The Feast of the Three Saints: A Grandmother’s Perspective From Beyond
- Dec 3, 2023
- 5 min read
As I watch from my heavenly perch, I see the tradition and legacy I have left for generations.
The Feast of the Three Saints is a tradition that started in Trecastagni, Sicily, Italy in the 1500s after three brothers were martyred for their Catholic faith. This tradition came to Lawrence, Massachusetts, in 1923, when I was just 4 years old. My mother and father taught me how to cook, pray, and love. My house was just a block away from where the tradition began, on Common Street. I would sit in the kitchen for hours with my mother and father and just watch as they prepared for a weekend full of family and faith. And even though I was not there physically this year or some years past, I loved it.
I was born on June 15, 1919, to the late Stefano and Agatha Leone. Growing up in Lawrence, I gained respect for the Italian traditions and customs that my parents and ancestors brought over from Sicily, Italy.
Growing up, my mother taught me how to cook traditional Italian delicacies: “S” cookies, homemade pasta and meatballs, pumpkin bread, and carbonara. My mother wrote in this giant green recipe book that she gave to me and now my daughter has it. It’s been passed down for generations and has original recipes from the early 1900’s.
In 1946, I got married to Domenic Messina, but our marriage was not a happily ever after fairytale. Born in Lawrence, Massachusetts, he moved to Sicily for 18 years. We had a great love for each other in the beginning, but he saw how his parents did not love each other and brought that into our relationship.
After we started having children, he became a man that I did not recognize anymore. Cooking pans and chef’s knives were thrown at me. Yelling and screaming were constant companies. I would have continuous bruises up and down my legs, arms, back and head. I despised that my children had to watch what their father was doing and how he behaved.
During all these years, I put all of myself into the devotion of the Three Saints. I taught my children to do the same. Every year, we would go to the feast to enjoy our heritage, it became a safe place for me and my children, even after they grew up and moved out and started lives of their own.
On May 10, 1984, he ended up suffering a massive heart attack and ultimately passing away due to complications of his large amounts of smoking from when he was young. I felt sad to know that he was gone, but I felt a calmness rush over me, knowing I was finally safe in my own home. The Saints were my lifeline.
Still, my children and their ever-growing family would go to the feast every year, and still do.
This year marks the 100th celebration of The Feast of the Three Saints.
It’s September 2, 2023. Bombs blaring. Confetti flying. Crowds cheering. The band is playing. The smell of Crispelli’s linger through the streets of Lawrence where I grew up. The torch light parade begins. From all directions, different bands march down the street into the barricaded area. Followed by all the St. Alfio members carrying lit torches. The members shout, “CON VERA FEDE,” which translates into “With True Faith.” It is always followed by “VIVA SANT ALFIO” from the crowds – “Long Live Saint Alfio.”
Lawrence, Massachusetts was a bright, vibrant city that became a place of refuge for countless Italian immigrants. The Feast represented old-world heritage with the new-world opportunities. It was a place to celebrate culture and faith.
I watch as my great-grandchildren sing, dance, laugh, pray and play. I see how their eyes widen full of joy as they watch and try to soak everything into their little heads.
For a mile, the streets are lined up with games, raffles, Italian food, and different stages with live bands. I can see parents introducing their kids to new food. I can see the older generations sitting listening joyfully to the bands. People are connecting, talking, sharing and loving. It’s the one weekend of the year that gives me hope for this world.
It’s September 3, 2023. My son, one of the past presidents of the St. Alfio Society, stands at the microphone with tears welling in his eyes. He gives a speech to the packed church. “I am grateful for YOU. By coming back every year, sharing the joy with your family, and letting us keep this momentous tradition alive, I am able to stand here with you and celebrate 100 years of faith for the three martyred brothers: Alfio, Filadelfo, and Cirino.” By the time he was done speaking, there was not a single person without tears in their eyes. Everyone was moved by his words. The church gives him a standing ovation that lasted for over three minutes.
Holy Rosary Church, decorated with banners, ornate relics, has brown pews with large white and gold pillars making its way to the white altar.
The procession of the Saints is on Sunday. The Vada, an Italian relic that processes the Saints throughout the city, comes out of the church. It is a beautiful, solid gold cart with red, green, blue and white detailing. Weighing over 600 pounds, the Vada is pulled by the society members through the streets. You can see the sweat dripping down their faces in the 90-degree heat, but nothing is stopping them. This is what they all live for.
The Vada stops on Common Street right in front of the house that I grew up in. A picture of me hangs from a red ribbon. I was wearing a red sweater with my favorite clear glasses and my everyday dirty-blonde wig.
Attached is money donated from my family to honor the Saints and me. Usually there are 100 $1 bills, but this year, there were 5 $20 bills. As my youngest grandchild, Gabrielle, and all of my great-grandchildren, Crescenza, Vera, Cornelius, and Giuseppina, are getting lifted onto the Vada, I see the smiles start to widen of the crowd staring.
My daughter, Stephanie, grabs her white iPhone 14 Pro Max to take a picture as tears of joy are welling up in her eyes. She thinks about how proud I would be to see the honor, love, and dedication of my family. But I was there. Watching the entire time.
It's 8:30 p.m.: “The Moment of Glory” benediction. The 30,000-person crowd lined the entire street waiting. The priest is on the Vada saying a blessing. Then, red, white and green balloons and white doves are released into the air. The crowd roars with excitement. Confetti shoots out from the top of the building. All of the little kids trying to catch it as it falls. A bounty of fireworks in all different colors start. The band starts playing. Cheers are being said.
At 9:30 p.m., the Saints are processed back to their resting place at the church. More confetti are flying, more fireworks are going off, and more cheers from the crowd. The celebration that once started 100 years ago is coming to an end until next year. My picture, still on the saints, is one that my family, for generations, will use to signify the start of faith, family and lifelong memories.
I cannot wait to experience it all again next year.
On Saturday September 3, 2011, at 5:45 a.m., during Feast Weekend, Josephine Leone Messina, my grandmother, passed away at the age of 92. As her breath started to shallow, she told her daughter she could see her mother, father and the three saints all lined up. Her last words were “Viva St. Alfio.”
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