Blessed Luigi Bordino’s life is a compelling testament to the quiet heroism born of faith, humility, and selfless love. From his humble beginnings in a devout winemaking family in rural Italy to his extraordinary charity in war-torn Russia and the hospital wards of Turin, Luigi’s journey reflects a soul deeply conformed to Christ. His story spans some of the darkest chapters of the 20th century and shines with the light of service, compassion, and unwavering trust in Divine Providence.

Early Life in a Faith-Filled Family (1922–1941)

Blessed Luigi Bordino was born as Andrea Bordino on August 12, 1922, in the rural village of Castellinaldo d’Alba in northern Italy. He grew up in a large Catholic family of winemakers – the third of eight children born to Giacomo Bordino and his wife Rosina Sibona. The Bordino household was steeped in faith: daily Mass attendance, the family rosary each evening, and regular sacramental practice formed the fabric of their life. In this wholesome environment, young Andrea’s Christian identity took deep root, nourished by the example of devout parents and the guidance of dedicated local priests and Sisters. He was baptized three days after birth and received First Holy Communion at age 7, followed by Confirmation at 13.

From his earliest years, Andrea learned the virtues of hard work, prayer, and trust in Providence. He attended the village school run by a kindly Sister named Ernestina, where he was an unremarkable student academically but made up for it with determination and practical intelligence. During summers he labored alongside his father in the vineyards of the Roero hills, developing a strong physique and a love for the land. “Andrea loved the soil, and for that reason, even doing the work of two never wearied him,” his elder brother Risbaldo recalled, noting how the stocky youth would rise before everyone to hoe the rows of vines all day without tiring. This robust work ethic and down-to-earth simplicity became hallmarks of his character.

Though a playful and vigorous boy – “vivacious and passionate about games,” as Risbaldo remembered – Andrea’s faith matured steadily through his teens. A turning point came at age 16, when he participated in a weekend spiritual retreat for Catholic youth in the autumn of 1938. “That experience transformed my brother. His journey as a man of the Church began there,” Risbaldo attested. Andrea returned home with a fervent heart and soon took on leadership in the parish youth group. Impressed by the boy’s devotion and natural leadership, the parish vicar appointed him “delegato aspiranti,” put in charge of mentoring the younger teens in Catholic Action. Andrea’s tall, strong build and gentle good humor made him a beloved figure among the village youth – “a leader, understanding and inspiring,” who led by example in integrity and moral character. Guiding the youth deepened Andrea’s own commitment to Christ and the Church. By January 1941, at just eighteen, he was elected president of the local Catholic Action chapter, responsible for organizing faith activities for the whole parish.

These formative years at home instilled in Andrea Bordino a bedrock of faith, humility, and service. He learned to see work as prayer, to see Christ in others, and to rely on God in all things – virtues that would soon be tested and refined in the crucible of war. Little did the humble vintner’s son know that God was preparing him, through ordinary family piety and youthful zeal, for an extraordinary path of charity amid some of the darkest events of the 20th century.

The Crucible of War and Captivity (1942–1945)

In 1942, World War II raged across Europe, and like so many young Italians, 19-year-old Andrea was called from his peaceful village into military service. He was conscripted in January 1942 into the Alpini – Italy’s famed mountain infantry – and assigned to the Cuneo Alpine Artillery Regiment (4º Reggimento Artiglieria Alpina). After basic training, the Alpini received sudden orders to the Eastern Front. Ill-clothed for winter and with heavy hearts, Andrea and his older brother Risbaldo boarded troop trains with mules and artillery pieces bound for the vast steppes of Russia. “Ignorant of their fate, poorly equipped, packed in with the mules…they departed for Russia with tears in their hearts,” one account describes.

In January 1942, 19-year-old Andrea was enlisted in the Alpine Division “Cuneense” and left for the Russian Campaign.

The Bordino brothers arrived in Ukraine after a grueling 15-day rail journey through Poland, then marched on foot about 20 kilometers a day with their unit, trudging through mud and snow alongside mule caravans loaded with weapons and supplies. Andrea was attached to regimental headquarters, tasked with caring for the unit’s pack animals and distributing provisions and blankets to fellow soldiers. From the outset, the Italian troops realized they were dreadfully unprepared for the brutal Russian winter and the fierce Soviet resistance. “We understood we were headed into an absurd slaughter,” veterans recalled, as the days grew colder and the frontline situation worsened. Cut off from Italian supply lines, the Alpini soon faced starvation rations and sub-zero temperatures. Andrea proved resourceful and selfless: when a comrade scavenged a hidden cache of cheese and oil and asked Andrea to hide it for later, Andrea instead gave it away to a group of famished, exhausted soldiers he encountered, to revive them. By nightfall, his friend’s precious cheese was gone – spent to save others. Such quiet generosity would be typical of Andrea throughout the war.

In December 1942, the Soviet army’s giant pincer offensive shattered the Italian lines on the Don River, forcing a desperate retreat. Amid blizzard conditions, Andrea and Risbaldo joined the column of freezing, starving Alpini struggling westward. On January 26, 1943, after weeks of horrific marching, the two brothers were finally surrounded and taken prisoner by Soviet forces. Their ordeal had only just begun. The POWs were forced on a brutal death march, trudging day and night through deep snow. Boots fell apart, feet froze into bloodied stumps wrapped in rags, and men dropped dead by the hundreds from cold and exhaustion. The Bordino brothers clung to each other for strength. At one point, they found themselves having to bivouac in the open in unimaginable −40°C cold, armed with nothing but a thin blanket for the two of them. They were so weak that they lay down in the snow, wrapped in each other’s arms, fighting the seductive pull of sleep that meant death. To stay awake, Andrea proposed they pray the Rosary together. As they whispered the Hail Marys into the icy night, he made a vow: “If we survive this night and return to our family, let’s promise to build a shrine (pilone) to the Consolata in front of our house in Castellinaldo, and every Sunday we’ll go there to pray the Rosary”. Risbaldo, stunned by the suggestion, agreed to the shrine though unsure about the weekly Rosary—so they vowed at least to erect the little wayside chapel in honor of the Virgin Mary, Consolata (Our Lady of Consolation). By God’s grace, dawn found the two brothers still alive, waking amid a grim vista of 100–200 frozen corpses encircling them. Andrea and Risbaldo were among the few left breathing. Andrea became utterly convinced that their survival was a miracle granted through Mary’s intercession. He would insist on fulfilling their vow if they ever saw home again. More profoundly, he understood that this undeserved gift of life was not his to keep for himself – it must be given back to God in service of others. Andrea emerged from that night a man with a mission: he would become a gift to others, a living “thank you” to Divine Providence.

After capture, the brothers were herded into crowded cattle cars and transported further into the USSR. At a rail station called Akbulak, their paths diverged: Risbaldo was sent to a labor camp elsewhere, while Andrea – already weakened by dysentery and starvation – was designated for a special prison infirmary due to his declining condition. Even as a prisoner barely clinging to life, Andrea expended himself to care for those worse off. The few crusts of bread or sips of gruel he received, he shared with sick and dying comrades “to comfort them and stop their blasphemies,” until he himself collapsed with a severe case of typhus (known as typho petecchiale, epidemic typhus). Emaciated and burning with fever, Andrea was left at a makeshift hospital – essentially a barracks for the infected and moribund – while thousands of other Italian POWs were shipped off to hard labor. By a twist of fate or Providence, this likely spared his life. In early 1944, Andrea was moved to the sprawling KarLag complex in Kazakhstan – the Karaganda prison camps – where he spent the next year amid appalling suffering. KarLag’s able-bodied were put to work in coal mines, but Andrea, still recovering, was assigned lighter duties. In spring 1944 he was miraculously reunited with his brother: both Andrea and Risbaldo were relocated with surviving prisoners to Camp 19/3 in Uzbekistan, a dilapidated camp where inmates toiled in cotton fields under a tropical sun. The brothers had gone from the deadly Siberian cold to malarial Central Asian heat, but at least they were together again.

Risbaldo, who had secured a job distributing bread rations, managed to have Andrea reassigned from back-breaking field labor to work as an assistant baker in the camp kitchens. This gave Andrea slightly better shelter and access to food. Yet testimonies of fellow POWs reveal that Andrea would not take selfish advantage of these “privileges.” They recall that he “refused the benefits he could have had from the job change, choosing instead to stay among the most malnourished in the infirmary barracks”. He willingly returned to the squalid lazzaretto huts to tend the infectious and dying, rather than enjoy a stronger prisoner’s rations. Even in hellish conditions, Andrea lived the Gospel: sacrificing comfort to care for “the least of these” in their final agony. He became a quiet angel of mercy in that camp, nursing the sick with whatever scant means he had.

As 1945 dawned, the tides of war turned decisively. The guns along the Eastern Front fell silent as Nazi Germany neared collapse. In the cotton camp, armed conflict subsided and the guards’ vigilance slackened. Andrea, having picked up some Russian by then, befriended a local Kazakh family. On one visit they gifted him a jar full of precious honey – a rare sweet luxury in the prison diet. Andrea relished a taste but, true to form, could not keep it to himself: he went about sharing the honey with every fellow Alpino he met, delighting in spreading a bit of joy to his countrymen. By the summer of 1945, the war in Europe was over. Soviet authorities began releasing the surviving Italian POWs. Andrea and Risbaldo, thin and battle-worn, were finally free to find their way home. Many soldiers wandered lost and sick across the vast Soviet lands, but the Bordino brothers were among those who persevered together.

In staggered groups and by improvised means, Italian prisoners straggled back to their homeland. Andrea and Risbaldo traveled by any means available – sometimes on foot, sometimes hitching rides on farm carts or creaky freight trains chugging through war-torn landscapes. In October 1945, nearly four years since they had left, the two brothers miraculously made it back to Castellinaldo. Their family, who had not heard from them in over two years and had feared them dead, wept tears of joy and disbelief. Andrea arrived first, gaunt and ghostlike at only 40 kg (under 90 lbs), less than half his pre-war weight. Soon after, Risbaldo too returned safely. The Bordino household lavished care on the two brothers, nourishing them back from the brink.

One of the very first things Andrea and Risbaldo did upon recovering some strength was to fulfill the vow made on that frigid night in Russia. With the whole village joining in, they built a small wayside shrine to the Madonna Consolata (Our Lady of Consolation) in front of their farmhouse as promised. The parish priest of Castellinaldo organized a festive inaugural blessing for the pilone votivo, giving thanks for the soldiers’ safe return. In later years, that little shrine stood as a concrete sign of Mary’s protection and the brothers’ gratitude. Risbaldo resumed a normal life – he began courting a local girl and planning for marriage, eager to put the war behind him. But Andrea was not the same carefree country boy who had marched off to war. “He was deeply shaken by the war experience,” his sister Clelia observed. If asked about his time in Russia, Andrea could barely speak a word, responding only in monosyllables; the horrors he had witnessed ran too deep for words. The death of so many comrades, the daily struggle to survive, the countless rosaries prayed in desperation – all of it left an indelible mark on his soul. The comfortable rhythms of peacetime village life no longer satisfied him. Neither the local social club nor the town band nor evenings with friends could fill the longing in his heart. Those who knew him noticed a change: Andrea spent hours in the parish church, attending Mass daily and lingering in Eucharistic adoration, seeking direction for the “something more” his soul hungered for. God had spared his life for a purpose, and Andrea was determined to discover what it was.

Discerning a Vocation: “Led by the Hand of Jesus” (1945–1946)

As Andrea prayed and searched for God’s will, a providential encounter soon lit the path forward. In the spring of 1946, a priest from Turin named Don Secondo Bona visited Castellinaldo to preach a Lenten retreat for young women. This priest was from the Piccola Casa della Divina Provvidenza (Little House of Divine Providence), the charitable institution founded by Saint Joseph Benedict Cottolengo in Turin. Andrea’s own younger sister, Ernestina, was considering a religious calling and had been influenced by the Cottolengo spirit. After the retreat conference, Sister Ernestina (the local nun, coincidentally the same name as Andrea’s sister) asked 23-year-old Andrea to escort Don Bona to the nearby hamlet of Borbore to catch his coach back to Turin. During that walk together along the country road, Andrea opened his heart to the visiting priest. Don Bona spoke to him about the joy of dedicating one’s life to God and serving “the least of these” at the Little House in Turin. By journey’s end, Andrea’s fog of uncertainty had cleared. He realized that God had been preparing him all along to embrace a vocation of consecrated service to the suffering. Still, the weight of the decision – to leave home and become a religious brother – gave him pause. This choice would shape his entire future, and he wanted to be absolutely sure of God’s will.

A few days later, Andrea sought further clarity in the best way he knew: through prayer. He undertook a solitary pilgrimage on foot to the Sanctuary of the Madonna dei Fiori (Our Lady of the Flowers) in Bra, a town not far from his own. There, before the image of the Blessed Mother, Andrea spent many hours in quiet prayer and reflection. He entrusted all his doubts and hopes to Mary, asking for a sign and the grace to say “yes” with a joyful heart. When Andrea returned home from the shrine, a profound peace had settled in his soul – his doubts and fears had vanished. He knew what he must do.

On July 23, 1946, Andrea Bordino knocked on the door of the “Cottolengo” in Turin – the Little House of Divine Providence – asking to be admitted as a postulant, a consecrated lay volunteer. Fittingly, he did not come alone: accompanying him was his sister Clelia (according to some accounts, his sister Ernestina) who likewise felt called to serve God. The whole Bordino family helped prepare for the big step: gathering a simple trousseau, notifying relatives and neighbors, organizing a farewell celebration in the village, even hiring an automobile (a rarity then) to drive the siblings to Turin. Their mother traveled with them to gently give her children into God’s hands. That summer day, the Bordino siblings entered the gigantic Cottolengo complex – a virtual “city of charity” that housed hospitals, hospices, workshops and chapels for the poor, sick and disabled of every kind. The Little House, founded in 1832, had grown into a vast haven for society’s most forsaken, run by communities of Sisters, Brothers, and priests all inspired by St. Cottolengo’s motto, “Deo gratias” (Thanks be to God). For Andrea, fresh from the horrors of war and captivity, this place dedicated to divine providence and compassionate care for the needy was a perfect fit. It answered the promise he had made in the Siberian wastes – “If I return home, I will dedicate my life to the suffering”.

Thus Andrea began his new life as a postulant among the Brothers of Saint Joseph Benedict Cottolengo, commonly called the Cottolengo Brothers. In 1946 the brotherhood was relatively small (around 50 members) and had only recently – after over a century of operation – begun formal efforts to seek full recognition in the Church. The Brothers’ mission was to assist the priests and Sisters in caring for the Little House’s patients and residents, performing works of mercy from nursing and cleaning to farm work and administration. Andrea embraced this life wholeheartedly. Accustomed to backbreaking farm labor, he threw himself into the daily routine of serving the sick with gusto. Whether it was scrubbing floors, washing and dressing patients, or lifting bedridden invalids with his strong arms, the sturdy young man worked “from five in the morning until late evening” with tireless cheerfulness. Nothing was too menial or too unpleasant for him. He bathed and fed those who could not help themselves, bandaged wounds and emptied bedpans, carried stretchers and mopped hallways – all with a serene smile and gentle patience. The Brothers noticed how quickly Andrea adjusted to the disciplined yet joyful life of prayer and service. He rose early for community prayers and Mass, spent hours tending to the most difficult cases, and never complained. The only recreation allowed postulants was a short outing on Thursday afternoons to stroll in the green hills outside the city for fresh air. Andrea enjoyed these walks, but even on leisure days his thoughts remained with his beloved patients and the “family” of brothers he was coming to love.

Daily life in the Little House followed a rhythm of action and contemplation. “The daily service to the poor and sick alternated with moments of prayer, Eucharistic adoration, Holy Mass, and meditation,” one brother recorded. Immersed in this environment, Andrea grew both spiritually and humanly. In the spring and autumn each year, waves of destitute souls – the homeless, the chronically ill – would migrate from across Piedmont to the Cottolengo seeking care. Andrea was often on the welcoming front lines. He would greet these ragged “barboni” kindly at the gate, then set about cleaning them up – cutting matted hair, delousing them, bathing them, and dressing them in fresh, dignified clothing. He did this humble work with such respect and brotherly affection that many of these men became his friends. Decades later, some would return just to see “Fratel Luigi” and thank him for restoring their sense of human dignity along with their health. Andrea saw in each of them the face of Jesus suffering, and so he served them with reverence.

One day, the community superior asked Andrea to go perform an outside chore: mowing the lawn at a hilltop convent of Carmelite sisters (one of the religious branches founded by St. Cottolengo). True to his vow of obedience, Andrea immediately complied. The task proved laborious – cutting thick grass on a steep slope under the summer sun – and he had to repeat this assignment for several years running. Yet Andrea never grumbled. To him, caring for the sick, working in the fields, or washing dishes were all one and the same – opportunities to serve God and neighbor. “The important thing was to make myself useful to others,” he would say. Such was the spirit of the postulant Andrea Bordino: a man already living the charity he would later vow for life.

Taking the Habit: Brother Luigi of the Consolata (1947–1948)

After a year of testing his vocation, Andrea was ready to officially enter religious life. With the encouragement of his confessor and spiritual director, he petitioned to begin the novitiate. On July 13, 1947, Andrea was invested with the black habit of the Cottolengo Brothers and received his new religious name: Brother Luigi of the Consolata. He took the name Luigi (the Italian form of Louis) in honor of Saint Louis and perhaps also as a tribute to the Virgin Consolata, to whom he owed his survival. From this day on, “Fratel Luigi” (Brother Luigi) was the only name by which his confreres and the patients would know him. Clothed in the simple cassock adorned at the chest with a red cloth heart – the emblem of the Sacred Heart worn by all Cottolengo Brothers – Brother Luigi began the canonical novitiate year, a time to deepen in the spirit of the congregation and prepare for vows.

During that year (1947–48), Br. Luigi studied the congregation’s Regole (Rules) and the meaning of the religious vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. He also continued his hands-on service in the wards each day, integrating prayer and work. He quickly grasped that the vows were not mere ideals to read about, but practical virtues to be lived “in the everyday,” as he put it. Brother Luigi became a model novice, striving to put the Rule into practice with exactitude and fervor. Later, his superiors would say that he didn’t just learn the vows – he exercised himself in living them daily.

He especially excelled in the spirit of holy poverty. Personally owning almost nothing, Br. Luigi kept his few belongings in a single small suitcase. He slept in the common dormitory, gladly wearing threadbare clothes as long as they were clean, and eating whatever simple food was set before him without complaint. If he ever found a spare coin in his pocket, he would press it into the hand of the first poor person he encountered, preferring to go without. His chastity was likewise guarded with resolute discipline. Living in a mixed hospital environment – working alongside nursing sisters and tending to patients of all backgrounds – Br. Luigi knew this virtue required constant vigilance. He imposed on himself small mortifications to keep pure in thought and deed, confiding to a confrère that such penances were “absolutely necessary” for him to remain faithful to celibacy. His obedience was perhaps his most shining virtue. In any request from his superiors, Br. Luigi sought to hear the voice of God’s will. He never looked for ways to evade an order or do things “his way.” Instead, he trained himself to set aside his own preferences entirely, offering his considerable talents and strength wholly at the service of whatever was asked. Years of obeying harsh military commands had crushed many men’s spirits, but for Luigi, obedience freely given to God became the source of inner freedom and joy. He often reflected on the description of the first Christians in the Acts of the Apostles – how they were “of one heart and shared all things in common” – and he saw the Little House as a continuation of that spirit. “Detached and stripped of everything, we must do the same,” the novice master had taught him, “sharing our lives with those of the suffering and the poor, our masters, whom we serve to honor Divine Providence”. Luigi embraced this ideal completely, responding: “I ask for nothing better. I feel I am poor; indeed, if the poor are my masters, I count myself lucky to be their servant”. Such words reveal the heart of Br. Luigi – humble, eager to serve, and aflame with love for God’s little ones.

Brother Luigi’s formation was grounded in deep faith. Everything he did rested on his total trust in the Lord’s power and goodness. He was uncompromising about his spiritual life: prayer and Mass were priority, and he approached his duties with a seriousness tempered by genuine love. His moral integrity and cheerful generosity earned him the respect of all in the community. Though merely a novice, the “giant from Castellinaldo” already enjoyed a reputation for holiness among the doctors, nurses, and patients who interacted with him daily. They sensed something different in this quiet, strong young brother who never seemed to tire of doing good. In later years, one surgeon who knew him from these early days remarked that Br. Luigi’s very presence lent “prestige” to the Little House – not through any flashy words, but by the example of his self-giving life.

On July 19, 1948, Br. Luigi completed his novitiate and made his first profession of religious vows, binding himself for one year to poverty, chastity, and obedience in the Cottolengo Congregation. He was 25 years old. With the pronouncement of his vows, he offered his entire being to God and the service of the suffering. These first vows were temporary, to be renewed annually. In Br. Luigi’s case, he would faithfully renew them every year for an astonishing 17 years – a necessity at the time because the Brothers were still a diocesan institute without papal approval, and thus could not yet admit members to lifelong vows. Only in 1965 would this change (as we shall see). Yet Br. Luigi confided to a friend that, in his heart, his very first profession in 1948 had been irrevocable – from that moment he already considered himself bound to God forever. He needed no human guarantees; his commitment was total. With vows made, Br. Luigi was now fully a brother in the Cottolengo family – and he was eager to throw himself into the work awaiting him in the wards and operating rooms of the Little House.

“The Nurse of the Poor”: Serving Christ in the Sick

With his formal training period over, Brother Luigi spent the next three decades pouring himself out in service of the sick and marginalized. He found his lifelong calling in nursing, becoming an indispensable caregiver at the Cottolengo Hospital in Turin. Initially, he honed his skills under the guidance of veteran brothers and nurses. He enrolled in a professional nursing course around 1950–51, studying diligently to improve his medical knowledge. Having only an elementary school education, Br. Luigi surprised everyone with how quickly he mastered complex subjects. One chief surgeon, Professor Giovanni Villata, marveled that “Brother Luigi’s intelligence was far above average, despite him having only attended elementary school. I don’t know where he learned so much”. Br. Luigi went on to specialize as both a general nurse and an anesthetist, eventually working in the operating theater and in the orthopedic and surgical wards for nearly 30 years.

He developed a reputation as an exceptionally skilled and calm surgical nurse. Dr. Chiaffredo Bussi, an ear, nose and throat specialist, testified that “Brother Luigi was the nurse you could ask anything of… I recall doing tonsillectomies in the evenings with just partial anesthesia, meaning the little patients had to be held still in someone’s arms. Brother Luigi almost always held them, because he was strong and very alert – intelligent and full of medical knowledge”. Surgeons and doctors came to rely implicitly on Br. Luigi’s competence and steady presence. Prof. Villata, who worked side by side with him for decades, described how Luigi would stride down the hospital corridors with long, purposeful steps – never rushed except in true emergencies – always standing straight and solid “like an oak tree,” even on nights when he had been awake caring for a critical patient. “Tall, powerfully built like a true Alpino, with a round smiling face and kindly demeanor,” Villata said, “he spoke in a calm, measured tone that immediately inspired the utmost trust in anyone who came to him for advice”. Patients and colleagues alike found reassurance simply in Brother Luigi’s presence. Another physician, Dr. Carlo Vassia, observed that “Br. Luigi could communicate that confidence and serenity which are precious factors in healing… He combined in himself professional perfection with human perfection”. In other words, Luigi was not only technically proficient but also radiated compassion, patience, and faith – all of which greatly aided his patients’ recovery.

Brother Luigi typically worked long hours, tending to the most difficult cases. During the day he managed wards of physically disabled and gravely ill patients, and at night he was often on call for emergency surgeries. Despite this workload, he remained unflappable. Nurses noted that he never snapped or showed impatience, even when overwhelmed with tasks. A nursing sister, Sr. Piera Fogliato, reminisced: “I still see him in the mornings after community Mass, coming onto the ward almost always accompanied by a ‘buon figlio’ (a severely mentally handicapped resident) or another patient he’d been caring for. Once he put on his white coat, he started the work – and for me and the patients, his presence was a great relief. Never a harsh word or a moment of irritability: whatever work he was doing, he did it with serenity and love”. Br. Luigi’s large, calloused hands handled the sick with extraordinary gentleness and skill: cleaning and bandaging oozing wounds, massaging bedridden limbs, changing soiled linens – all as tenderly as if he were caring for Christ Himself. As Sr. Piera noted, “In the ward, in the operating room, or serving at the altar in chapel – wherever he was, Brother Luigi always had the same demeanor.” He carried the peace of Christ with him into every setting.

Though naturally reserved and “not a man of many words” due to being so busy, Br. Luigi had a gift for comforting the suffering. Sr. Chiara Cortinovis recounted how gentle and fatherly he was with patients prepping for surgery: “What amazed me most was when he would take patients to the operating room. He prepared them psychologically and spiritually; he stayed close by them, so they remained calm and tranquil”. Many frightened souls found courage in the steady, smiling brother at their side on the gurney. Even outside the hospital, Luigi’s care extended to the poor and homeless of the city. In the evenings after his hospital shift, he would often receive destitute men who came to the Little House gates seeking help. He would gently wash and treat their ulcers and sores, finding time after a full day’s work to tend to those who had no one else. “Because in them, especially the most wretched, he saw Jesus suffering,” one biographer noted. It was not uncommon for former patients – even years later – to return asking for Brother Luigi, whether to have him look at a lingering wound or simply to thank him. The sisters joked that so many people gave him honorific titles by mistake, asking for “Father Luigi” or “Dr. Luigi” or even “Professor Luigi,” that they lost count. To this, Brother Luigi would blush and reply, “Titles are nothing and serve no purpose if we don’t act out of pure love of God.” Clearly, it was Luigi’s love that people remembered – the love that poured out through his hands and smile in the hidden corners of the hospital.

His humility was as conspicuous as his strength. A nursing supervisor, Sr. Letizia Mandelli, who worked closely with him, coined a striking nickname for Br. Luigi: “the man who buried everything.” By this she meant that Luigi never harbored any grudge or grievance; he “buried” any wrongs done to him in silence and forgiveness. “He was a true man – generous and always available. He never thought anyone was doing him an injustice,” Sr. Letizia wrote. “He never lost his calm and stayed quiet. He was the man who buried everything!”. In the sometimes tense environment of a busy hospital, conflicts can arise among staff. Sister Letizia noted that when disagreements flared up among the head nurses or doctors, “those were Brother Luigi’s moments: his presence smoothed everything and no one stayed upset”. He had a peacemaking presence, defusing arguments simply by being there with his humble, steady demeanor. Br. Luigi was not one to preach or lecture his colleagues, yet they learned from his example. Dr. Bussi admitted, “Brother Luigi taught me to never despair, to always be patient, to be kinder and more charitable – and he never once gave me a sermon… He just was always good to everyone”. The doctor observed that Luigi’s goodness wasn’t a saccharine or superficial niceness, but “the essential – a profound sense of kindness that was especially reassuring when a patient took a turn for the worse. Luigi communicated the serenity that both patients and we doctors needed. His mission was precisely to transmit trust and goodness.”. In short, Br. Luigi was the heart of the hospital – a living bridge between the medical staff and the suffering, radiating the compassion of Christ.

Over the years, Brother Luigi took on greater responsibilities within the Little House, though always in the spirit of service rather than ambition. In 1959, his superiors (recognizing his prudence and deep faith) began assigning him to more sensitive and important tasks. He was entrusted with certain confidential duties and invited to contribute to community discussions about adapting their work to modern challenges, especially in the wake of the Second Vatican Council’s call for renewal. For example, in the late 1960s Italy’s healthcare system underwent major reform, requiring the Cottolengo to transition from purely private, volunteer-run operations to a partnership with public health authorities. This was a delicate change, potentially threatening the institution’s unique charism. Br. Luigi was asked to help study and guide this transition. With characteristic balance and wisdom, he helped reconcile differing opinions, ensuring that practical compromises with government regulations did not “denature the primary mission” of the Little House: serving the poor with Christian love. He always advocated keeping the needs of the most vulnerable at the forefront, and he succeeded in softening tensions between those with opposing views during the process. Whether dealing with volunteer doctors or salaried staff, Br. Luigi treated everyone with the same affable respect and openness. His presence guaranteed that the spirit of Cottolengo – seeing Christ in the poor and trusting in Providence – remained alive even amid administrative changes.

A milestone in the community’s life occurred in 1965: after 130 years of existence, the Cottolengo Brothers finally received official papal recognition. This was something Br. Luigi had ardently prayed and sacrificed for. Since 1959, he and many confrères felt the need to elevate their congregation’s status from a diocesan entity to one of pontifical right. Br. Luigi discreetly but firmly supported the push for approval, offering prayers and penances for its success. He even accompanied the superior to Rome multiple times to meet with the Vatican’s Congregation for Religious, doing whatever legwork and humble lobbying was needed. After years of deliberation, on April 30, 1965 – fittingly the feast of St. Joseph Cottolengo – Pope Paul VI promulgated the decree of approval, granting the Brothers of St. Joseph Benedict Cottolengo full recognition in the Church and approving their Constitutions. The Little House rejoiced, and Br. Luigi especially gave thanks. In celebration, he prolonged his Eucharistic adoration before the tabernacle, silently thanking the Lord for this milestone. The following January (1966), in the wake of this decretum laudis, Br. Luigi and 26 of his confrères were at last able to profess perpetual vows, binding themselves to God for life. After nearly two decades of annual renewals, Br. Luigi joyfully made his final profession, consecrating himself “forever” in poverty, chastity and obedience. That same year, his superiors appointed him Vicar General of the congregation – essentially the deputy to the Superior General. In this role, Br. Luigi was charged with overseeing the formation programs (novitiate, postulancy, aspirants) and coordinating the brothers in the various branch houses of the Cottolengo in Italy and abroad. He thus shouldered leadership in addition to his heavy nursing duties.

Ever modest, Br. Luigi approached leadership as just another form of service. Council meetings and administrative tasks piled up, often scheduled in the evenings after he had already toiled all day in the hospital. Those close to him recall that Brother Luigi would drag his tired body to these meetings and contribute thoughtfully: “His input on whatever issue was being discussed was always full of common sense – practical and convincing even though expressed in simple words,” remembered Brother Benedetto Peschiera, a general councilor. Luigi might be utterly exhausted, even to the point of being unable to sleep once he finally got to bed due to the stress and excitement of the day, yet he “never complained”. And the next morning, without fail, he was the first one up at the crack of dawn, ready for prayer and another day of work. In January 1972, the community elected Br. Luigi as the local Superior of the Motherhouse in Turin – the very hub where the majority of brothers lived and the novices were trained. Leading such a large community might have intimidated others, but Luigi led primarily by example. “He wasn’t one for long speeches; he guided his confrères above all with his life – by his example as a man of prayer, poor, hard-working, and generous,” a colleague noted. Indeed, in every stage of his life, Br. Luigi Bordino remained the same humble brother who woke up early to clean, who stayed up late with the dying, and who gave credit for every success to God alone, saying “Deo gratias!”.

“These Are Moments of Faith”: Sickness and Holy Surrender (1975–1977)

After decades of robust health and ceaseless labor, Brother Luigi’s sturdy frame was finally struck by serious illness in the mid-1970s. In the spring of 1975, at age 52, he began feeling uncharacteristically fatigued. The once tireless “good giant” found himself short of breath and low on energy. He still dragged himself through his beloved work in the wards, but his pace slowed noticeably. He could no longer join the brothers’ pick-up volleyball games during recreation – a small but telling sign, since Luigi had always loved a bit of sport with his confrères. Concerned, his superiors sent him for medical tests. The diagnosis was grave and unexpected: leukemia – cancer of the blood. Specifically, it was myeloid leukemia, a form that at the time offered little hope of cure.

When told of the test results, Br. Luigi met the news with his characteristic faith and calm. The Superior General accompanied him to a specialist appointment at Turin’s Molinette Hospital. During the trip, Luigi quietly expressed his only regret: “I am sorry because I won’t be able to do much more for the sick, nor even for the Brothers’ family. I won’t be able to help you anymore. For everything else, may God’s will be done to the end, and I want to do it cheerfully. These are the moments of faith.” This remarkable statement encapsulated Br. Luigi’s soul. His first thought was sorrow that he would have to step back from serving those in need; but he immediately surrendered the situation to la volontà di Dio – God’s will – accepting even this affliction with trust and even joy. “These are the moments of faith,” he said, seeing his illness as yet another chance to abandon himself into God’s hands.

Br. Luigi underwent an initial course of chemotherapy treatment for leukemia. When his acute symptoms stabilized, his community sent him to a mountain chalet called Grand Puy at 1,850 meters altitude for convalescence. In the fresh alpine air, surrounded by pine forests and towering peaks, Luigi found a measure of physical relief and spiritual solace. The natural beauty lifted his heart to God. He spent long hours in prayer amid the wildflowers and silent trails, alone or with any brothers who joined him there. It was an oasis for his soul after so many years on bustling hospital floors. Once a month, he dutifully traveled back down to Turin for follow-up exams and then returned to his mountain retreat. This routine went on for about a year. By late 1976, however, the leukemia progressed. Brother Luigi’s health began a steady decline despite all medical efforts. Yet those around him noted that his inner serenity remained utterly intact. He even wrote to a friend, reflecting on his condition: “For someone with faith, anything that touches only the material part of us and doesn’t harm the soul cannot depress, worry or sadden us – in fact, one could even say the exact opposite”. In other words, he saw his illness as something affecting merely his body, while his spirit rejoiced untouched in God. Such words reveal how deeply he trusted in Divine Providence, echoing the faith of Job or St. Paul’s sentiment that “though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.” Truly, Brother Luigi was living his favorite motto, “Deo gratias,” in the midst of suffering.

By January 1977, Brother Luigi’s leukemia entered its final phase. The community’s diary entry on January 13, 1977, records: “For some days Brother Luigi has been suffering from a widespread skin rash… constant fever of 39–40°C. He is serene, prays all day, and keeps up friendships by encouraging the other patients in the ward.” Despite high fevers and discomfort, Luigi’s spirit of encouragement never faltered – he became a source of consolation to fellow patients even as he lay ill. In February 1977, his condition worsened significantly; his body stopped responding to treatments. Realizing the end was near, Br. Luigi requested to leave the Molinette Hospital and return home to the Little House, so that he might “go to die in his community” surrounded by his brothers. His wish was granted. He also asked for and received the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick, fortifying himself for the final journey.

On February 26, 1977, Cardinal Michele Pellegrino, the Archbishop of Turin, came to visit Brother Luigi at the Cottolengo infirmary. The Cardinal had long admired Luigi as an exemplary “son of Cottolengo,” and this pastoral visit was a great comfort and honor to the dying brother. Meanwhile, Luigi’s illness advanced inexorably. His fever spiked higher and pain increased. Swallowing became nearly impossible as his throat was afflicted with severe inflammation. Yet in this agony, Br. Luigi found spiritual meaning. One night, scarcely able to speak, he whispered: “At last I have something to offer the Lord.” All his life he had given of his strength; now he could give his weakness, uniting it to Christ’s sufferings. This was his “offerta per il Signore,” as he phrased it – his final oblation.

As medical options dwindled, some of Brother Luigi’s former patients and Alpini friends banded together with an extraordinary proposal. Desperate to save the man who had saved so many others, they offered to organize and fund a trip for Luigi to the United States to receive an experimental treatment not available in Italy. It was a touching gesture of gratitude and hope. Luigi, ever obedient, consulted with his superiors and doctors. After careful thought, he declined the offer. “I do not intend to make such a long journey on a stretcher only to die in America,” he said gently. “I have duties toward my community.”  In that simple statement we see his heart: he would not abandon his religious family for the slim chance of a personal cure. If God willed to heal him, it could be done anywhere; if not, he preferred to breathe his last at home among his brothers and the poor. Nevertheless, he did not give up hope in God’s power. He continued with whatever treatments were offered, and he appreciated the loving care lavished on him by confrères, nurses, and doctors. Humble as always, he remarked one day to a young brother, “They are paying me too much attention; I don’t deserve so much.” He could hardly fathom why so many considered him special.

By mid-August 1977, Brother Luigi’s condition became irreversible. He suffered internal hemorrhaging, raging fevers, bouts of tracheitis and stomach cramps. He knew death was imminent. Fully conscious and spiritually prepared, he serenely conformed himself to God’s will. “I do not ask God either to continue living or to hurry in making me die,” he confided. “Sometimes I feel tempted to tell the doctors and nurses: ‘Enough with so many medicines and transfusions!’ But then I would feel remorse. I want to do God’s whole will in peace.” Even at the very end, he was concerned with not taking any shortcuts that might thwart God’s plans or cause scandal. He chose to patiently endure everything to the last drop, in union with Jesus’ passion.

His beloved sister, now Sr. Pia (Ernestina had indeed become a Cottolengo Sister and taken the name Pia in honor of St. Joseph Benedict Cottolengo), stayed constantly by his bedside in those final days. On August 25, 1977, Brother Luigi Bordino completed his earthly pilgrimage. That very day, his three brothers, along with their wives and some nieces and nephews, arrived in time to see him one last time and receive his blessing. Surrounded by family and his religious community, Brother Luigi surrendered his soul to God at age 55. He had kept nothing back – even in death, he managed to give an unforgettable gift. A few months prior, Luigi had watched a television interview with a nun who regained her sight after a cornea transplant. Inspired, he exclaimed to a confrère, “It’s wonderful! I can do good even by dying!”. He immediately sought permission to donate his own corneas after death to restore someone’s vision. “My other organs I cannot donate because they are diseased, but the eyes yes. Send me someone from the Eye Donor Association – but hurry, because the fever is killing me,” he urged. And so it was arranged. Within hours of his passing, Brother Luigi’s corneas were transplanted to two blind persons, giving them the gift of sight. In this final act of charity, Luigi quite literally became light for others as he went to meet the Lord. It was the perfect consummation of a life spent in self-giving.

The news of Brother Luigi’s death spread and triggered an outpouring of love. His body was laid in the crypt chapel of the Little House, and throngs came to pay their respects. Family, villagers from Castellinaldo, scores of former patients (including many of the homeless men he had aided), doctors, nurses, priests, nuns, and of course his confrère Brothers – all filed past to honor the man who had been a channel of God’s tenderness to them. Many of the “buoni figli” – the developmentally disabled residents who were so dear to Luigi – came weeping to touch his hands one last time. The funeral Mass was attended by an exceptional multitude that filled the church and spilled into the courtyards. Thirty priests concelebrated, including the parish priest from his hometown who had nurtured his youthful faith. Dr. Amerigo Brusasco, one of the physicians present, was moved to remark: “Evidently the illness and death destroyed only Brother Luigi’s body… To be convinced, just look at his funeral. Hundreds upon hundreds of people of every age, background and social class are here to pray and sing for him. We were all in tears, and yet it felt like a celebration.”. Indeed, it was as if Turin had turned out to canonize him in their own hearts. There was sorrow, but also a palpable joy – a sense that a life so beautiful and holy could only be celebrated, not mourned. In death, as in life, Brother Luigi had drawn souls together and lifted their eyes toward Heaven.

Those who knew him were convinced that “the sickness and death truly destroyed only his body. His memory remains”, especially in all who draw inspiration from his example of Christ-like charity. The seeds of love he planted continued to bear fruit. Immediately, many people began speaking of Luigi Bordino as a saint. The Little House community, while grieving, also quietly rejoiced that one of their own had run the race so faithfully. They kept telling and retelling the stories of his humility, courage, and kindness, determined that future generations should know “Fratel Luigi.” Soon, talk of an official cause for beatification emerged, so that the Church might recognize what the people already felt in their hearts.

Path to the Altars: Beatification of Brother Luigi

It did not take long for the cause of Luigi Bordino to begin. In November 1990, just 13 years after his death, the Archdiocese of Turin launched the beatification process for Brother Luigi. He was given the title Servant of God Luigi Bordino, and a diocesan tribunal was established to collect evidence of his virtues and any miracles through his intercession. Between 1988 and 1993 (some preparatory steps had begun even earlier), an exhaustive inquiry was conducted. The ecclesiastical tribunal held 76 formal sessions, hearing the testimonies of 58 eyewitnesses who had known Luigi. Fourteen of these witnesses were his fellow Alpini POWs who attested to his heroic charity during the war. Others included family members, confrères, medical colleagues, and people he had served. In total, some 2,000 pages of documentation were gathered, detailing his life, virtues, and the impact he had on others. This was distilled into the Summarium and Positio, the comprehensive report presented to the Vatican’s Congregation for the Causes of Saints.

On February 14, 2003, a panel of nine theologians at the Congregation unanimously approved the Positio, affirming that Brother Luigi Bordino had practiced the Christian virtues to a heroic degree. Consequently, on April 12, 2003, Pope Saint John Paul II declared Luigi “Venerable,” recognizing officially that this humble brother lived a life of heroic virtue in service of God and neighbor. It was a joyful moment for the Cottolengo family and all who had admired Luigi – but one more step was needed for beatification: evidence of a miracle attributed to his intercession.

That miracle would come through one of Luigi’s own fellow laborers in the Little House – fittingly, a religious sister who had worked beside him caring for the sick. The case involved a Cottolengo nursing Sister who, in the early 1990s, was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer with a very poor prognosis. Medical exams and scans showed a malignancy that doctors feared was incurable. The plan was to attempt surgery, but the outlook was grim. This Sister had personally known and collaborated with Brother Luigi years before, and she had great confidence in his sanctity. As she faced her illness, she and her community began praying fervently for Br. Luigi’s intercession. “From the very first days I invoked Brother Luigi, asking him to obtain for me the grace to face the illness and suffering as he had done,” the nun later testified. She spoke to Luigi in prayer as one speaks to a dear friend in heaven, entrusting her life to his care. In the meantime, she underwent various medical tests in preparation for the operation. Then came the astonishing twist: at the final pre-operative examination, the doctors could find no trace of the tumor. The cancer had completely and inexplicably disappeared – no surgery needed. The specialists were baffled, unable to give a scientific explanation for the total regression of a malignancy that had been clearly documented before. The Sister, however, knew in her heart the answer: Brother Luigi had heard their prayers. She was healed, and she credited it entirely to Luigi’s heavenly intercession on her behalf.

This extraordinary healing took place in 1991. It was rigorously investigated by the Church. From 2010 to 2014, the Archdiocese of Turin conducted the diocesan inquiry into the alleged miracle. Medical records, expert analyses, and witness testimonies (including from the healed sister and her doctors) were all compiled and sent to Rome. On April 3, 2014, Pope Francis authorized the Congregation for Saints to promulgate the decree officially recognizing this healing as a true miracle – medically inexplicable and attributable to Venerable Luigi Bordino’s intercession. With a confirmed miracle, nothing stood in the way of beatification.

The joyous day arrived the following year. On May 2, 2015, Brother Luigi Bordino was beatified in Turin, raised to the honors of the altars as a Blessed in the Catholic Church. The beatification Mass took place in Turin in an open area in front of the Church of the Holy Face (Chiesa del Santo Volto). Thousands of faithful attended – nearly 4,000 people – despite a light rain that day. Fittingly, many “penne nere” (black feathers) could be seen in the crowd: members of the Alpini Corps from all over Piedmont came in their distinctive caps to honor their comrade who had shown such valor and charity in war. Most touching of all, a large contingent of sick and disabled people were given front-row places at the ceremony – “the preferred friends of Brother Luigi,” as the announcers called them. Presiding over the beatification was Cardinal Angelo Amato, S.D.B., the Prefect of the Congregation for the Causes of Saints, delegated by Pope Francis to celebrate the rites. In a moving homily, Cardinal Amato highlighted the “ordinary, little virtues” that Brother Luigi practiced to a heroic degree – “Sacrifice, dedication, modesty, generosity, affability – these are all small virtues that blossom on the holy tree of charity,” he noted. “This is the legacy Brother Bordino leaves us, not in words but through his shining example.” When the moment came and the large portrait banner of Luigi Bordino was unveiled, a great cheer rose from the crowd. Here was Blessed Luigi of the Consolata, presented to the world as a model of Christian holiness: a lay brother, a war survivor, a nurse to the poorest of the poor, and a man of unshakeable faith.

Blessed Luigi’s liturgical feast day was set for August 25, the date of his birth into eternal life. Every year on that day, the Cottolengo family and many others pause to honor his memory. In Castellinaldo, his hometown, the little shrine to the Consolata that he built still stands – a reminder of the vow of gratitude that marked the course of his life. At the Little House in Turin, a research center was dedicated in his name, ensuring that the story of Fratel Luigi continues to inspire works of charity. Those who pray to him today testify to receiving favors, especially help in illness or finding the strength to carry their crosses as he did. Blessed Luigi’s journey from a small Piedmontese village to the altar of beatification is a testimony that God’s grace can shine brilliantly through a simple, humble life given fully to Him.

As a Blessed, Luigi Bordino is now venerated by the Church, but many hope and pray that one day he will be canonized a saint. The example of his life – his gentle heroism in war and peace, his total dedication to the forsaken, and his radiant acceptance of suffering – speaks powerfully to our world. He showed that holiness is within reach for all of us when we forget ourselves and serve Jesus in our neighbors with love.

Prayer for the Intercession of Blessed Luigi Bordino

O God of compassion,
you filled Blessed Luigi Bordino
with burning love for the poor and the sick.
In war and in peace, in strength and in suffering,
he was “led by the hand of Jesus” to be a servant to all.
He cared for the abandoned and the infirm
with a joyful heart,
seeing in them the face of your Son.

We thank You for the shining example of this humble brother,
who trusted completely in Your Divine Providence,
saying “Deo gratias” in all circumstances.
Through his prayer and example, he teaches us
to seek Christ in the suffering,
to embrace our daily crosses with faith,
and to love with a love that holds nothing back.

Lord, if it be Your will,
glorify your servant Luigi on earth
by granting the graces we ask through his intercession.
(Here, silently mention your petitions…)

May his compassionate service
and holy death inspire us
to walk the path of charity and hope.
We also pray that Blessed Luigi Bordino
may soon be numbered among the saints of the Church,
so that his life of heroic virtue
may be known and imitated by all.

Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Blessed Luigi Bordino,
nurse of the poor
and humble son of Mary Consolata,
pray for us!