By Anna Bonavita

This is dedicated to the people of the mountains around the town of Santa Sofia at the border of Romagna and Tuscany. Don Zanchini, a young man who had just been appointed parish priest of Pietrapazza, tells us about his first Christmas in the remote mountain parish almost 100 years ago…

The story, excerpted below, was shared with me by Esperienza’s friend and celebrated local breadmaker Paolo Marianini who took me to see the ruins of the house his parents lived in near Pietrapazza. The story was told to him by his mother, who was a child during this time. She, and her family, were there to welcome the new priest.

The priest recounted: “It was certainly not the place I had dreamed of. I had finished my studies brilliantly. I didn't even know Pietrapazza existed. It was outside civilization, in the sense of civilization as mechanical progress. There was only the church and a peasant cottage. And what a church! It was a circular hut built with stones, without mortar. The ceiling was so low that I had to cut the candles in half to avoid setting fire to the beams. It was on top of a hillock, overhanging a ridge, on the right bank of the river Bidente. It was Christmas Eve when I got up there. The peasants of the house next door welcomed me. It took us half a day to get there. We had left at 5 in the morning; we arrived at noon. By 4 in the afternoon the sun had already disappeared and everyone went away. I heard my friends, who had departed, going down towards Strabatenza, playing an old song with accordion and clarinet. An hour later it was pitch dark, I was sitting in front of the fireplace. The hours went by. As midnight approached I became more and more sad... who were my parishioners? Where did they live that I hadn't seen any houses except that gray roof beyond the churchyard? The farmer, a wiry man of about sixty, entered the kitchen: "I have come to ring the bells. The first strokes were heard. I looked at the clock: it was 11.30 pm, the Church had already been ready since the afternoon. My mom had fixed it with the help of my sisters.

I went back to the kitchen and looked out the window. It was then that I saw the lights. I was dumbfounded. It was a fantastic scenery. In the night, black as haze, streams of reddish lights were coming down from the mountains. There were many torches in single file going down towards the Church. I went to the other window, the one that overlooked the river. More rivulets of lights moved from top to bottom. And everyone was directed towards me. It was they, my still unknown parishioners, it was the souls I was supposed to heal who stirred at the call of my bell. They had left their farmhouses hidden in the gorges, beyond the peaks and ridges and now they hurried to arrive in time for midnight Mass. Half an hour later they were all in the church, about 150 people."

This story reminds me that the goodness of humanity is sometimes hidden, but it is there. May it encourage you this holiday season.