Reverend Rui of Saint Mark
I’ve been mistaken for a priest more times than I care to admit. And it wasn’t just once—it happened three times, almost all in the same place. The first time was in Italy, specifically at the Vatican. Now, granted, it was an appropriate setting, but does that mean I really look like a priest? Or a seminarian? I was honestly a little taken aback by the assumptions at first, but after a while, I got used to it. In fact, I’ve even come to find it a bit amusing—this strange second identity I’ve acquired, the pious one!
It was the end of 2009, and I was in Italy with my cousin to visit my grandfather’s hometown and learn more about my family’s history. Of course, we also took the opportunity to explore the beauty and culture of Italy, which my late grandfather had always dreamed of seeing but never had the chance. I was fulfilling a dream—mine and his—that he now watches over from heaven. Speaking of heaven, let’s return to the story of Reverend Rui of Saint Mark.
I was strolling down the famous street leading to St. Peter’s Square in Vatican City when a group of young people approached me. One of them said, “Father, could you please sign our petition about children…” and I didn’t quite catch the rest. Wait—Father? I was so confused. I quickly told them I couldn’t sign at that moment. My cousin burst out laughing, and I stood there, completely baffled. Could there be a priest who looks like me around here?
I continued on my way, and after visiting St. Peter’s Basilica, we went to a religious store to pick up a few things—CDs, books, and when I was in the section for hosts and candles, a very beautiful nun looked at me and asked, in Italian, “Father, do you work here?” I quickly replied, “No,” and hurried away, a little freaked out, because in less than an hour, I was called father again!
My cousin kept laughing, and then he explained why this was happening. I had been wearing a black cloak and a white turtleneck shirt, so it made sense that people would mistake me for a priest. But no one really believes my story—they all say I have the face of a devout person, a saintly demeanor, if you will. This was confirmed once more at the airport, on my way back to Brazil. I ran into a well-known Brazilian missionary, and as we exchanged greetings, he asked me, “You’re a seminarian, aren’t you?” Oh, come on! At this point, I’ve either been stalked by the priesthood or I truly have a saintly presence!