I dedicate the following brief words today to my own Mother, whom I have the right and the sweet satisfaction of honoring with the glorious title of “Mother of a priest”.

It is now precisely 30 years ago. It was an afternoon in May, a few days before my birthday. My mother and I, alone at home, were talking about it. She asked me some questions from which I understood that she had suspected something of my secret, the secret of my vocation that I had been cherishing and guarding for so many years. At last I had to answer and I said bluntly: “Yes, Mother, I want to be a priest”.

I had revealed my secret, a deep silence followed. The smile that a moment before had illuminated my mother’s face disappeared. The silence became very long for me. Everything gave me the vague impression as if something sacred had entered the room and remained floating in the atmosphere. It was almost like when at Mass the moment of the Consecration has arrived.

I noticed that my mother was not looking at me, that her gaze was lost through the window in the twilight. Her face seemed so solemn to me, as I had never seen it before. Did she also feel something like consecration? Did she perhaps feel touched by God and blessed, once again blessed for my sake? … Was she thinking of the Queen of May and Queen of the Clergy, who was the Mother of the High Priest Jesus Christ, the model Mother of all those who wish to be or are mothers of a priest? … Who can know what thoughts a woman has when she first glimpses the blessed honor of one day being the mother of a priest?

She never told me anything of what she had thought and dreamed in that unforgettable hour for me. I can still see tears sliding down her cheeks, but she soon controlled herself. She returned the smile to her face, looked at me and just said, “Well, let’s see.”

I retired to sleep. For several hours I could not fall asleep. Always thinking about my mother. I saw her face, her pensive gaze lost in the distance, those shining tears. Some time ago, from a sermon, the phrase “crown of priesthood” had been engraved in my memory. And then I seemed to see my mother wearing a crown, the glory of being “mother of a priest”. Several years of study followed. Everything was going well. I was experiencing the pure joys of moving forward, of approaching the distant but impatiently longed-for goal. I knew very well that I was constantly accompanied by my mother’s yearnings, prayers and sacrifices”.

It has been said that there will be no authentic priestly vocation that has not been tested. The hard and bitter test came for us: my health left much to be desired and, finally, I had to interrupt my studies. The doctors advised me: “Don’t study any more, give up the idea of becoming a priest”. My superiors shared the doctors’ opinion. Neither my mother nor I did.

However, what to do in such a critical situation? Prayer was then the only refuge for my grieving mother. I followed her example. I prayed a lot in that predicament, it is true, but my mother prayed much more. And she didn’t just pray; she did something else. I found out years later.

I missed two semesters of school and without having achieved a notable improvement in my health, I began my studies again. There were those who reproached me for it as imprudence. My mother said nothing. She left the decision to me alone. I do not know whether my resolution was motivated by trust in God or by recklessness; perhaps neither, but rather by my mother’s prayers.

For myself and others, it was a great surprise to see that everything was going well. The seven years of study that I missed. I completed them without ever getting sick again. I did not miss a single hour of class during all that time.

But four years before my ordination to the priesthood, my good mother fell ill and died. A priest friend of our family, who had known my mother very well, wrote to me at that time expressing his condolences: “You owe your mother much more to your priestly vocation than you suspect. I replied in these terms: “I do not know how much I owe my mother, but I am completely convinced that I would not be wearing the black cassock if she were not now wearing the white shroud”.

I could not doubt that she had made a supreme sacrifice at that time, along with her prayers she offered her life to God, telling him to make me become a priest, content not to see in this world the day of the sacred triumph, which would also have been her triumph and which she longed for so much. God accepted her sacrifice. Above, where she is, the Queen of May and Queen of the Clergy, next to the High Priest Jesus Christ, there she also wears the crown of that glory which is the highest with which a woman can be honored, the glory of being the Mother of a Priest”.