In 1966, during a get-together at Villa Tevere, some of those living with St Josemaría sang Aprite le finestre, a song then popular in Italy.[1] The founder told them he would like it to be sung in his final moments on earth, joyfully, after he received the last sacraments.
The song celebrates the joy of springtime, when flowers begin to bloom again, birds return from migration, and the sun streams through open windows, filling homes with light. Its lyrics invite listeners to open themselves to new dreams and to a life that begins afresh.
La prima rosa rossa è già sbocciata Aprite le finestre al nuovo sole | The first red rose has already bloomed And the shy violets hide Now, the first swallow has returned In the clear sky, it begins to flutter The beautiful weather comes to announce Open the windows to the new sun It’s spring, it’s spring |
St Josemaría enjoyed singing, and often repeated a phrase from St Augustine: “He who sings, prays twice.” He also used to say that he liked “all the songs about pure holy love, for in them I find, interwoven, both human and divine love.”[2] It is not surprising, therefore, that he saw more than a mere description of the season in this song. Asking for it to be sung at the end of his life, made it clear he saw it as a metaphor for the passage to eternal life: death not as an end, but as a peaceful, radiant awakening. For him, ‘opening the windows’ meant opening the soul — as he had done throughout his life — to the Love of loves, to the definitive encounter with God, “for ever, for ever... for ever” (The Way, no. 182).
The sun, which Church tradition sees as a symbol of Jesus Christ, offers itself gently to each person, and enters in when we freely open the door or the windows of our lives.
At times, St. Josemaría would talk about that definitive encounter with God: “It moves me deeply to think of the moment — whenever God wills — when I will be able to see Him, not as in a mirror, nor through obscure images… but face to face.”[3] He never described that moment as something jarring, because “we are always seeking God, hoping for Him. If we were to die suddenly, it would be as if the Lord had surprised us from behind, and, turning round, we found ourselves in his arms...”[4]
Afraid neither of life nor of death: that is how he tried to live each day, because, as he used to say, “we don’t know when the final battle will come, because we could die at any moment… But don’t be afraid: beyond death there is Life and Love.”[5]
Sul davanzale un piccolo usignolo È primavera, è primavera | On the windowsill, a little nightingale With tender wings, soft feathers Has already taken its timid flight And it has started to tap against the glass It wants to bring its beautiful message: It's spring, it's spring Open the windows to new dreams |
Might that symbol of people in love — the nightingale on the windowsill, tapping on the glass — not also be interpreted as grace, Love Himself, coming to prepare the soul for its long-awaited encounter? Then, for the last time, the soul will open the window to the most beautiful of dreams: eternal life.
Aprite le finestre ai nuovi sogni Alle speranze, all'illusione | Open the windows to new dreams To hopes, to excitement Let in the last song Which will descend gently into the heart |
On 26 June 1975, Josemaría Escrivá died suddenly of a heart attack. Another of his wishes was fulfilled: he had asked God for the grace to die “without being a nuisance,” so as not to be a “burden” to his sons and daughters in Opus Dei.
“That day will come for us. It will be our last day, but we're not afraid of it. Trusting firmly in God's grace, we are ready from this very moment to be generous and courageous, and take loving care of little things: we are ready to go and meet our Lord” (Friends of God, no. 242).
“In the sky, amid silver clouds, the moon has already set a date.” Our Lady, like the moon that reflects the light of the sun, reflects the image of God and guides Christians through moments of darkness. She accompanied St. Josemaría from his earliest years, and she was with him at the end of his life, too. In his last moments on earth, he fixed his gaze on an image of Our Lady of Guadalupe, confident that she was accompanying him in that final step toward heaven. Five years earlier, while looking at a picture in Jaltepec of Our Lady of Guadalupe giving a rose to Juan Diego, he had said aloud: “That is how I would like to die: looking at the Blessed Virgin and receiving a flower from her…”[6]
You might enjoy this playlist of songs Saint Josemaría liked:
One of the biographies of the founder recounts a family story from that day.[7] Severino Monzó, who was spending a few days in a house near the shrine of Torreciudad, received the news of St Josemaría’s passing and remembered something the founder had said to him a decade earlier in Rome about that song: “You will sing it for me… without tears.”
He went over to the record player in the sitting room and put on “Aprite le finestre.” He began to sing it, hoping to fulfil the Father’s wish. He tried to hold back his emotions, but wasn’t quite able to fulfil that second part. At one point, his voice broke and he had to stop. He gathered himself and sang it through to the end. The lyrics of the full song are as follows:
Italian | English |
La prima rosa rossa è già sbocciata Aprite le finestre al nuovo sole Lasciate entrare un poco d'aria pura È forse il più bel sogno che sognate La, la, la… Sul davanzale un piccolo usignolo È primavera, è primavera Alle speranze, all'illusione Nel cielo fra le nuvole d'argento La, la, la… | The first red rose has already bloomed [Chorus] In the sky among the silver clouds |
[1] Celaya I., in Recuerdos de san Josemaría.
[2] Conversations, no. 92.
[3] Sastre A., Tiempo de caminar, chapter XII.
[4] Cfr. Testimony of Encarnación Ortega Pardo, RHF 5074.
[5] Ibid.
[6] Cejas J.M., Cara y Cruz: Josemaría Escrivá, chapter XXVI.
[7] Urbano P., The Man of Villa Tevere, chapter XIX.