Pilgrims of Hope: Almost in Rome — but first, Cascia

High in the hills of the republic of Cascia, in a tiny Umbrian village called Roccaporena, Antonio and Amata Lotti were well-respected peacemakers. In 1381, they welcomed their only child, Margherita. In the local dialect, her name meant “pearl,” but she was known simply as Rita. Baptized in the church of Saint Augustine in Cascia, Rita became acquainted with the local Augustinian nuns of Saint Mary Magdalene Monastery and was attracted to their way of life. But her parents arranged a marriage for her in order to provide safety and security, and so Rita obediently married Paolo Mancini with whom she had two sons.

In the troubling political climate of the times, there was often open conflict between families. Paolo was the victim of one such conflict, and he was murdered when their sons were still young. The expectation of society at the time was that the boys should avenge the murder of their father to defend the family honor. Rita, however, influenced by the peacemaking example of her parents, pledged to forgive her husband’s killers. She faced a steep challenge, however, in convincing her sons to do the same. Tradition has it that she often pointed out to them the image of the crucified Christ and the fact that he forgave those who killed him. Within a year, however, both sons succumbed to a deadly illness leaving Rita not only a widow, but also childless. Following these tragedies, Rita placed her trust in God, accepting them and relying on her deep faith to find her way. After eighteen years of marriage, Rita felt called to a second but familiar vocation: to religious life in the Augustinian convent.

At the age of 36, she was finally admitted to the convent.

Then things started to get interesting:

For forty years she lived this routine lifestyle until Good Friday of 1442, fifteen years before her death, when she had an extraordinary experience. In contemplation before an image of Jesus that was very dear to her, the Jesus of Holy Saturday or, as it is also known, the Resurgent Christ, she was moved by a deeper awareness of the physical and spiritual burden of pain which Christ so freely and willingly embraced for love of her and of all humanity. With the tender, compassionate heart of a person fully motivated by grateful love, she spoke of her willingness to relieve Christ’s suffering by sharing even the smallest part of his pain. Her offer was accepted, her prayer was answered, and Rita was united with Jesus in a profound experience of spiritual intimacy, a thorn from his crown penetrating her forehead. The wound it caused remained open and visible until the day of her death.

Which brings us back to today and our visit to this remarkable place of prayer.

Shortly after we arrived at the monastery, a kindly Augstinian friar gave us a brief tour of its highlights, including a miraculous vine that inexplicably grew after Rita tended it. It continues to produce abundant grapes to this day — some of which are sent every year to the pope.

Then we headed to pray before Rita herself, before settling into a small side chapel for Mass.