MOTHER MARY MAGDALENE AND PADRE PIO


                                                 "THE BEST FRIEND YOU EVER HAD"

   The Duchess of St. Albans the authoress of the “Magic of a Mystic, Stories of Padre Pio”, interviewed Margaret Mathers for her book in the 80’s. We re-print this interview.

    In the early 70’s Margaret Mathers was nurse-in-charge of a hospital in the North of England. She had written to the Friary of our Lady of Grace to ask if and how she could help. “I think it was in 1971, and I wanted to know if there was anything I could do,” she says. Little did she know how her request would be taken up…The answer to her query came in the person of Father Alessio himself, who arrived from San Giovanni Rotondo to speak to her about Padre Pio’s life and work.
    Margaret and a nun went to meet Father Alessio’s train. This “White Sister,” who was on sick leave from her mission in Kenya, was in the process of losing her sight. It seemed she was more upset about giving up her work in Africa than about going blind.
    “Get a few people together so I can talk to them and tell them about Padre Pio”, Father Alessio said when he met Margaret. So she called up the Mistress of Novices at a nearby Franciscan Tertiary centre, and told her about Father Alessio’s intended lecture.
    Come the day, and the conference hall was packed. The audience was entranced by the talk, and the film about Padre Pio which he showed them. Then he went a bout the people and blessed them with a mitten. It all made such an impression on them that they went on talking about it for days.
    Father Alessio had to leave the next day. As Margaret was on duty she was unable to see him off at the station. When she said goodbye to him, he said, “You know how the Evil One used to torment Padre Pio. You must be careful, Margaret.”
    She laughed and said, “It’s only the good who die young, Father.” But he didn’t laugh. Wagging a finger at her he said again: “Well, Margaret, do take care.” And with that he was gone. The White Sister from Kenya accompanied him to the train. As Margaret had warned him about the poor nun’s plight, he touched her eyes with the mitten, and then set off on his journey home.
    The next day the nun was due at the Liverpool hospital for a test. When the specialist looked at her eyes, he was astonished that she had kept the appointment. There was nothing whatever the matter with her sight. She was overjoyed at the news, as she was able to return to her work in Africa.
    The next day Margaret was busier than ever in her hospital. “I could never bring myself to leave my patients to the care of other nurses until I was sure that they were comfortably tucked up for the night.”
    That evening, it was almost 9 o’ clock by the time she left. As there was a beautiful full-moon, she decided to walk home instead of taking the bus. As she walked, enjoying the peacefulness of her surroundings, her thoughts were entirely absorbed in Padre Pio.
    “I had gone past the church, and was about five minutes from my home-crossing,” she says, “and that’s the last thing I remember.” A car, screeching round the bend at high speed crashed in to her and sent her flying over the bonnet. She landed in the middle of the road, unconscious. When she eventually came round in the casualty ward she was in terrible pain. Not knowing where she was, she kept repeating: “I can’t stay, here, I’m on duty.”
    “She’s delirious,” remarked someone nearby. Her mother arrived soon after, and a priest gave her the last rites. “She won’t be long with us”, put in one of the nurses within her hearing, which shocked Margaret’s professional sense of duty. She had always impressed on her students never to pass such remarks beside a dying patient, as words and feelings are greatly intensified at the time of death.
    She was given oxygen, and a nurse arrived with a hypodermic.
    “I want to ask you something”, whispered Margaret.
    “Yes, what is it?”
    “Please call a Franciscan priest and tell him I want to be buried in my habit.”
    “Very well”, agreed the nurse, leaving the room.
    Relieved, Margaret closed her eyes. She was determined to arrive at the gates of Heaven suitably garbed as a Franciscan Tertiary. When she opened her eyes again, there was a Franciscan Friar sitting on the chair beside her bed. As his face was partly concealed by the hood, she assumed him to be Father Luke, the Guardian of the neighbouring Friary. When he stood up to put his hand on her head and pat her face, she saw that he was wearing mittens.
    “Love, our Lady,” he said, “there’s a lot of work for you to do.”
    Staring at him, Margaret was fascinated by his eyes which shone with infinite kindness as he smiled at her. She kept thinking he couldn’t possibly be Padre Pio and yet he was, she said, “as solid as living flesh.”
    Feeling infinitely happy and at peace she closed her eyes for a moment. As she opened them again a sister was coming in. The Franciscan had disappeared.
    “Thank you for asking Father Luke to come”, said Margaret drowsily.
    “I don’t think they would let a Franciscan in at a quarter past two,” remarked the sister, looking at her watch. “You must have been dreaming.”
    When a priest came in to give her Communion the next morning, Margaret told him about her visitor. “Do you think I was dreaming, or did it really happen?” she asked.
    “A Franciscan will come and see you this afternoon. You’d better ask him,” he replied. The answer she got that afternoon was: “I’m surprised at you. Don’t you know your friend when you see him?”
    “It couldn’t have been Padre Pio,” she said, still doubtful. “Things like that don’t happen to me.”
    “Well, I expect he’ll soon let you know if it was really he.” And with that the Franciscan was gone.
    Gradually Margaret got better, but she was on crutches for a year. Eventually she was able to return to her job at the hospital. The first thing she did was to call a priest to come and consecrate the building to the Sacred Heart and Our Lady’ Immaculate Heart, and to have it put in the special care of Padre Pio. The ceremony took place on a Sunday afternoon when the hospital was empty. The old patients left on Saturday and the new ones arrived on Monday. No one saw the priest or knew about the consecration. As it was not a Catholic hospital, Margaret didn’t want to antagonise anybody.
    Soon the new patients were talking about the “lovely feeling of the place”, and of “never feeling alone,” as if “a mother was looking after them.” Margaret explained to them about our Lady, and the rosary, and about the great love which our Lady has for children. When Margaret returned to the surgical ward, one of the patients asked her if there was a Franciscan Friary in the vicinity.
    “Yes, a few miles away, at a place called Hooton. Why do you ask?”
    “Oh, he must have been visiting, then.”
    “Who was visiting?”
    “The Franciscan who came to bless us. We thought it was very nice of him.”
    “He must have been feeling cold”, said another patient. “He kept his gloves on.”
    “That will be my friend”, said Margaret happily.
    “What’s his name?”
    “His name, I think, if I am right, is Padre Pio.”
    “From Hooton Friary?”
    “Well, shall we put it this way. He’s around everywhere, and he’s the greatest friend you’ll ever have. For your information, Padre Pio died on 23rd September 1968.”
    There was a stunned silence.
    “He couldn’t have”, someone exclaimed at last. “He’s not a spirit!”
    “Well, the Lord works in mysterious ways,” smiled Margaret, and she gave them a prayer to the Sacred heart, which had been recommended by Padre Pio.
    After a fortnight a new lot of patients arrived. As usual, they’d had no contact with the previous batch. Operations took place three times a week, and it was on the eve of the dreaded days that Padre Pio came into bless them. These new patients also assumed he was an ordinary flesh and blood priest.
    One fine day a woman came in with terminal cancer, and her husband was told she may not even survive the operation, which went on for five hours. She hadn’t been in there for half an hour when the theatre sister came flouncing out in a fine fury. “Margaret,” she barked indignantly, “I’m surprised at you!”
    “What have I done now ?” asked Margaret.
    “There’s a Franciscan in the theatre and he’s got no mask on. You know we don’t allow priests in the theatre…”
    “Why don’t you offer him a mask?” suggested Margaret.
    The nurse glared at her, then went in again, back to her duties. Margaret stayed in the anteroom where she was coaching some students. After a considerable lapse of time, the operating room nurse came out again to collect blood for a transfusion. “He’s still there”, she growled as she swished past, looking disgusted.
    When the patient was finally wheeled out, attached to her transfusion drip, Margaret asked, “Well, where is he now?”
    “Oh, I don’t know. We’ve given up. When the stitches were put in he was no longer there. The door is the only way out of the operating room, and he certainly didn’t go that way.”
    Much to everybody’s surprise, the patient made rapid progress in spite of the fact that the growth had spread beyond reach of the knife, right into the crucial region of the spine. She went home to convalesce, and when she returned for a check-up, the x-rays showed no sign whatever of the disease. Fully recovered she declares to anybody who will listen, that Padre Pio is the best doctor and the best friend she has ever had.