1942: Autonomy

The last job completed by the zealous Don Baldassarre was the parsonage. A true, proper building, and, considering where it was built, a small castle, so sensational its position—a shame it’s too removed from the Church, which is why there will be a new parsonage later on. After the good, zealous Don Baldassarre—who, with heavenly piety, sowed deeply and fruitfully in Incino’s fertile spiritual soil—was Don Luigi Zotti—a novice priest animated by a spirit of zeal and goodness that, coupled with a collegiate affability, made him so very dear, especially to the boys and men.

It was during this period that the Church of Incino, in a certain golden light, transformed into a little Duomo through the roles it performed.

Incino had two altar boys at the time: Don Modesto Zancanaro, a theology student, and Don Siri Nardino, a high-school student. Both were full of enthusiasm for their church, which they regarded as a small cathedral. Whenever they returned for vacation the work they did was tireless, constant, and patient in helping the good Don Luigi—quite robust, as always—teach Christian doctrine, and in helping teach singing to the little ones.

In 1909 Incino had choir boys: little singers who, in a first for these villages, performed Mass and Vespers in Gregorian chant, to the admiration of the neighboring people.

What a wonderful period for Incino, which saw its little church continually beautified with new improvements and provisions: fine plaster with simple ornamentation throughout the church, a baptismal font, confessionals, vestments, sacred furnishings and vessels, statues of Saint Anthony and Sant’Agnese, banners of associations and brotherhoods (they were all there, and they were all close-knit and organized). The curacy was full of ardent faith and Christian piety. I remember there wouldn’t be a function, no matter how small, that wasn’t attended by the whole population. In winter when the emigrants returned, it was a moving thing to see them so happy in our dear church, at the feet of Jesus. They received Holy Communion, attended functions, and how pleased they were to hear the word of their faith told simply and precisely by their curate, the dear Don Luigi, who was not averse to escaping the Church to spend a jolly and delightful hour with his good boys and men.

How much good was done back then! How many holy communions, how many prayers, how many sacrifices, how much money came out of these poor Incinese workers, who had nothing more than a humble cottage; and as for the rest, they have to emigrate far, far away to support their families—and all this for the glory of God!

And what will be the compensation from the Lord for a people so poor, yet so generous for the good of God’s works?

Period of Hardship

The war of 1915 – 1918, called the “World War,” had unusual repercussions for our dear little village of Incino. Due to its particular position, like many other villages at the foot of the massif of Grappa, Incino was transformed into a kind of small military fortress. After various painful vicissitudes that would take too long to list, Incino was invaded. After Caporetto, the Austrian enemy took the surrounding territories, and on the evening of November 11th, 1917, they entered our little village. I was working as a health aide in Rome at that time.

From November 1917 until March 5th, when notice was given to this poor people by military command, nobody could describe the pain, the fear, the deprivation. The Church was reduced to a stable; all its sacred paintings, other sacred furnishings, the bells—they were all destroyed, defiled. Only the statues were brought to safety across several houses, and the most precious objects were hidden. What desolation! Everything dispersed, everything endangered, and the good Incinesi were alone without their dear priest to console the few elders and weak women and children who remained under the most terrible and teeming dangers. But God watches over his good and faithful people who don’t forget to pray, and if they couldn’t enter the Church that they built out of righteous faith, that they sprinkled with the blood of great sacrifice—they could still look at it through tears that united them in prayer, raising them up, up, up to the throne of the highest power.

And the hand of god had a clear role when a bomb fell in the middle of the night on November 20th, 1917 (the first asphyxiating gas attack launched from Grappa by the Italians). Along with soldiers, three innocent children were in the house where it burst, praying with their mother. The soldiers were killed, and the praying family was left in tact in the middle of 12 animals who died around them. 

In another instance of Incino’s special protection from God, a heavy stockpile of bombs of every caliber and type, largely asphyxiating, had been amassed by the enemy directly inside the building-surveillance house (Casa Camel). An Italian howitzer on Grappa hit it dead on. It immediately went up in flames and a few minutes later there was an explosion, a blast that knocked down a good number of houses; splinters of all sizes flew in every direction; agonizing cries of death, blood, blood, and the sky above was blackened by an immense column of smoke rising from the blaze and the blast. What a terrible moment for Incino! Amid injured and dead soldiers, the fire raged over the crater with unspeakable devastation. Watching, running past Incinesi driven almost mad, searching for a son, for a little brother, a mother, a father, a relative—and oh, the wonder! In the midst of so many soldiers, there was only one victim: the dear and good Michele Zancanaro.