It’s way past midnight. Past one, even. I’ve been thinking to myself, “St. Anthony won’t mind so much if I skip writing about him this year,” and that’s probably true, but then I began hearing the voice of my grandma, Assunta. If I wasn’t eating my stewed prunes or if I was being stubborn about cleaning up my room or something like that, she would come up to me and say, “Come on, Johnny. Do for Grandma.” St. Anthony was Grandma’s favorite saint, and by the 13th of June, his feast day, she would have been offering prayers to him for thirteen days straight. There’s devotion for you, and an example to follow if ever there was one. And so this late night, when the clock is telling me it is already well into the 13th of June, I will––super quick––write to you about St. Anthony’s Day. I “do for Grandma” (and for you, too).
St. Anthony of Padua is a familiar figure. He was born in Lisbon in the late 12th century, but he spent most of his life in Italy, in Padua especially. He was an early follower of St. Francis, and as a Franciscan, he wore the iconic brown cowled habit with a tonsured haircut that left the crown of his head bare, a clear portal, perhaps, from head to heaven. He is a populist saint, and is called upon for many reasons, but he is best known as the saint who helps you find lost articles. And so when we misplace our glasses or our keys, we say Tony Tony come around, something’s lost and must be found, an old children’s rhyme. And more often than not, it works. Perhaps because of that populism that surrounds him. He died in Padua in 1231 and was canonized soon after. Some of the miracles attributed to him: a donkey knelt before him. And he preached to the fishes––the people weren’t listening to him but they did once they saw the fishes listening. And just before he died, he was seen in ecstasy holding the baby Jesus in his arms. This is the image we see most often depicted in all those statues in front of Italian American homes. He’s a presence we Italians like to talk to, like an old paisano. Grandma certainly did. I do, too. And who knows, maybe you will, too, the next time you misplace your keys or your wallet or those pesky reading glasses, and there’s no harm in that. We need all the help we can get.
Image: Grandma with our backyard statue of St. Anthony, before Dad painted it. Grandma is on the left, and nearby is one of any number of her friends, all Italian, and all of whom were referred to as “Cummara”.
St. Anthony is our family patron saint; we call upon him frequently for lost items, but also for lost faith or lost hope. Leigh and I were able to go to the Basilica in Padua and pay tribute there – and view his uncorrupted vocal chords, a great experience for those of us who are interested in relics. Your Grandma gave your family a great gift in her devotion.
Wow! Grandma would have loved that. I doubt she ever left her village in Puglia, aside from leaving for America in 1924. And you’re right, Jan––I love that gift she gave us.
There is much in the unseen world that we do not know or understand.In Buddhism there are the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas who look out for us, so why wouldn’t the saints do the same? We have a statue of St. Francis next to our Buddha! We need all and any help that we can get especially in these times!
I love seeing St. Francis next to the Buddha at your house. And I agree: help is welcome, no matter from which tradition.
Thank you for writing about St. Anthony. He’s my favorite saint and I talk to him all the time. My students at San Gabriel Mission High School taught me about him when they realized how many times I misplaced my school keys!
Dixie, my mother once found the same piece of jewelry lost twice in one day on the shoreline at the beach amidst the crashing Atlantic waves. St. Anthony was working overtime that day. I’m glad he’s your favorite, too.
Thanks for all your posts. I especially like the photo, the old faded brownish, purplish–with a hint of blue—colors. I like the old lady suits and hats. You know you must copy this, before it totally goes. LOL betty gray (gertrude grayfeather on facebook). bfn
It’s an old Polaroid, Betty, in one of many family photo albums. It’s from the mid 1950s, I would think. I love the photo and the people in it. And I love your pseudonym, Gertrude Grayfeather.
Our grandma’s ultimate guilt trip, “Do for Grandma”. I say the same to my nieces now. Works great.
But do you say, “Do for Grandma” or “Do for Rio?”