priest I felt called by vocation to bring a new kind of religious family into existence, a group of consecrated individuals who shared a common cause with ordinary folk. I believed that to give a convincing response "we need to work and let the good we do be known. Even if one achieves miracles by praying day and night and remaining in his cell, the world will take no notice and will not believe us. The world needs to see and touch".

I dreamed of Salesians with “sleeves rolled up” (like workers), “first aid” types, enterprising and enthusiastic. I wrote: "The cross on which the Salesian dies is his courageous work for the salvation of the young". This coincided with a prophecy I concluded my Spiritual Testament with: "When a Salesian succumbs and dies working for souls, you can say that our Congregation has had a great triumph".

Lessons from a dream

In 1847 I had a dream. It was Our Lady herself who intervened, solicitous and motherly as always. Even though amidst a thousand uncertainties, I was embarking on a new path full of challenges and responsibility: starting a new religious family totally given to the cause of youth. I dreamt that I was in an enchanting garden with a covered pergola "with wonderful roses in full bloom". The road too was a delicate carpet of roses; in order not to trample on them I removed my shoes but very soon I became aware that hidden amongst the blooms there were many thorns. I put my shoes back on but they didn't protect me; my feet were bleeding, my hands and arms were touching many beautiful roses but also lots of sharp thorns. Someone looking from a distance would say: “Don Bosco is walking on roses, everything is going well”.

A small group of volunteers was following me, attracted by the “sea of roses” . But when they met the thorns some of them raised their voice and complained, saying they had been fooled. One chose to go back; others then did the same. I found myself almost alone. "But I was quickly consoled. I saw a group of priests, clerics and lay people approaching me and they said:’Here we are, all yours, ready to follow you’. We arrived at another wonderful garden and "I found myself surrounded by a huge number of young people and clerics, lay brother and priests as well who began working with me. I knew a few of them to look at them, many I did not yet know". Our Lady was with us and explained: “Know that the way through the roses and thorns means the care you must take of young people; you need to walk using the shoes of mortification. The thorns symbolise the burning zeal which should distinguish you and yours. The thorns also mean the obstacles, sufferings, sorrows you will encounter. But never lose courage. With charity and mortification you will overcome everything".

I had been at Valdocco for a year in a small shed. There would be no lack of thorns, but Our Lady also guaranteed there would be many, many roses. Experience, along with trust in the Lord convinced me that "a piece of Paradise fixes everything". That was just what my mother taught me:"Life's thorns will be flowers in eternity".

9. THE THANKFUL PERSON IS A LOVING PERSON

I have never forgotten my origins as a poor peasant boy, a needy student, and a priest who was always forced (but never became accustomed to it!) to put out his hand and ask for things. I used to say: "I have always needed everything and everyone to keep on going forward". At the same time this statement was also a calm way of keeping myself aware. This genuine lesson in life, embraced without any inferiority complex or envy for those who were much better off, had taught me to always be grateful. Before suggesting this to others I tried to live as my good mother had said to me so often: "Forget what you have done for others but don't forget those things done for you". For me, 'thank you' was something I needed to say. From this thank you I gained a sense of wonder, adoration and marvel. 'Thank you' became a prayer for me. I wept in thanksgiving every time I re-read or re-printed the Life of Dominic Savio. The following words are mine: "I recognised in him a soul where the Holy Spirit reigned supreme, and I marvelled at the way grace had already worked in his young heart and mind". I felt the same feeling of joy and wonder a few years later when I saw the radical change gradually taking place in Michael Magone. I thanked the good God for allowing me to come across such boys.

Missing someone is also a sign of gratitude

I have never been the sentimental kind but I did cultivate a big and friendly heart from when I was little and have never regretted this human and genuine approach.

On February 16, 1876 I wrote a fatherly and moving letter to Fr Cagliero who, as the clear leader of the first missionary expedition to Argentina, had left just a few months earlier. I felt the absence of this Salesian as proud as I was of his unconditional generosity. Amongst other things I wrote to him: "Yesterday we put on a brilliant theatrical performance. Mino sang “Il figlio dell’esule” (the exile's child) and it was a great success. But when I thought of the fact that the composer was so far away, I became emotional and while Mino was singing and performing, all I could think of was my dear missionaries in America". Those words contain so much gratitude! I went further with Fr Costamagna. On November 10, 1883 the eighth missionary expedition took place, and we gave the Crucifix to 20 Salesians and 12 Daughters of Mary Help of Christians; two days later I wrote a letter to Fr Costamagna which would have reached him while he was still in Marseilles: "You have left, but I am really heartbroken. I have been brave about it, but I have suffered and couldn't sleep all night". I felt I was the father of this family swarming out across distant lands. These missionaries whom I admired and wanted to thank were my sons. I usually used to say to the boys: "Be grateful towards anyone who does good for you". How could I not feel grateful then for these brave Salesians?

A “memento” full of gratitude

On June 6, 1841, the Feast of the Holy Trinity, I celebrated my first Mass at the Church of St Francis Assisi in Turin, at the altar dedicated to the Guardian Angel. Some thirty years later I was writing the “Memoirs of the Oratory” and I recalled that "during that memorable Mass I tried to devoutly remember all my teachers, benefactors, and especially the beloved Fr Calosso whom I always remembered as a great, outstanding benefactor". It was my thank you for the elderly chaplain at Morialdo; under his guidance "I began to develop a taste for the spiritual life". He was struck down by a cerebral haemorrhage and died in my arms. His sudden death robbed me of the one I loved "more than a father". There, beside his corpse, I promised to pray for him every morning. And I was faithful to this commitment.

Thousands of letters

I wrote thousands upon thousands of letters. Some were just simply brief notes; others went for pages. They were all written by hand; there was certainly no computer! From 1843 onwards I had poor eyesight and a few years later I totally lost the sight of the right eye. This is my excuse for my poor handwriting… Well then, in almost all these thousands of letters I would ask for help and appeal to people's good hearts. But in all of them I always said thank you. Here's a little example: "Worthy Countess, it is with real gratitude that I received the fr. 100 for our missionaries getting ready to leave for America. Thank you. God will reward you". Just a few lines but expressed with a grateful heart.

I will never forget Blanchard, that same good lady's son, who kept me supplied with honey when I was a high school student. I caught up with him in Chieri's streets about forty years later and presented him to a group of priests as my great benefactor; I invited him to come and see me in Valdocco. In fact he did manage to come but only ten years later, in 1886, when my health had deteriorated so much. Despite all the efforts of the doorkeeper first, then my secretary, he finally got as far as the waiting room; I recognised his voice when he said: “Tell him it's Blanchard, a friend”. I opened the door quickly and what a joy it was for both of us to have a lengthy chat. It was time for lunch; I could no longer manage the stairs so I asked that my usual place in the refectory be reserved for him. It was my thank you for favours that I had never forgotten. Gratitude became a natural, affectionate heartfelt response. It wasn't just remembering; it was remembering that then was transformed into joy!

Thanks on my deathbed

For me too the time came to surrender my life. My body was worn out, as ragged as a threadbare old garment. I should have been letting it have some rest. But, as I so often said to the famous, dear Doctor Combal, this was the only medicine I refused. The bed was my Calvary, a station along my lengthy Way of the Cross. I said so often: "We all have to carry our Cross with Jesus". Now it was my turn, convinced that "the way of the Cross is the way that leads to God". Always beside me as a caring and kindly infirmarian was dear Brother Peter Enria. I had known him since he was a boy. Years earlier when I was seriously ill at Varazze he spent months with me as an affectionate son. Now in these final months of my life he didn't leave me for a moment and did even the most humble of services for me. I thanked him every time then said I was sorry: “Have patience, poor Peter”. And he would say: “Oh, Don Bosco! I would give my life to see you recover. And not only me, you know”. Moved and grateful I said to him: “You know, the only real sadness I feel is that I have to leave you”. I really behaved like a father who was suffering because he had to leave behind his children. It was affection and gratitude.

A 'thank you' which you probably didn't know about

"We feel sorry for ungrateful people because they are so unhappy". I often used remind the boys of this to educate them to a sense of gratitude.

I wouldn't like to seem ungrateful, forgetting the “kindnesses” of Minister Urban Rattazzi towards the Salesian Congregation. It was 1857, I recall. The Minister took the initiative. He was very worried about the public gatherings of young people around me which could degenerate into riots and civil disorder. I reassured him about this. Then later he told me of his concern about the continuity of my work with youth. “You are mortal like anyone else”, he told me. I answered that I wasn't “counting on dying so soon". And then the conversation took an unexpected turn. The Minister, who was anticlerical and a Mason, showed me what to do to bring a new religious Congregation into being: I would have to create a religious Society which would be recognised as a civil society before the Sate. He explained: “In the Government's eyes the new Society would be nothing else than an association of free citizens joining and living together for a charitable purpose”: that's how he put it and then concluded “Don't worry, if you decide you will have the full support of the Government and the King since it is the case of an eminently humanitarian work”. This happened in 1857; two years earlier, it was the same Rattazzi, with a simple stroke of the pen who had suppressed 331 convents/monasteries and cleared out 4,540 men and women religious! The winds that were blowing around us would certainly not have fed too many rosy hopes…

Twenty years later I found myself in Valdocco surrounded by a group of Salesians. We were speaking about what Minster Rattazzi had done for us. I confirmed his interest and added some details that until then nobody had known: "Rattazzi sought to plan some of the articles of our Rule, together with me, ones regarding how our Society should conduct itself with respect to the civil law and the State. It could be said that certain provisions,, were all his so we wouldn't be bothered by civil authority".

By making this effort of the Minister's public I was showing my gratitude to him in a very significant way. In my heart of hearts I always considered him a genuine benefactor, a friend who, at a critical and dramatic moment, had helped me discern the Lord's will with greater clarity! I think that now so many years have gone by Salesians would do well to gratefully remember the one who cleared the ground that was by no means minus its difficulties and criticisms. Advice from a clever politician? I would prefer to say guidance from a loyal friend and a sincere benefactor.

Valdocco? An atom…

Let me finish this chat with something I said towards 1875; a Salesian who was very dear to me wrote it down immediately in a kind of diary. It is worth letting you into this little confidence: "What on earth is this Oratory of ours at Valdocco? An atom. It gives us so much to do, and from this little corner of the world we are thinking of sending people here and there. Oh, the power of the human mind! Oh, the goodness of God!" As life for me began to fall into the sear of the yellow leaf I began to understand the value of the mysterious words told me in my first dream: “In time you will understand everything”. Like in a beautiful piece of lacework I saw my entire life. Threaded through it was the marvellous plan of a good God who had chosen a poor peasant lad from the Becchi to bring a message of joy and hope to the hearts of so many youngsters. One had to fall on one's knees in an attitude of pure adoration. 'Thank you' had to become a prayer! I confided in my Salesians: "I am utterly amazed to see how the Lord blesses us, almost, I would say, loads us up with his grace".

I also reminded dear Fr Cagliero, our brave missionary In Argentina, still very close to me in my heart, when – after telling him about "a range of projects that sound like fables or crazy notions to the world, but as soon as they begin, God blesses them so they can go full sail ahead" - I finished with four verbs that sound like a concrete programme of life: "pray, thank, hope and be on the alert".A good part of my spirituality is contained within these four verbs!

1. 10. HAD I KNOWN EARLIER…

Learning day after day

Today you certainly know the history of the Congregation with greater clarity than I could have ever known it myself. I was groping around putting my experience together day by day. I was a pioneer, heading off in a new direction. It is true – and I have always admitted it with humble gratitude – that there was no lack of enlightenment and I allowed myself to be led by that. But it wasn't always easy to discern the choices to make, obstacles to avoid, challenges to tackle, and especially the people I could confide in. One thing is for sure: I never acted lightly, superficially. That wasn't my style and nor did I approve of it in others. When not everything could be done I contented myself with what was possible. I did not approve of those who said: all or nothing. I explained my thinking: "If we can't do the whole alphabet, but we can do A B C D, why avoid doing that with the excuse that we can't arrive at Z?" That seemed to be a negative tactic I saw in many, including religious: if they feared they could not complete a task or do it well, rather than begin it they preferred not to take the first step. But that wasn't me; I saw there was so much to do in the Lord's vineyard and I was sad when I saw that no one dared take the initiative. This mania for perfection never paralysed my initiatives for doing good.

I used tell my Salesians: "The world doesn't think of the soul. In Paris they talk of Operas, and in parliament in Florence, Petersburg, Berlin they talk about arms, war, conquests. But no one thinks of the soul, as if we did not have one".

And I reminded them: "Even when someone criticises us, here is our resolution: do good and let them say what they want". You know my life's story: they thought I was a dreamer, mad, an idealist. I felt in real terms what it means to be abandoned, mocked, misunderstood, felt sorry for, spied on, threatened. I was never 'superman'. I had my fears, my dark moments; even I was tempted to give it all up. No! I never considered myself a hero. "Let us place ourselves in God's hands in complete trust": that's what I told others. It was my own programme.

I saw all the problems…

I knew the history of the Church too well to not remember how the great religious Orders and Congregations came about. Alongside Benedict, Bernard, Francis of Assisi, Dominic, Ignatius Loyola, Philip Neri (just to mention some) there were always other adults, culturally prepared people. On the contrary I began with youngsters. It was a felicitous choice: while respecting each one's character I was able to form a close-knit group with the same ideals of enthusiasm and dedication to the cause of youth. I took my example from the Gospel, and did just as Jesus did with his first disciples: “Come and see”, “And they stayed with him”. Jesus began his group of apostles on the basis of genuine human relationships; the rest came over time. I copied from Jesus, if I may dare to say so. Valdocco, while in the midst of a thousand difficulties, was creating a characteristic educational style, had a spirituality more fitting with the times, was developing a more binding spirit of friendship and familiarity. The boys grew up around me and learned. They were working as “Salesians” without yet knowing it. I promised them bread, work and heaven. I wanted them “with sleeves rolled up”, like workers. Humble, faithful workers in the Lord's vineyard.

Were there mistakes? Mistakes galore!

Twenty years later, surrounded by those who back then were lively and thoughtless lads, I reminded them: "Had I wanted to cut out all the problems in one go I would have had to close the Oratory because the clerics would not have adapted to a serious Rule and they would have all left. I saw that even amongst the more headstrong clerics many worked willingly, had a good heart, were morally solid, and once their youthful exuberance had passed they could help me a lot. And I have to say that various priests in the Congregation who were amongst that lot are now amongst the ones who do the most work, have the best ecclesiastical spirit, but back then they certainly would have gone home rather than subject themselves to restrictions". (I just leave it to you to imagine the spontaneous reaction of the Salesians present about whom I was speaking…).

Take a look at the gardener

They were difficult times for religious Orders and Congregations: it was something you didn't talk about, and it was pure utopia to be thinking of starting a new religious family. It required tact, diplomacy, prudence and a lot of hope. Had I even hinted at my real intentions I would have seen a desert around me. Cagliero himself, so zealous and affectionate, had clearly said: “To stay with Don Bosco, and help him yes, but become a friar, no way!”

At a meeting with the rectors I explained how I acted so they could copy my way of doing things: "Take a look at the gardener: how much care he takes over a small plant, and you might say it is all effort thrown to the winds; but he knows that in time the plant will give him back so much, and therefore he does not mind the hard work… We, my dear friends, are gardeners, people who till in the Lord's vineyard. If we want our work to give something back, we need to take a lot of care of the plants we have to grow".

While I was speaking I was watching the faces of my collaborators. Now they were men of trust, hardened and sure, very faithful, friends for every moment. These had been the 'impossible kids' of a few decades ago, holy rascals; how many of them had really tried my patience with their restlessness. Now they were the lambs in the dream who had become shepherds, spread across Italy, France, Spain, England, and now also in the endless pampas in Argentina, in Brazil, Uruguay, Chile and Ecuador! My dream had become their dream. From the missions one superior was able to write to his confreres: "Here we live like Don Bosco". Not like my poor person certainly, but with the same ideals.

Some very tough words

It was 1885: with 9 missionary expeditions so far, 119 Salesians had left for the most advanced frontiers of the Kingdom of God, and many workers had developed and things had consolidated. Yet there were sad defections. The pergola of roses I had dreamed of was a path strewn with thorns, even though there were many roses.

There was a generous and tempting offer from a priest in Cuneo diocese: a house was completely ready which would have been able to take in a hundred needy boys. The proposal had aroused an enthusiastic and positive response. We discussed it at length at Valdocco. But I was firm: "We cannot accept for lack of personnel". Then I bravely put my finger on the real point and said something very hard, something unusual in my vocabulary: "We need to lament that certain Salesians don't have any Salesian spirit. Every year there are defections and after so much work to educate these individuals we end up disappointed. We need to consolidate". As the Founder I felt it my duty to give a clear alarm signal, right at the time when our growing Congregation seemed to be expanding with vigour and audacious enthusiasm. Some accused me of not respecting the limits of human prudence by wildly increasing the number of large works without adequate means or sending people to run schools without sufficient preparation. That was a risk I had to take. But in my view it was not a question of competence but of fidelity and consistency in the mission. I continued to remind my confreres whose great courage I knew and whose generosity I admired.

Had I known earlier…

"I had a vague idea of doing good, here in this place and doing good for poor boys. this idea dominated and I did not know how to make it happen; it didn't start with me, but it was that idea that directed my every step, my every action. I wanted to do good, do a lot of good, but do it here. Back then the thoughts of a poor priest just seemed a dream, but God made them come true, fulfilled the wishes of that poor priest. I would hardly be able to describe how it all happened. I couldn't give an answer to that. This I do know: That God wanted it". These were the confidences with which I opened my heart to the rectors who were meeting with me in 1876. In the light of faith I went back over my past life and was ever more convinced that "in great needs it is time to see if we truly trust in God". It was the classic litmus test (even though put in simpler words) that I had learned from my mother. In principle I never stopped working at something I knew to be good whatever the unforeseen issues and difficulties might be. A belief guided me, and this too was a legacy from my family: "The Lord always sends great help for great needs".

Between 1859 and 1874 there had been a long and nerve-wracking Way of the Cross which I had undertaken to gain definitive approval of the Congregation: journeys and long stays in Rome, endless letters, interminable discussions to explain and defend myself, hours spent lobbying. A careful work of diplomacy in order not to hurt the sensitivities of others, knowing how to wait, thank people gracefully but without being servile about it. At the end, a confession came from me that was also a kind of letting off steam: "Had I known earlier how many pains, efforts, how much opposition and contradiction it would cost me to found a religious Society I probably would not have had the courage to set about the task". The patience of a peasant and the perseverance of a believer had triumphed, someone who believed that "we need to abandon ourselves into the hands of Divine Providence which will never be lacking".