This coming Sunday, were it not a Sunday, would be the feast of St Luigi Scrosoppi of the Oratory, who is perhaps best known around the world today as the patron saint of football. His example of devotion and trusting faith in God’s help, however, has much more to teach us than how to understand the offside rule.

The Oratory had been in Udine for 175 years before St Luigi was born, and his vocation there was certainly inspired in part by his older brother Carlo, eighteen years Luigi’s senior, who joined the Oratory and was ordained there in 1809. Nevertheless, neither brother had an easy journey in their vocations. In 1810, Napoleon, who had crowned himself King of Italy five years earlier, ordered the suppression of the Udine Oratory and seized its property. Fr Carlo, with nowhere else to go, returned to his family. Fifteen years later, his younger brother Gianbattista would follow him into the priesthood; two years after that, in 1827, St Luigi himself was ordained.

Living in such uncertain times, St Luigi learned to rely entirely on God’s providence. Together with his brother Carlo, he ran an orphanage in Udine. But in those troubled times, as the numbers of children in their care increased, the donations they received to support the children decreased. In response, St Luigi took to the streets to beg alms from passers-by. When the orphanage became too small, he took a donkey and a cart and travelled around the countryside to beg for building materials and for help with the labour. After a cholera epidemic, he founded a “House for the Destitute”, to accommodate girls who had been left as orphans. He founded a Congregation of Sisters to help him in his work, the Sisters of Providence.

This emphasis on Divine Providence was the cornerstone of St Luigi’s life, but his deep faith that his Lord would give everything he needed did not stop him making great personal sacrifices. After the fall of Napoleon, it became possible to restart the Oratory in Udine, which he quickly joined. The intervening decades had not been kind to the buildings, however, and they were almost derelict. So St Luigi sold his own family home to pay for the cost of restoring them. Twenty years later, the Piedmontese conquest of Italy saw the Udine Oratory suppressed again, and the property confiscated and sold. St Luigi bought back what he could. In spite of all the great difficulties he encountered, he persevered in following St Philip’s example to his death.

The example which St Luigi set, whether to the Fathers of the Oratory, the Sisters of Providence or the children they cared for, was one of total reliance on Our Lord for everything they needed. In good times, it is almost too easy for us to forget how essential God’s help is for us. In bad times, we can think that God has forgotten us. St Luigi by no means had an easy life — having seen his beloved Oratory suppressed by invading powers not once, but twice, we could probably forgive him if he had ended up doubting God’s help! But St Luigi always remained faithful to the Lord. Whenever one project met an obstacle, he found a new way to serve the needy. His constant care was to help the poor in any way he could, so that both he and they might be able to find joy in their true homeland in Heaven with Christ.

Because of his great work with destitute children and young people, he was declared patron saint of football, regardless of whether or not he had played himself! Perhaps, however, there is something teaching here. “Football’s coming home” — but so are we. As our Holy Father St Philip reminds us, “At last, we must die, and give an account of our lives.” When we do, and we face our Almighty Judge and render our account, may we — by his grace — be able to show a life lived full of trust in God’s providence for us, after St Luigi’s example, and so come home ourselves, to our Heavenly homeland.

Today is the feast of the chief Marian shrine in our country: Our Lady of Walsingham. And so it is a good day to think about our country’s relationship with the most holy Mother of God. Every Sunday, after Benediction, we recite the Prayer for England, which is addressed to Our Lady:

O blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God, and our most gentle Queen and Mother, look down in mercy upon England, thy dowry, and upon us all who greatly hope and trust in thee. By thee it was that Jesus, our Saviour and our hope, was given unto the world; and he has given thee to us that we may hope still more. Plead for us thy children, whom thou didst receive and accept at the foot of the Cross, O sorrowful Mother. Intercede for our separated brethren, that with us in the one true fold they may be united to the chief Shepherd, the Vicar of thy Son. Pray for us all, dear Mother, that by faith fruitful in good works we may all deserve to see and praise God, together with thee, in our heavenly home. Amen.

We call England Our Lady’s Dowry not because of any special connection she had with our country during her earthly life, but in the hope that she will show that special kind of favour to us that a mother is able to show to each of her children in turn, without showing favouritism to one at the expense of another.

This is a prayer full of hope — not vague optimism, but the quiet confidence that comes from being placed into the hands of one who gave herself entirely to God. “Our Saviour and our hope” gives his Mother to us “that we may hope still more.” Hope is more than wishful thinking. It is a confidence in the promises of God, and Christ has promised us the special intercession of his Mother. So on this feast, we pray through the intercession of Our Lady that all may come to share in the hope that her Son gives to us.

When the Roman Calendar was revised in 1969, many feasts, notably  those  of  some very early Saints were removed, often, it was said,  because too little was known about their lives; though in many cases, it was directed that they should still  be commemorated in local calendars ,in places where they  had some association. Yet, in the midst of this cull, there were some survivors, most notably, St. Januarius, whose feast day falls on Friday this week.  How did this early martyr bishop, about whom, very little is really known, manage to keep his place in the Universal Calendar? It’s hard to say.

Januarius, or Gennaro,    holds a fascinating place in both religious devotion and cultural identity, particularly in Naples where he serves as the city’s beloved patron saint. (Naples has some 50 saintly patrons, but he is preeminent among them!). His story bridges the ancient and modern worlds in remarkable ways.

The historical Januarius was a bishop of Benevento who likely died during Diocletian’s persecution of Christians around 305. It is believed that he was arrested while visiting a friend who was already imprisoned for the Faith. Yet what makes him truly extraordinary isn’t just his martyrdom, but how his legacy has evolved into one of Christianity’s most enduring mysteries—the liquefaction of his blood.

Three times each year, thousands gather in Naples Cathedral to witness what believers consider a miracle: the solidified blood of St. Januarius, preserved in a sealed vial for over 1,600 years, reportedly liquefies and bubbles during special ceremonies. This phenomenon has been documented hundreds of times, yet remains scientifically unexplained despite numerous investigations.

What strikes me most about St. Januarius is how he embodies the intersection of faith and community identity. For Neapolitans, he’s not merely a religious figure from the past, but a protector whose intercession is sought during times of crisis —from volcanic eruptions of Vesuvius to wartime bombings. The blood miracle becomes a barometer of the city’s spiritual and civic health; when it fails to occur, anxiety ripples through the population.

This reflects something profound about how communities create meaning through ritual and tradition. Whether one views the liquefaction as supernatural intervention or natural phenomenon, its power lies in its ability to unite people in shared hope and belonging. St. Januarius represents continuity across centuries of change—a constant in the face of conquest, disaster, and transformation.
His cult also reveals how popular devotions can sometimes create their own theological space where mystery is embraced rather than explained away.

During a visit to Naples in October 2007, Pope Benedict XVI, made reference to the City’s Patron and Protector:

“Yes, true hope is only born from the Blood of Christ and blood poured out for him. There is blood which is the sign of death, but there is also blood that expresses love and life. The Blood of Jesus and the blood of the Martyrs, like that of your own beloved Patron St Januarius, is a source of new life.”

This beautifully captures Benedict XVI’s theological perspective on how authentic Christian hope is grounded not in mere optimism, but in the concrete reality of sacrificial love demonstrated by Christ and echoed by the saints and martyrs throughout history. The Pope distinguished between blood as a symbol of death versus blood as an expression of love and life—making St. Januarius’s famous liquefying blood a particularly apt example of how martyrdom becomes a wellspring of renewal and hope for the faithful.

Prayer: Saint Januarius, you laid down your life for your faith after being arrested for charitably visiting your friends in prison. Your love is inspiring, as is your courage. Please pray for me, that I will find great inspiration in your witness and seek to imitate your selflessness and courage in my own life.