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St Josemaría arrived in Rome for the first time on June 23, 1946
Pilar Urbano
On June 23, 1946 the founder of Opus Dei arrived in Rome to expedite pontifical approval of Opus Dei. This approval would enable Opus Dei, which was universal from the very start, to spread its apostolate to different countries. Pilar Urbano wrote an account of the journey after interviewing the people concerned.
A record in photographs of St Josemaría's journey to Italy
On the port side of the J. J. Sister, Father Josemaria Escriva and a very young Law professor, José Orlandis, a member of Opus Dei, were leaning on the rails breathing in the sea air. They looked at each other and smiled. One of the passengers nearby commented, “After the storm comes the calm.” The platitude described the situation perfectly. They had just been through twenty hours of terrible storm; the little mail steamship had been buffeted by a violent gale which blew from the Gulf of Lyon. The J. J. Sister, notorious for pitching and tossing, kept its course despite wind and tide, although the dining-room china and glassware were shattered, the waves swept the deck, and the furniture slid up and down. All the passengers and the crew, from the captain to the cabin boy were seasick. At the height of the storm Father Escriva quipped, “Do you know what? If we go down and get eaten by fish... Perico Casciaro will never eat fish again as long as he lives!” 1 .
It was 5 p.m. on a warm day, Saturday 22nd June 1946. The sun beat down, but the breeze on the high seas made being on deck very pleasant. The J. J. Sister was sailing eastwards from Barcelona to Genoa.
Three years earlier Alvaro del Portillo, another young member of Opus Dei, had travelled the same route, but by air, while the war was still raging. Del Portillo was unperturbed. “I was quite sure nothing would happen. I was carrying all the papers.” 2. He had with him all the documents which he was to present to the Holy See to obtain the nihil obstat, the green light for setting up Opus Dei, or the Work, in different dioceses. At the time Opus Dei had just one limited approval: a kind of pass granted by Monsignor Eijo y Garay, Bishop of Madrid-Alcalá, to allow it to develop within the limits of a “Pious Union”. From every point of view this was insufficient for the universal scope which its nature demanded.
Later on Father Escriva would write: “Both to the world and to the Church the Work seemed a great novelty. The canonical solution that I was seeking seemed impossible to attain. But, my daughters and sons, I could not wait for things to be possible. A high-ranking member of the Roman Curia told us, ‘You have come a century too soon’. Nevertheless we had to attempt the impossible. I was urged on by the thought of the thousands of souls who had dedicated themselves to God in the Work, with full commitment, in order to do apostolate in the middle of the world” 3.
At the gates of the Vatican
The gates of the Vatican were shut, not because the caller had come too late but because he had come too early. The works of God, however, cannot just sit back and wait. Father Alvaro del Portillo had mailed a letter to Father Escriva, but he distrusted the chaotic post-war postal service, and so he gave another to a Spanish diplomat who was returning to Madrid, to be delivered by hand. “I can’t do any more. It’s your turn now.”4 And even though he knew that Father Escriva was suffering from severe diabetes, he said that he considered it necessary for him to come to Rome.
“I won’t be answerable for your life”
As soon as Father Escriva received Father del Portillo’s two letters, he called a meeting of the General Council of the Work at a Centre of Opus Dei in Villanueva Street in Madrid. He read the letters to them, and told them bluntly that his doctors had reacted unfavourably to the idea of his making such a trip; Doctor Rof Carballo had told him, “I won’t be answerable for your life.”
The people who made up the governing body of the Work were young men, but they had the maturity which comes from living an interior life. Against their personal feelings, they gave priority to the demands of a mission which was greater than all of them. They agreed unhesitatingly to what they felt Father Escriva wanted to do, and encouraged him to set sail as soon as possible.
“Thank you,” he responded. “But I would have gone anyway: what has to be done, has to be done.” 5
This took place on Monday 17th June 1946. The tickets and visas were arranged within a few hours. On Wednesday 19th June, at 3.30 p.m. Father Escriva left Madrid for Saragossa by road. From there he went on to Barcelona to embark on the J. J. Sister to Genoa, Italy. The last stage of his long journey to Rome was made by road again. Nowadays one can do the trip in one short flight from Barajas Airport in Madrid to Fiumicino Airport in Rome; but in those days, with the Second World War just over, there were no commercial flights between Spain and Italy, the French border was closed, and so there was no option.
“Will I turn out to be a fraud?”
Father Escriva broke his journey at three shrines dedicated to the Mother of God. The first was at the shrine of Our Lady of the Pillar in Saragossa. Then they made a detour to Montserrat. The last stop was in Barcelona, to visit the shrine of Our Lady of Ransom. These were visits from a son who sought from his mother, whom he called “all-powerful in her petition”, all the recommendations, the strength and the guidance he was going to need.
In Barcelona, early in the morning of Friday 21st June, Father Escriva met a small group of his sons in the oratory of an apartment in Muntaner Street. They did their prayer together. With his eyes fixed on the tabernacle, Father Escriva appealed to our Lord in words Christ had heard before: “Ecce nos reliquimus omnia, et secuti sumus te: quid ergo erit nobis? Here we are, having left everything to follow you: What is to become of us?” 6
It was word for word the same question as St. Peter had asked two thousand years before, acting as spokesman for the misgivings and anxieties of the Twelve. With the confidence born of long-standing love, capable of facing up to God on friendly, even familiar terms, Father Escriva continued in a hushed, impassioned voice, sincerely and confidentially. “Lord, have you allowed me, in good faith, to deceive so many souls? I’ve done everything for your glory, knowing it is your Holy Will! Is it possible that the Holy See can say that we have come a century too soon? Ecce nos reliquimus omnia, et secuti sumus te! I’ve never wished to deceive anyone. I’ve only wanted to serve you. Will I turn out to be a fraud?” 7His words were a plea, a last resort, uttered almost on the verge of tears by one whose only foothold on earth was heaven.
The J. J. Sister anchored in the port of Genoa very late in the night of 22nd June. Father Alvaro del Portillo and Salvador Canals were waiting, walking up and down the quayside. Father Escriva greeted each of them with a big hug. Then, looking at Father del Portillo over the rim of his glasses, he addressed him in typical good humour: “Rascal! Here I am! You got your own way!”8
By the time they got to the hotel it was so late that there was no service either in the dining room or in the bedrooms. All Father Escriva had had since leaving Barcelona thirty-two hours earlier was a coffee and some biscuits. Father del Portillo had kept a small piece of Parmesan cheese from his dinner, thinking that Father Escriva would like it. It was the only thing he had to eat that night.
Notes
1. Testimony of Father José Orlandis (AGP, RHF T-00184)
2. AGP, RHF 21165, p. 177
3. Letter, 25 January 1961, 19
4. AGP, RHF 21165, pp. 985-986.
5. Ibid.
6. Matt 19:27
7. AGP, RHF 21164, pp.1324-1324
8. Ibid, 1409
Extract from Chapter 2 of El Hombre de Villa Tevere: los años romanos de Josemaría Escrivá, Pilar Urbano, published by Plaza y Janes, Barcelona, 1995
On the port side of the J. J. Sister, Father Josemaria Escriva and a very young Law professor, José Orlandis, a member of Opus Dei, were leaning on the rails breathing in the sea air. They looked at each other and smiled. One of the passengers nearby commented, “After the storm comes the calm.” The platitude described the situation perfectly. They had just been through twenty hours of terrible storm; the little mail steamship had been buffeted by a violent gale which blew from the Gulf of Lyon. The J. J. Sister, notorious for pitching and tossing, kept its course despite wind and tide, although the dining-room china and glassware were shattered, the waves swept the deck, and the furniture slid up and down. All the passengers and the crew, from the captain to the cabin boy were seasick. At the height of the storm Father Escriva quipped, “Do you know what? If we go down and get eaten by fish... Perico Casciaro will never eat fish again as long as he lives!” 1 .
It was 5 p.m. on a warm day, Saturday 22nd June 1946. The sun beat down, but the breeze on the high seas made being on deck very pleasant. The J. J. Sister was sailing eastwards from Barcelona to Genoa.
Three years earlier Alvaro del Portillo, another young member of Opus Dei, had travelled the same route, but by air, while the war was still raging. Del Portillo was unperturbed. “I was quite sure nothing would happen. I was carrying all the papers.” 2. He had with him all the documents which he was to present to the Holy See to obtain the nihil obstat, the green light for setting up Opus Dei, or the Work, in different dioceses. At the time Opus Dei had just one limited approval: a kind of pass granted by Monsignor Eijo y Garay, Bishop of Madrid-Alcalá, to allow it to develop within the limits of a “Pious Union”. From every point of view this was insufficient for the universal scope which its nature demanded.
Later on Father Escriva would write: “Both to the world and to the Church the Work seemed a great novelty. The canonical solution that I was seeking seemed impossible to attain. But, my daughters and sons, I could not wait for things to be possible. A high-ranking member of the Roman Curia told us, ‘You have come a century too soon’. Nevertheless we had to attempt the impossible. I was urged on by the thought of the thousands of souls who had dedicated themselves to God in the Work, with full commitment, in order to do apostolate in the middle of the world” 3.
At the gates of the Vatican
The gates of the Vatican were shut, not because the caller had come too late but because he had come too early. The works of God, however, cannot just sit back and wait. Father Alvaro del Portillo had mailed a letter to Father Escriva, but he distrusted the chaotic post-war postal service, and so he gave another to a Spanish diplomat who was returning to Madrid, to be delivered by hand. “I can’t do any more. It’s your turn now.”4 And even though he knew that Father Escriva was suffering from severe diabetes, he said that he considered it necessary for him to come to Rome.
“I won’t be answerable for your life”
As soon as Father Escriva received Father del Portillo’s two letters, he called a meeting of the General Council of the Work at a Centre of Opus Dei in Villanueva Street in Madrid. He read the letters to them, and told them bluntly that his doctors had reacted unfavourably to the idea of his making such a trip; Doctor Rof Carballo had told him, “I won’t be answerable for your life.”
The people who made up the governing body of the Work were young men, but they had the maturity which comes from living an interior life. Against their personal feelings, they gave priority to the demands of a mission which was greater than all of them. They agreed unhesitatingly to what they felt Father Escriva wanted to do, and encouraged him to set sail as soon as possible.
“Thank you,” he responded. “But I would have gone anyway: what has to be done, has to be done.” 5
This took place on Monday 17th June 1946. The tickets and visas were arranged within a few hours. On Wednesday 19th June, at 3.30 p.m. Father Escriva left Madrid for Saragossa by road. From there he went on to Barcelona to embark on the J. J. Sister to Genoa, Italy. The last stage of his long journey to Rome was made by road again. Nowadays one can do the trip in one short flight from Barajas Airport in Madrid to Fiumicino Airport in Rome; but in those days, with the Second World War just over, there were no commercial flights between Spain and Italy, the French border was closed, and so there was no option.
“Will I turn out to be a fraud?”
Father Escriva broke his journey at three shrines dedicated to the Mother of God. The first was at the shrine of Our Lady of the Pillar in Saragossa. Then they made a detour to Montserrat. The last stop was in Barcelona, to visit the shrine of Our Lady of Ransom. These were visits from a son who sought from his mother, whom he called “all-powerful in her petition”, all the recommendations, the strength and the guidance he was going to need.
In Barcelona, early in the morning of Friday 21st June, Father Escriva met a small group of his sons in the oratory of an apartment in Muntaner Street. They did their prayer together. With his eyes fixed on the tabernacle, Father Escriva appealed to our Lord in words Christ had heard before: “Ecce nos reliquimus omnia, et secuti sumus te: quid ergo erit nobis? Here we are, having left everything to follow you: What is to become of us?” 6
It was word for word the same question as St. Peter had asked two thousand years before, acting as spokesman for the misgivings and anxieties of the Twelve. With the confidence born of long-standing love, capable of facing up to God on friendly, even familiar terms, Father Escriva continued in a hushed, impassioned voice, sincerely and confidentially. “Lord, have you allowed me, in good faith, to deceive so many souls? I’ve done everything for your glory, knowing it is your Holy Will! Is it possible that the Holy See can say that we have come a century too soon? Ecce nos reliquimus omnia, et secuti sumus te! I’ve never wished to deceive anyone. I’ve only wanted to serve you. Will I turn out to be a fraud?” 7His words were a plea, a last resort, uttered almost on the verge of tears by one whose only foothold on earth was heaven.
The J. J. Sister anchored in the port of Genoa very late in the night of 22nd June. Father Alvaro del Portillo and Salvador Canals were waiting, walking up and down the quayside. Father Escriva greeted each of them with a big hug. Then, looking at Father del Portillo over the rim of his glasses, he addressed him in typical good humour: “Rascal! Here I am! You got your own way!”8
By the time they got to the hotel it was so late that there was no service either in the dining room or in the bedrooms. All Father Escriva had had since leaving Barcelona thirty-two hours earlier was a coffee and some biscuits. Father del Portillo had kept a small piece of Parmesan cheese from his dinner, thinking that Father Escriva would like it. It was the only thing he had to eat that night.
Notes
1. Testimony of Father José Orlandis (AGP, RHF T-00184)
2. AGP, RHF 21165, p. 177
3. Letter, 25 January 1961, 19
4. AGP, RHF 21165, pp. 985-986.
5. Ibid.
6. Matt 19:27
7. AGP, RHF 21164, pp.1324-1324
8. Ibid, 1409
Extract from Chapter 2 of El Hombre de Villa Tevere: los años romanos de Josemaría Escrivá, Pilar Urbano, published by Plaza y Janes, Barcelona, 1995
Documentation
List of Contents
- The founder of Opus Dei in Pompeii, Almudena, Sonsoles and Fatima, 1968-1970
- St Josemaría arrived in Rome for the first time on June 23, 1946
- Working summers
- "Holy Rosary": To help people say the Rosary
- In the hospitals and poor districts
- September 7, 1931 in Madrid: anniversary of a divine locution
- Álvaro del Portillo
- St Josemaría’s stay in Venezuela, August 1974
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