For believers, the Cross is a symbol of God’s love, forgiveness and redemption. But for the Romans and Jews it was the ultimate sign of degradation and death. Crucifixion was a death so brutal that it was reserved only for slaves and conquered peoples. It was against the law to crucify a Roman citizen — hence, St Paul was beheaded, while St Peter suffered the same fate as his Lord. The cross was a terrible thing.

The cross was the means of the suffering and death of the Son of God. And yet it is through the Cross that we are led to eternal life. Death — even the worst death the Romans could invent — was not the final word; Christ was raised from the dead and ascended in power and glory.  As the Church sings in the Introit for the feast of the Holy Cross: “We should glory in the Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, in whom is our salvation, life and resurrection, through whom we are saved and delivered.” This salvation is a grace, a wonderful gift, freely won through Christ’s death. We cannot merit salvation or earn our redemption. But in accepting Christ’s free gift, we also have to follow his example. Like the apostles, we are happy to follow the Lord when the going is easy, when miracles are happening, and we feel very close to him. And then comes the cross.

When the apostles were challenged to follow our Lord to the cross, they scattered and fled. Like the Romans and the Jews, his followers could only see the cross as a defeat. Their hopes were dashed and their faith was shattered. But the power of the Resurrection raised them up too, and they brought the message of the Cross and the Resurrection to the whole world.

You and I are the apostles and disciples of Jesus in 2025. And each one of us is being called to follow him, not only into the presence of God and the glory of heaven, but also to the Cross. Because every one of us is being given a particular cross, and being nailed to it: a cross of betrayal, a cross of persecution, a cross of injustice, a cross of unrequited love, a cross of serious illness of ourselves or those we love, a cross of loneliness following the death of a loved one. And the many smaller crosses can be just as painful: an insult or criticism, the reopening of an old wound, the misunderstandings and little conflicts that arise in our families or relationships.

To followers of the Risen Jesus, the crucifixion is never the end. The crosses that we find ourselves nailed to will not last forever, because the Lord has united them to his own Cross and suffers with us. The Resurrection that follows crucifixion means a new and glorious life. The cross moves from being a symbol of human cruelty at its worst to a symbol of triumphant victory. It is our way to heaven. We are certainly an Easter People — but only because we are in the first place a People of the Cross. And we embrace that Cross just as we are to embrace the crosses of our own lives.

We adore thee, O Christ, and we bless thee, because by thy Holy Cross thou hast redeemed the world.

This summer, we will be sharing the lives of some of the early fathers of the Roman Oratory. These less well known fathers might not have been raised to the altars, but their holy lives still contain many lessons for us today.

With most of the early Fathers of the Roman Oratory, we mainly hear about them only in passing in the life of Saint Philip, and this holds true especially for Giovanni Matteo Ancina, who seems to have lived somewhat in the shadow of his more famous brother. In fact, despite living with Giovanni Matteo, all that Antonio Gallonio, Saint Philip’s first biographer, has to say about him is “Giovan Matteo, a law student” joined the community. Thankfully, since he was the brother of Blessed Juvenal, we are able to learn a lot about him from the life of his mitred brother.

They had both made up their minds to embrace the religious life whilst in Rome for the Holy Year and they agreed to enter the same community.They decided that Giovanni Matteo should return home to dispose of their property. All of their money was to be distributed to the poor, and then they were to give themselves to God freed from all worldly anxieties.

During Giovanni Matteo’s absence, Juvenal was led one day by divine providence to the church of San Giovanni dei Fiorentini, where the priests of the Congregation of the Oratory, newly founded by Saint Philip, were giving the exercises. Giovanni Matteo soon received a letter in which Juvenal told him how he had conversed with Philip, and that he had given him invaluable advice about his future.

When Giovanni Matteo had wound up their affairs at their home in Fossano, he returned to Rome, and he, likewise, placed himself under the direction of Saint Philip. Eventually the brothers prepared to carry out their resolution of entering the Carthusian Order together; but when they came to discuss this idea with Saint Philip, he immediately shook his head, and said that such a life was not for them. He told them they should instead enter the new Congregation of the Oratory which had been founded in the church of Santa Maria in Vallicella, where they would find “a less austere life, and one more proportioned to their strength.”

And so, Juvenal and Giovanni Matteo entered the Oratory together on 1 October 1578. When they were admitted, St Philip said of both of them that they would prove an honour to the Congregation.Giovanni Matteo was twenty-six when he joined the community and was an Oratorian for fifty-seven years, seventeen of which he passed under the immediate direction of Saint Philip.

Saint Philip taught that an Oratorian must learn to love to be unknown, and Father Giovanni Matteo is a perfect example of this. He lived a mostly quiet, hidden life devoted to God whilst other Fathers were being raised to the episcopate or cardinalate. Nevertheless, his life was still one of great benefit to many souls, and his chief means of accomplishing this work was prayer.

Besides the times prescribed by the rule, he was frequently to be seen in church before the Blessed Sacrament in contemplation. He disengaged himself as much as possible from active life, passing his time reading and praying. He encouraged everyone when the clock struck each hour to raise one’s mind to God to renew the memory of his presence. Amongst his favourite short prayers were: “Lord, bestow upon me a good spirit” and “my only Good and my only Love is my Lord Jesus crucified”. He said Mass every day and was most exact in observing the rubrics. He rarely went out of the house, except to visit the Blessed Sacrament wherever it was exposed. He loved silence, spoke little and simply, and the little he did say was always on spiritual subjects.

One of the spiritual maxims attributed to him is, “read a little, pray a little, work a little, and so will your hours pass happily”. Of all of his teachings this is perhaps the most important for us to strive to follow. Let us try each day to read a good spiritual book or a passage from Scripture; to set aside some time to spend in prayer; and do the work of the day perfectly. Then our hours on this earth will pass happily as we use them well to prepare for the eternal happiness of heaven.

This summer, we will be sharing the lives of some of the early fathers of the Roman Oratory. These less well known fathers might not have been raised to the altars, but their holy lives still contain many lessons for us today.

We celebrate on Saturday the feast day of Blessed Juvenal Ancina, who is undoubtedly most famous as the holy seventeenth-century Bishop of Saluzzo, where he set about with great zeal in reforming the lives of both clergy and laity in his diocese. The decrees of the Council of Trent had just been published and their implementation was one of his major aims.

When the Carnival came around, he introduced the Forty Hours’ devotion, which was at that time unknown in Saluzzo, so that people would spend time in prayer before the Blessed Sacrament rather than become involved with the disreputable practices of Carnivale.

During Lent he introduced spiritual exercises which he called The Compuntiva. They consisted of a reading from a spiritual book, a time of silent mental prayer and a discourse on some aspect of the Passion. These were interspersed with the singing of hymns and canticles. Ancina was a firm believer in the power of beauty and music to impress upon the soul, and was himself an accomplished musician. At the Roman Oratory there is even a surviving copy of The Temple of Harmony composed by Blessed Juvenal in honour of Our Lady. The fruit of these spiritual exercises was realised at Easter, when an unparalleled number of the faithful approached the Sacraments.

These evening exercises were in fact a copy of those introduced by Saint Philip in the Oratory at Rome. You may recall too that it was Saint Philip who introduced the Forty Hours devotion to Rome during the Carnival with the same motives that Blessed Juvenal introduced the devotion in Saluzzo.

This should be of no surprise to us though because Blessed Juvenal was one of the first Fathers of the Roman Oratory. He joined the Oratory in 1578 alongside his brother, Giovanni Matteo. When they were admitted, St Philip said of both of them that they would prove an honour to the Congregation. (We shall discover more about Giovanni Matteo’s life in next week’s reflection.) The introduction of the exercises of the Oratory to Blessed Juvenal’s diocese shows that he still held all that he had learnt from Saint Philip with great esteem even when he was consecrated Bishop.

However, it was his fervent reforms of the clergy that were to lead to his death. His time as Bishop of Saluzzo was very brief, lasting just over a year, because he was poisoned by a resentful monk and died ten days later. Blessed Juvenal had tried previously many times to convert this friar away from a life that was causing scandal in the city.

So Blessed Juvenal spent eight years in Rome ministering faithfully to the people of that city under the direction of Saint Philip, and only one year as Bishop of Saluzzo. In reality, the majority of his ministry was spent in Naples, where he laboured for souls for over ten years, though this period of his life is usually the least recounted.

Blessed Juvenal was sent by Saint Philip to Naples in October 1586 to be amongst the founding Fathers of the new Oratory there. Through his prayers, advice and preaching he gained innumerable souls. He preached at least four or five sermons a week, which were all carefully prepared and studied. He would spend may hours each day hearing what he called “the torrent of confessions”. Any time that he had left was spent visiting the sick and the dying to console them with physical and spiritual remedies — this was a natural ministry for him as he had trained as a doctor in his youth.

He promoted devotion in the city to its patron, the martyr Saint Januarius whose blood famously liquifies each year on his feast day. By Blessed Juvenal’s appeal, a new, more splendid shrine was built to house the relics of Saint Januarius and it became a place of constant pilgrimage, having at one time been rarely opened. He would often conclude his sermons at the Oratory by encouraging the faithful to visit their Patron in the Cathedral just over the road. He also composed the proper office and sequence for Saint Januarius.

St Philip is often called the Third Apostle of Rome after Saints Peter and Paul because of his tireless work in winning souls for the Lord in that city. Surely then we could give Blessed Juvenal the title of Apostle of Naples.

Saint Francis de Sales, who was great friends with Blessed Juvenal, says in a testimony given when Ancina’s beatification was first proposed that he “cherished an ardent love for God and a tender charity for his neighbour, and in return he was truly dear to both God and man.” Through the intercession of Blessed Juvenal, let us pray that we may emulate his pattern of pastoral care and his love of God and neighbour.

This summer, we will be sharing the lives of some of the early fathers of the Roman Oratory. These less well known fathers might not have been raised to the altars, but their holy lives still contain many lessons for us today.

I suspect, dear reader, that Fr Pietro Consolini is not someone you will have heard of. In many respects, this is all well and good — the love of being unknown is something our Holy Father St Philip prized, after all. But having said that, Fr Consolini is more important for us today than his lack of fame might suggest.

Fr Consolini’s vocation story is quite extraordinary. Born in Monteleone, near to Fermo, in 1565, he first came to Rome in 1590 to continue his studies. There, he stayed with his uncle, who was a priest at San Giovanni dei Fiorentini, the church which St Philip had been given at the very start of the Oratory’s existence as a formal Congregation of priests, serving his wider group of disciples. The Oratorian connection with that church clearly still persisted, despite the Congregation having moved to the Vallicella in 1575, because it was through his uncle that Pietro was introduced to the Exercises. St Philip took a shine to him, telling him, “Now then, my son, you must become one of us!” Consolini, however, was not so hasty, and replied that he would not wish to make a firm choice of a state of life without mature reflection and the advice and approbation of his uncle.

While he admired the prudence of the young man’s response, St Philip was not to be stopped: he proposed Consolini to the Congregation, and had him accepted by the Fathers, without Consolini’s knowledge. Despite the unusual circumstances, he sought and gained his uncle’s support, and entered the Congregation in the same year he arrived in the Eternal City, remaining in it until his death in 1643.

Even though Fr Consolini only knew our Holy Father for five years before the latter’s death in 1595, he became one of St Philip’s closest disciples. When St Philip was dying, it was to Consolini that he finally revealed the story of his Pentecost experience, which he had kept secret for fifty-one years. This closeness with our Holy Father made him the obvious choice to draw up our first Constitutions, which he wrote in 1612. Although these are no longer in force, they are still an authoritative account of the life St Philip wanted the Fathers of his Congregation to lead, written by one who knew him so intimately.

It would be easy for us to think that Fr Consolini’s life is only really of interest to the Fathers and Brothers of Oratories around the world, but I think he has much more to offer than that. His great example to all of us is his love and devotion to our Holy Father St Philip. Just like St Philip, Fr Consolini emphasised the importance of humility and charity in the Christian life — and, above all, that these are not just the preserve of priests and religious, but something for all of us, no matter our state in life. It is all too easy, when we read the lives of the saints (and even of holy people who have not been canonised, like Fr Consolini), to think that the examples of these virtues they set for us are somehow unattainable for poor sinners like us. Fr Consolini — and St Philip too — want us to know that that is not the case. Growing in holiness is hard work, but it is worthwhile work: God is calling each and every one of us to closer and closer friendship with him. We have only to accept that call.

Fr Consolini has not been canonised — not, I think, from any lack of holiness, but because those Fathers he left behind when died knew his humility and his love of being unknown. In his lifetime, he had only made his contributions to the process for St Philip’s canonisation under obedience, not because he didn’t think St Philip was in heaven, but because he knew how much weight St Philip himself placed on humility. Even though he has not (yet!) been declared a saint, Fr Consolini gives us a great example of loving God, and loving our neighbour — an example which we would all do well to follow.

This summer, we will be sharing the lives of some of the early fathers of the Roman Oratory. These less well known fathers might not have been raised to the altars, but their holy lives still contain many lessons for us today.

Saint Philip Neri is known as the Saint of Joy, and we may be inclined to think that it was easy for him and for his disciples to be joyful when they were having picnics in sunny vineyards outside Rome. Cesare Baronio shows us that this was not the case and looking at how Saint Philip sparked this Holy Joy in his life will help us to see what that true Joy means for us too.

The first step was to make sure that he didn’t take himself too seriously: we might think of the humorous story of his being sent to a wine shop to sample each wine, before buying half a litre of the cheapest stuff they had. While some of us may joke that we would happily accept such a penance, this must have shocked the sombre young man raised in an era of far stricter social codes. The point is that Joy comes from a love and trust of God, and that requires us to think more of him than of ourselves. In a certain sense, this comes with not taking ourselves, or the task we are undertaking, too seriously, and enjoying the recreations we receive as they come.

The next step was to broaden the scope of his Joy. As a young priest, Father Cesare was fond of saying Masses for the Dead and preaching about Death, Judgement, Heaven, and Hell, as if that were the only circumstance into which one can invite God. Saint Philip told him to apply himself to church history, because we must realise that Joy, even when considered in the supernatural sense, doesn’t just belong in sombre preaching or at times of prayer but throughout our life and in all of our interests and work. We must feel a freedom about being able to spend our time in a variety of useful ways, while welcoming God — and the Joy he brings — into them.

Finally, true Joy must survive in hardship and Baronio quickly came to know this well. Whether he was inscribing Cesare Baronio—perpetual cook above the stove, or exclaiming “I have trodden the winepress alone” in relation to the lack of support he received in compiling a complete history of the Church, Father Cesare was a man acquainted with hardship and able to preserve his Joy in it. Because he had been trained in this when cooking or writing, he was able to remain full of Joy when unwillingly burdened with the responsibilities of being the first Provost of the Roman Oratory after St Philip, and even as a Cardinal, clinging to a column in the Sistine Chapel and exclaiming “I won’t be Pope!”

Thus, in Cesare Baronio we have an example of Holy Joy that we can learn, a Joy that stems from Humility, permeates every aspect of our lives, and endures through every hardship. Above all, we see that this Joy comes through practice, and I recommend that is what we do!

This summer, we will be sharing the lives of some of the early fathers of the Roman Oratory. These less well known fathers might not have been raised to the altars, but their holy lives still contain many lessons for us today.

The next time you are enjoying a glass (or bottle) of Montepulciano d’Abruzzo you can turn your thoughts to one of the first companions of St Philip: Francesco Maria Tarugi, who was from there. He was the son of the imaginatively named Tarugio Tarugí, a senator of Rome, nephew of the Cardinal of Porto, Antonio del Monte and cousin of Pope Julius III. Francesco Maria’s life took him to Rome where, like many of St Philip’s first disciples, he was a well-connected young man at court.

It was in 1555 that he began to confess to St Philip. Tarugi had been struck by the fact that one day, soon after meeting St Philip, he took him with him to pray. Tarugi was new to mental prayer, but St Philip was able to introduce him to prayer so joyfully that the first time they prayed together a whole hour passed without him realising it.

Tarugi began his spiritual life with great fervour, and he began to feel the desire to become a Capuchin. Eventually, St Philip gave him the desired permission, but on this condition: that if he encountered difficulties along the way, he should realise that God did not want that state of life from him; otherwise, if he had travelled the path with ease, then he should interpret it as the Will of God and follow it to the end. Having accepted this condition, he took leave of St Philip. During the journey, his horse stumbled and fell, causing poor Tarugi to fall off so badly that he could not continue the journey. But that was not enough to discourage him. As soon as he could, he continued his journey and arrived at the monastery. As it happened, the friar to whom he had been directed was no longer there, nor had the other friars received any instructions regarding him. He recognized in all these obstacles the advice of St Philip and, returning to Rome, he went to find him and to tell him everything that had happened to him. Thus, he entered the Congregation with St Philip and he would say later: “At that point I felt within me such an extraordinary and new joy of heart that, even though more than 52 years have passed, I have never lost it.”

St Philip made good use of his talents to transform them into the instruments of his mortification. In fact, he showed that he did not approve and always declared himself dissatisfied with what Tarugi said; sometimes he scolded him, accusing him of going to preach to others what he did not observe for himself; other times, after Tarugi had aroused great emotion and applause in the people with his spiritual fervour, St Philip took over, went to sit on the same chair and summarized the topic discussed, humiliating himself and Tarugi, by saying that they were only good at talking and did not live at all the virtues that they preached to the people.

Tarugi advanced with great strides in Christian perfection, with such dependence and submission to the Saint that all this would become, when he was now advanced in years, a reason for his personal glory. Expressing his inner joy, he said: “I am proud that in our Congregation there is peace and there is charity, and I would not want this bond to be broken; even if other perfections were lacking, since this one is there, we can be content, because it never remains alone.”

When later he had to leave and become a bishop he never ceased to mourn the loss of his treasure. He wrote to the Fathers of the Congregation to ask for the favour that his name not be erased from the list of Fathers that was kept in the doorway, saying: “As I am written on the tablet, so I want to think that I am written in your hearts, just as each of you is engraved in mine: and when you leave the house and return, I beg you for charity, that you raise your eyes to my name and sigh for me to the Lord, because I am written in a place of tranquillity and peace, while at present I must be found in the sea among winds and waves, rocks and monsters.”

Tarugi lived his vocation with a perfect and loving observance of the life of the Congregation and with a total abandonment of himself into the hands of St Philip. He attributed to himself as the highest honour to perform the most humble services in the house: cooking, sweeping the floor in church, preparing and serving with every attention at table, and all the other works of Christian humility, which shone in him as much as his great qualities and the esteem he had received in Rome.

In 1576 Tarugi, having been requested several times, moved to Naples and, with the consent and joy of the entire city, began a Congregation of the Oratory. He remained in Naples for six years, until Pope Clement VIII ordered that he be recalled to Rome. Tarugi willingly accepted the call to Rome, due to his great desire to see his father Philip again, without thinking in the least about what would instead befall him. In fact, the joy he felt in seeing St Philip again soon turned to sadness, because rumours began to spread that the Pope had decided to make him bishop in Avignon. Despite his own protests Tarugi left Rome for Avignon, immediately showing himself to be a worthy Pastor and a zealous Prelate. He had to struggle much to eradicate the abuses that had been practiced for a long time among his people. No less work was given to him by the monasteries of nuns, which by now had settled well into the reigning circle of laxity. He worked with paternal zeal to promote as many things as he could for the glory of God and for the salvation of souls. All the Prelates of his time greatly admired him for his exemplary nature; his fame spread everywhere; he was now considered the living example of the perfect bishop.

Meanwhile, Clement VIII destined Tarugi to the Cardinalatial dignity and, together with Cesare Baronio, created him Cardinal on 5 June 1596. To have him closer and to avail himself of his work, but also to offer him a healthier place, considering his advanced age, the Pope transferred him from the seat of Avignon to that of Siena, thus bringing him much closer to his native Montepulciano. Eventually though he was called back to Rome by the pope and was lodged in the Papal Palace. But the Pope, this time, could make little use of him, since Tarugi, already advanced in years, was struck by a cerebral stroke which, even if it did not take his life, did not allow him to be functional for some time. After some time, he recovered and resumed his usual duties. However, he felt increasingly debilitated and now wanted only to prepare for death, so he asked permission from the Pope (who was already Paul V) to be able to return to live with his Fathers and Brothers in Vallicella, far from any other occupation. To better prepare himself for that final step, he also asked to be able to renounce the Cardinalate. The Pope granted his first request, but did not want to hear about the second.

Returning to the Vallicella, he threw himself into prayer and devotional exercises, to such an extent that it was necessary to command him to moderate himself. A few months before his death, he was again struck by another stroke, which left him forever affected in the articulation of words. Yet the good old man dragged himself around the house more than he could and never abandoned his devotional exercises. It was 3 June when he had the third recurrence of his illness, and this time he was confined to bed and asked for the Holy Viaticum. He survived this last attack for another eight days, during which he asked and received the grace to receive communion every morning. He received extreme unction and a prayer of recommendation for his soul was said. The Father Provost asked him to bless the Congregation, and he, no longer able to utter a word, simply raised his hand and blessed it; he did the same for the Congregation of Naples, which he loved so much. He then received in his hands the rosary and the crucifix that had belonged to Saint Philip, kissing them affectionately. And amid the prayers of the Fathers, all present, he finally gave up his soul to his Redeemer. It was June 11, 1608. In compliance with what he had asked, after the funeral, he was buried among those of the Congregation, under the High Altar of his Church.

He proceeded, in everything, with a generous trust in God. In all the affairs he had to undertake he relied solely on his firm hope in God, for this reason the first thing he did, and what he ensured others did as well, was to pray. He loved Saint Philip, and desired only to be a true son of the Saint, and so would repeat Our Holy Father’s words in every difficulty: “Therefore, prayer…”