BY COLLEEN DONATO
Ancient Siena
Spooky. That is how I describe the medieval town of Siena. The dusty red brick and marble structures have stood defiant for hundreds of years—surviving a long, bitter rivalry with the city of Florence, foreign invaders, economic hardships, and even the Black Plague of 1348. This tiny northern Italian city, first settled by the Etruscans before Christ was born, has remained a world-renowned center for culture and education. I am haunted by the city’s uncommon beauty and historical significance. The New York Times travel section highlighted Siena this week for its splendor and antiquity (“36 Hours in Siena” by Ondine Cohane: http://travel.nytimes.com/2012/10/14/travel/36-hours-in-siena-italy.html?smid=tw-share&_r=0). But for the faithful, there is so much more to Siena. For Siena is not only the birthplace of St. Catherine, a patron Saint of Italy and Doctor of the Roman Catholic Church, who convinced Pope Gregory XI to move the “Seat of Peter” from Avignon back to Rome in 1376, it is the home of a Eucharistic miracle.
The Story of the Eucharistic Miracle of Siena
“The Eucharistic Miracle of Siena” can be viewed and adored in the Basilica of Saint Francis by appointment only. The original miracle took place on the eve of August 14, 1730, during the vigil of the Feast of the Assumption. While the Sienese people gathered at the Cathedral to honor Our Blessed Mother, thieves broke into the chapel of the vacant St. Francis church and robbed the fancy ciborium from the tabernacle with its contents—the consecrated hosts. On the morning of August 17, all 348 complete holy hosts (plus six halves) were found stuffed in an offering box in a nearby church in Provenzano. The hosts were dirty and full of cobwebs. The next day, the Archbishop of Siena, joined by a huge procession, accompanied the hosts back to St. Francis. The recovered hosts brought the pious to their knees in great numbers. This renewed devotion to the Eucharist by the faithful was noted by the Franciscan priests; they did not dare consume the hosts in Holy Communion, even after the hosts had been cleaned.
After some time, the Franciscan friars realized the hosts were not deteriorating. Many scientific tests were done over the years. The most important investigation took place in 1914. An acid & starch test, and a microscopic examination concluded that the hosts had been made from roughly sifted wheat flour and were well preserved. The scientists agreed: preservation of unleavened bread could be achieved for no more than 5 years. It now had been 184 years since the finding of the stolen hosts! In 1922, Cardinal Giovanni Tacci, along with a number of bishops, tasted the hosts and agreed they tasted as if they were freshly baked.
Despite great care taken by the Franciscans, the hosts were stolen for a second time in 1951. The thief had run-off with the ciborium and dumped the hosts on the altar. A more suitable container was created in 1952. There were now 223 hosts (125 were lost to scientific testing and tastings over the many years).
My surprising faith journey in Siena
As part of my summer pilgrimage, my appointment with the Divine was made. My tour guide had made arrangements with the Franciscan friar who protects the holy hosts (More on him can be found here: http://www.zenit.org/article-29332?l=english).
After hours of traveling on a bus, our group made a pit stop at a public restroom before walking on to see the Miracle. The line for the toilet was a long, spiraling snake that descended underground, but it would also be a long walk to the Basilica. Public toilets are not free in Italy. Two middle-aged men (one smoking a cigarette) collected the euros. For some bizarre reason, these two characters would not let me use the toilet. They would not take my money, they would not look me in the eye, and when I pleaded with them, they walked away from me. They let 20-30 people behind me through the turnstiles. I remained calm until another tourist walking ahead of me joked, “You must remind him of an ex-girlfriend!” I was not amused. I became angry. Why is this happening? My fellow pilgrims are waiting for me so they can adore the Miracle. We have an appointment. The priest is waiting. We have a tight schedule. I yelled. I threatened. I tried to push through. Finally, a fellow American, a woman with a strong southern drawl, scolded the smoking attendant, “Shame on you! Put that cigarette out and behave like a man!” The grinning fool did understand English after all and put his stinky cigarette out; the southern lady pushed me through the turnstile. “That’s what we call ‘sexual harassment’ back in the States,” she said.
By the time I ascended the stairs to where my tour group was waiting for me, the tour guide was visibly agitated. She sarcastically snapped at me, “I never heard of anyone getting lost in a public bathroom. This is a first! Unbelievable!” Her remark was shocking, hurtful and made me feel alone. She was supposed to watch out for each of us. She did not want to even hear why I was delayed. Well I must confess I did not hold my tongue. In the presence of two priests, who were our spiritual directors on this pilgrimage, a Franciscan nun, a Charismatic, a priest in training, and the rest of the group, I gave this guide an earful. For me, her callous attitude was far more offensive than the two toilet attendants’ behavior.
As we walked along, someone in the group tried to console me, “Maybe he thought you were a Florentine?”—referring to the toilet man being Sienese. Forget the toilet men, I thought. I had easily forgiven both of them. Continuing through the narrow, cobblestoned streets of this ancient city, I remained aloof from the group, praying God would send the Holy Spirit to heal my wound. How awful it would be to get to St. Francis and not be in the state of grace to experience the Miracle? This idea haunted me. I thought, “Lord, I won’t even take one photo” as I did when visiting another Eucharistic Miracle in Lanciano earlier that week. “Let me forgive and be joyful again.” With each step I kept praying.
When we entered the Basilica, I found solace. The Franciscan priest who greeted our group exuded immense joy and love. He was so happy we came. I wanted to give him a big bear hug. (In fact, one fellow pilgrim told me later, she did just that!) We proceeded to the chapel where he explained the story of the Miracle. We sang songs of praise. We said our prayers aloud. I stayed at the back, my eyes welled-up as I watched this holy man climb the stairs behind the altar, and open the tabernacle with his special key—exposing the eternal body and blood of Jesus Christ. One-by-one each pilgrim ascended the stairs to adore Jesus in the Eucharistic. And then it was my turn. All my anger and sorrow—justified or not—had melted away. Joy filled my heart. I will keep my personal revelations private, but I received many graces adoring the Eucharistic Miracle of Siena.
Upon saying goodbye to our Franciscan Father, he had one request of us all: “Please make known what you experience here. Tell others of this Miracle…” I smiled at him and nodded, having been healed by God’s presence in the Holy Eucharist. No small miracle.
