British-born Carlo Acutis – aka God’s Influencer – died aged 15 in 2006 after a life of piety and online preaching… Now he is set to become the Patron Saint of the Internet

What a beautiful, sunny day it was for a wedding — and what a venue, too, the charming Chiesa di Santa Maria Maggiore, which dates all the way back to the 11th century.

There, in the Italian hill town of Assisi, at 11am on Wednesday last week, an electronic engineer married his French-teacher bride in a ceremony attended by more clergy than guests.

Other than the two witnesses, in fact, there was only one guest who, clad in Nike trainers, jeans and a blue North Sails top, remained flat on his back with his eyes shut throughout.

But the happy couple, Grzegorz Wielgoszewski, 39, and Ewa Brzeska, 35, who had travelled 400 miles from their home in Switzerland, would not have had it any other way.

Afterwards, beaming as they stepped out into the piazza (where no confetti throwers awaited), the new Mrs Wielgoszewski looked a picture of happiness.

‘We’re freaks about Carlo!’ she gushed. ‘He inspires me and we follow his advice. He was young but very spiritually deep and it was our dream to get married in his presence.

‘I wrote a four-page letter to the bishop explaining what Carlo means to us so we could marry here. Carlo was our guest of honour today — and our only guest.’

Welcome to the wonderful — and, to non-believers, perhaps a little weird — world of Carlo Acutis, the British-born computer whizkid dubbed ‘God’s Influencer’ for spreading the Lord’s teachings via the internet.

Carlo, whose body now rests in a glass-sided tomb in a corner of Santa Maria Maggiore, is set to become the Catholic Church’s first millennial saint.

The bare facts of his life go like this: he was born at the Portland Hospital in London on May 3, 1991, an only child to an Italian mother, Antonia, now 58, and a half-English, half-Italian father, Andrea, now 60, whose work as a merchant banker had brought them to the capital temporarily.

Carlo was baptised at the Church of Our Lady of Dolours in Chelsea, West London.

When he was three months old, his family returned to Milan, where over the years Carlo became a deeply religious child — despite neither of his parents being especially pious. He made his first Holy Communion aged seven (not unusual for Italian children) and tried to attend Mass every day (which is).

Despite a privileged background, Carlo preferred to live a simple life, donating pocket money to the poor and volunteering in a soup kitchen. He loved animals, owning two cats, four dogs and many goldfish.

Along the way, he learned computer programming — and excelled. In time, he would set up a website devoted to ‘The Eucharistic Miracles of the World’. Described as ‘an international exhibition designed and created by Carlo Acutis, the servant of God’, the website is still available today.

Sadly, in 2006, Carlo died from an aggressive form of leukaemia at the age of just 15. He had been admitted to hospital just ten days earlier with dehydration. He claimed not to fear death, and told a nurse that ‘there are people who suffer much more than me’.

Some of the most telling insights into his life are to be found in a book written by his mother, Antonia, entitled My Son Carlo — Carlo Acutis Seen Through The Eyes Of His Mother.

The boy’s ‘relationship with God was continuous, incessant’, writes Antonia.

It was ‘natural for him to interrupt his daily activities to pray’ while ‘a simple ‘hello’ spoken by Carlo was like a golden arrow that struck people’s hearts’. The book explains that Carlo was ‘very attached to chastity’.

Indeed, there were ‘multiple times he chided his friends if he thought they were rushing things and even indulging in pre-matrimonial experiences’.

Sex emerges as something of a theme.

Carlo went so far as to rebuke those who talked about practising what the book terms ‘autoeroticism’. On one trip to an outdoor swimming pool in Assisi in the summer of 2005, Carlo became ‘very angry’ when he saw two 16-year-olds kissing in front of some embarrassed children.

He told the lifeguard, who duly went and told the amorous pair to pack it in.

‘That is how Carlo was,’ says his mother. ‘He did not tolerate vulgarity, especially when it scandalised innocent souls.’

A teacher of religious education at his middle school recalled that, during a discussion on abortion, Carlo was the only one in his class to oppose it. Readers also learn that Carlo convinced girls not to ‘trivialise’ their bodies, reminding them it was the ‘temple of the Holy Spirit’.

He warned boys about falling into the traps of pornographic websites that ‘hypnotise’ and incite adolescents into addiction.

Carlo himself never wanted to watch ‘violent or vulgar’ films.

‘If he saw questionable or sexual advertisements on TV, he covered his eyes and immediately left the room, or asked us to change the channel.’ He did, though, enjoy computer games on his PlayStation.

He was environmentally conscious, would pick up litter and told people off for leaving taps running or the lights on when they left a room.

Among his favourite sayings was: ‘Why do people worry so much about their physical beauty but don’t worry about the beauty of their souls?’

Before he passed away, the boy had told his parents he wanted to be buried in Assisi, a town he had often visited because of his love for St Francis of Assisi, known for his dedication to helping the poor, for renouncing worldly goods and for his love of animals.

Former classmates, friends and family members had long recognised his spirituality and the way he brought them closer to God. On the sixth anniversary of his death, in 2012, the Archdiocese of Milan formally opened the cause for his canonisation.

Some called for him to be made the new patron saint of the internet, possibly replacing St Isidore of Seville, who lived around AD600.

Six years later, the Pope declared him ‘Venerable’, a status which recognised that Carlo lived the Christian virtues in a heroic way.

The following year, his body was exhumed and his remains — presumably embalmed — were moved from a grave outside town to Santa Maria Maggiore, or St Mary Major in English.

There they lie in the glass-fronted tomb, along with silicone reconstructions of his face and hands, which are shown crossed at the midriff clutching a rosary.

These have been made using the very modern miracle of 3D computer-imaging technology.

His heart, encased in an ornate vessel, is now on display in the town’s main San Rufino Cathedral nearby.

Other Carlo relics tour the world, including a piece of his pericardium (the fibrous membrane that encloses the heart), which recently drew large crowds in Ireland.

Hundreds of people a day now visit the tomb at Santa Maria Maggiore.

Last week, before, during and after the wedding, I watched as a steady flow of tour groups, individual pilgrims and crocodiles of school children trooped in.

They all headed straight for Carlo and his Umbrian stone casket, which is fixed to a wall around 3ft above the floor.

Some sat in quiet contemplation. Others bowed their heads and prayed, crossed themselves, lit candles or blew kisses towards the tomb. Many touched the glass. More than one wiped away a tear. A box on the wall where you can post your ‘prayer intentions’ to him was crammed with bits of folded paper.

Santa Maria Maggiore had some half a million visitors last year, and more are expected as the young saint’s fame spreads round the world. In the past, the majority of those coming to see Carlo were from South America, according to a diocesan spokesman.

Today, there are tour groups from Asia, Africa, the U.S. and Europe, too. Inevitably, there has been a boom in Carlo souvenirs, including key rings, bracelets and fridge magnets, all on sale in Assisi’s many trinket shops.

At Arte Sacra halfway up the steep, narrow Via Fontebella which leads to the church, Carlo figurines are new this year.

One depicts him clutching a laptop. Another has him holding a smartphone, with prices ranging from 62 euros (£53) to 100 euros (£85), depending on the size.

You can even buy a priestly stole — a clerical silk vestment worn over the shoulders which hangs down to the knee — imprinted with Carlo’s face for 160 euros (£136).

In other shops, Carlo T-shirts are piled high on the shelves, on sale to the faithful at 22 euros (£19).

But why Carlo? And why now?

Under the arcane rules of the Catholic Church, a dead person can qualify for a sainthood if two miracles are attributed to them and approved by the Vatican.

And the second of Carlo’s miracles has just been formally acknowledged by Pope Francis. These miracles must be acts of healing which are inexplicable, sudden and complete, and they must have followed prayers which specifically invoked the intercession of the candidate — in this case Carlo.

The healings must be thoroughly investigated by both theologians and Vatican-appointed medical professionals to ensure they are ‘genuine’ and that there can, at least in the eyes of the Church, be no natural explanation beyond the power of God.

Carlo’s first miracle touched four-year-old Matheus Vianna from Campo Grande, a city in southern Brazil, in 2013.

The boy had been born with a rare pancreatic disorder, which led to frequent vomiting.

A local priest had been sent one of one of Carlo’s T-shirts after contacting his mother and young Matheus is reported to have said ‘I wish I could stop vomiting so much’ when he touched the garment.

According to his family, who had also prayed to Carlo, Matheus never vomited again.

It is said that doctors later found him to be cured.

The Church dispatched a special unit to Brazil to examine the claims and the incident was approved as a true miracle by the Pope in 2020.

Carlo was then ‘beatified’, meaning he was granted the title of ‘Blessed’ — an important step on the way to sainthood.

Miracle No 2 concerned Valeria Valverde, 21, a student in Florence, who suffered a serious cycling accident in 2022.

She under went an emergency operation to relieve pressure on her brain but was left in a critical condition.

Six days later, her mother, Liliana, from Costa Rica, prayed for her daughter’s recovery at Carlo’s tomb in Assisi.

On the very same day, says the Church, Valeria recovered the use of her limbs, was able to speak and the signs of trauma to her head disappeared.

She was discharged from intensive care ten days after her mother’s prayers.

The Church duly examined the claims. Then, just a few days ago, on May 23, the Pope issued a decree approving the healing of Valeria as a true miracle.

And there is another, unofficial, miracle: Carlo died an only child, but after his passing his mother gave birth to twins, Francesca and Michele, at the age of 44. She said that she attributes their birth to Carlo, who told her in a dream: ‘Don’t worry, you will become a mother again.’

Among the crowds visiting Santa Maria Maggiore this week was 25-year-old Beatriz Virrueta, from Toluca, Mexico.

‘I knew about him before the second miracle but now it’s a whole new celebration. It’s amazing to see him, it’s like he represents hope for all young people,’ she said.

‘I sat by his tomb praying for ten minutes for my loved ones and for all young people to convert to Christianity and for those who already believe in Jesus to become good examples, and held my rosary against the glass.

‘It makes my rosary a second-grade relic and I will share it with my family.’

I met Ursula and Wolfgang Hochhausler, both 57, from Munich in Germany.

Ursula, a mother of ten, said she had prayed for Carlo to help her children ‘who have a passion for the internet that leads to fights over how many hours they spend in front of the computer.

‘I touched the tomb, and I had to cry, seeing him there having died so young.

‘It was an important moment in my life, but some of our younger children were a little bit scared. One said, ‘You can just think about him, you don’t have to reconstruct him.’ ‘

Her daughter Raphaella, 17, said: ‘Carlo definitely helps the Church. Many people think it’s very conservative to have faith, that only old people follow the tradition, but it’s not only old people that need God, it’s youngsters too.

‘It’s not about his miracles of curing people — the way he lived his life was a miracle in itself.’

Abby Fakhoury, 20, a psychology and philosophy college student, from Tulsa, Oklahoma, told me that: ‘Just to be there in Carlo’s presence is really amazing.

‘I’ve seen really old things like bone fragments before but we’ve not gotten to see a body before, something that looks like a human. It makes him more real.’

Not everyone in Assisi is quite so impressed, however.

One elderly local pointed out that the town already has St Francis, founder of the famous order of friars, and described the display of Carlo’s remains as ‘medieval’. ‘St Francis, who died in 1226, is the main saint here. His remains are walled in at the Basilica. Everyone’s more down to earth about him and he’s long been important to the town’s economy.’

Another claimed tour parties visiting Carlo’s tomb cause traffic problems, adding: ‘I’m sure Carlo was a charming boy, but I’ve heard from a tour guide that one visitor said, ‘We’ve seen Carlo, what else is there interesting to see after that here?’

‘Assisi has some of the most important pre-Renaissance art in the world. Now we’re probably going to be overrun by big groups just coming for Carlo and not staying long.’

Unfortunately, Mrs Acutis was not available to speak to the Mail during our visit to Assisi. Asked who paid for the tomb and the reconstruction of Carlo’s face, a spokesman said: ‘I don’t think it’s relevant who paid, if it was his family or not, or the congregation and donations. I don’t know where his face and hands were made.’

Back at Santa Maria Maggiore, the newlyweds gave their verdict. ‘Carlo was humble like St Francis and we hope to be humble like that too,’ said Mr Wielgoszewski, who is originally Polish, like Ewa, his new bride.

She added: ‘Carlo would’ve been my friend if I’d ever met him.’

Indeed, Ewa and Grzegorz have special cause to thank both Blessed Carlo and his mother.

‘I wrote to Antonia asking if it was a good idea for us to be together and to be engaged. I asked her if she could ask her son,’ said Ewa.

‘Later, I met her when she visited Switzerland and she gave me a hug. Being able to marry in Carlo’s presence was a dream come true.’