Che Meraviglia!

"What a Marvel!"

Nice phrase hunh? Ok so now that I've proved that I've learned something in my language classes in Torino (Turin) thus far, on to the story of the aforementioned marvel.

I was at the 6:30 mass this evening at my parish church of Santa Giulia. It was nice. There was adoration and benediction for the hour before hand, which I was excited about. I stumbled through the rosary in Italian with the old ladies before mass. I'm starting to be able to partially understand readings and homilies. Tutto bene (All good). Before I go any further I should mention that this is a beautiful church. If I had to guess I think its a newer construction, a neo-gothic (aka, built in the last 150 years but imitation of the gothic style (which was much older)). This means its tall, has large windows, and beautiful stained glass behind the altar. In Italian churches you can often tell if they're being used for something more than just a museum, there are shrines of recent saints like JPII or Padre Pio, etc. You can tell this church is cared for and prayed in. (I would just upload pictures but while I remembered to bring my camera to Torino, I forgot the cord to connect it to the computer. So those will have to wait two more weeks.)

Anyhow, so mass finished and I stayed to pray a bit as the meager congregation trickled out. After a little while I went to look at a lectionary that was in the main isle in the middle of the church. As I'm standing there trying to piece together what I thought I heard during the readings with what I was seeing on the page people started walking by me up to the front pews of the church. These people were followed by even more people. I was confused. By the time I finished trying to decipher the lectionary there were more people in the church than there had been for the whole mass and they were all in about the first quarter of the pews. This was strange, so before leaving I sat down at the back to see what was going on. As I watched more and more people poured in. Even stranger still was that they weren't all old (which is the vast majority of who you see in Italian churches. For context its not unusual if I'm the only male at a daily mass and probably the only one under 60.) In fact many of them were young, like my age, but there was the whole gamete from parents with young children to senior citizens. I was speculating to myself what could be going on, maybe a concert or a lecture or something certainly not a mass because we'd just finished mass and as I mentioned this was not the demographic you get at an Italian mass. Plus there were so many people. Within about 10 minutes the church had almost completely filled from the front back, to the point that several people joined me in my pew which was second to the last in the church. People were literally rushing in now and I was almost bewildered because it definitely looked like the altar was being set for mass. I thought maybe it was for a different Chrisitan denomination, or different Catholic rite or congregation, because it was unlike anything I'd ever seen in Italy - or in the US for that matter. As the Liturgy started it was clear that it was definitely Catholic and as the priest began the opening prayer it was apparent that it was in Italian. By this time the church was literally standing room only, and there were plenty of people standing, FOR A THURSDAY EVENING MASS! (This is not a small church either for the record). I'm thoroughly bewildered at this point and while I had planned on going to the grocery store right after mass, I had to figure out what this was about before I could leave.

Finally, right before the homily, I had to ask the little old Italian lady next to me (in really poor Italian, which she was luckily able to understand) what the heck was going on. She replied that it was a mass for the group Comunione e Leberazione (Communion and Liberation) for the feastday of St. Benedict, the patron of Europe. Wild! Now I still don't know much about the group. The word Liberation in the name always kind of brings to mind Liberation Theology, which had some issues in the post-Vatican II era, but I don't think they're closely related. From what I saw tonight though and the fact that Pope-emeritus Benedict is a fan I think its safe to say that the Holy Spirit is definitely at work through them in Torino. I was so enthralled by what was going on that despite having just been to mass I couldn't bring myself to leave. Let me list off for you the many marvels of this mass:

1. A packed church for a Thursday evening mass, literally hundreds of Italians.
2. The vast majority were young adults, people my age, and young men were NOT a small minority!
3. Beautiful, reverent, well done Liturgy. This is rare outside of papal masses. I think its partly due to the rather loose cultural take Italians have on laws, civil or ecclesial. What's more the congregation was reverent too. At this mass everyone knelt (that could), everyone stood, they sang together, they prayed in unison. This is not quite the typical, more laisses faire approach to participation at Italian masses.
4. A polyphonic chant choir. When I graduated from UD and Collegium was more or less disbanded I thought I might have heard the last of what had been a great and new-found blessing in my college days, that of masses accompanied by a beautiful, classical, a capella choir. So I was almost startled when the choir lit into Gregorian chant for the first time at offertory. They were good too, really good.
5. A communion line. Context again: in case you haven't been to a mass here it would be good to point out that trying to get to communion in Italy might be comparable to trying to get on the freeway in Italy. You just have to go for it. Forget the concept of a line, because it is something that has probably never occurred to your neighboring Italians. You normally end up feeling like you've cut someone off, which isn't such a big deal because they were expecting you to and they did it to someone else to get into the aisle themselves but still it feels kind of like a jostle to get to the front. This evening though perhaps one of the most marvelous sights was when it came time for communion a line qued up from the back of the church to the front. The line qued up pew by pew just like in the states but instead of from the front to the back, each waited for the pew behind it to go. While it may seem insignificant, this small communal act of charity ("the last shall be first and the first shall be last") was awesome in a culture where communion is often anything but calm and orderly.

--

What an unexpected blessing in the first week in Torino. The Church is alive and young! And not just in America or Latin America but in Europe where it is supposedly dead and dying. It was such a blessing to be reminded so vividly and powerfully that I'm not alone, but am a very small part of something very big, something setting fire to even inhospitable places like modern Europe. I have no idea where this adventure is heading but am excited to keep discovering. Quo vadis? Where are you going?

Everyone Has a Story

Dear friends,

Peace and Blessings from Rome and my sincere apologies for not being more diligent to this blog. Apparently my mom wasn't the only one who was disappointed with my lack of posts because today I was just about knocked off my feet by one heck of a a God moment that I'm pretty positive I'm supposed to share (at least that's the only thing I can come up with to explain what happened).

The story begins exactly a week ago when I was flying back to Rome after a whirlwind 4 days in the states, attending a friend's wedding and graduation at UD. By the time I made it to the Philly-Rome leg I was beat. As the plane was finishing boarding I started getting excited because the I had the isle seat and the window seat immediately to my right was still empty. Planes are about the one place on earth I don't sleep well, and I thought maybe with this extra seat I could catch up on some much needed rest and hit the ground running in Rome. Just as my hopes were starting to get really high and boarding was all but done a huge family comes down the isle (four little boys, the oldest was around 10 and the youngest couldn't have been older than 1 1/2). They took the whole middle row and displaced the two Italians that had moved into their seats, one of whom claimed my extra window seat. At this point my tired self got to start exercising patience, I knew it wasn't their fault but after not really sleeping for four days it required a little more effort to not be annoyed at loosing the extra seat I'd had my heart set on. lol. This exercise in patience increased as we began to taxi and the youngest of the boys began to fuss. It wasn't like he was a good fuss-er either though. He would look around, see if anyone was watching, and if they weren't begin this really pathetic wail/sob. He kept this up the rest of the flight. While my interior struggle continued the rest of the flight as well (aided by earbuds and extensive in-flight movies and music) I never really lost the charitable disposition towards the family. However, I distinctly remember thinking at one point that if I am supposed to get married and be a  father it will have to be with a woman who can help me learn how to avoid raising kids that act like that. Mea culpa.

As we started our final approach and the seat-back screens winked out and the flight crew instructed us to turn off our electronics, I reluctantly pulled out my earbuds.  As I now longer had anything to distract me from the fussy infant on the opposite side of the plane, I turned to the mom who was sitting just behind me across the isle and asked where they were from. Turns out they were from Washington state and had flown all the way across the country and just caught their connecting flight after a made dash through the Philadelphia airport. Man no wonder the kids are a little rough, I thought, what a long time in planes. (I don't know if I thought it at the time but I've often wondered why anyone would do a transatlantic flight with kids, there are good reasons as would find out.) They asked about what I did in Italy and then I asked them what they were coming to Italy for, just vacation? The mom replied, serenely, that her oldest son Tucker has leukemia and had requested to go to Italy through Make-a-wish, which the foundation had funded. Something heavy landed in the pit of my stomach. My flimsy, begrudging "patience" with her family suddenly seemed so very pathetic. Its funny how in an instant your attitude about a person, or people, can change when you get to know them just a little bit. I cannot imagine what that must feel like as a parent. Or trying to give attention to an infant while your oldest son is in a fight for his life at the age of 10. As we continued to talk it turned out we had a lot in common. They lived in the country and raised some chickens, some hogs, and a few cows because they wanted their kids to experience that responsibility. The father was born on a dairy farm about the same size as ours and had grown up showing their cows in 4-H just like I had. I talked to Tucker who had requested to come to Italy because he had become a huge Roman history buff through his home-school curriculum. Their itinerary was to head to a little bed and breakfast on a farm north of Orvieto in Umbria for five days and then spend one day in Rome. Once we landed I wished them well and told them they'd be in my prayers. I immediately thought that I should write a post about the experience but in the hustle of getting ready for the summer term and packing up for the break, I completely forgot; until today.

This morning I went into Rome for the first time since returning to Italy. The summer students were having mass in the crypt of St. Peter's Basilica a mere stones throw from the bones of St. Peter which seemed like a decent reason to head into the city. After mass, I went and ran some errands while the students had a walking tour of Rome with Ryan and Dr. Rombs. By the time I met back up with them three hours later I'd added about 50lbs worth of candles to my backpack and didn't feel like accompanying them up the Capitoline Hill for a view of the Forum, so I went and waited by where the bus would pull up at the base of the hill. While I was standing there on one of the busiest streets in Rome, who walked by but Tucker's whole family. I'd completely forgotten our conversation from the week before but today was the one day that they were going to spend in Rome. Of all the tourists, on all the crowded streets we ended up again in the same place, me about to leave for campus, them just arriving and waiting on a bus to St. Peter's. God works in mysterious ways. It reminded me just how small our pretty big world can be when grace is involved. Needless to say this was a pretty good motivator/shocker to get me to write down the whole experience and also to continue keep Tucker and his family in my prayers. If you have an extra prayer too I'm sure they won't mind. Until next time (which will hopefully be much sooner) Quo vadis?

Pope Francis's Lenten Letter

I was reading through a blog of homilies by Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio, now Pope Francis (http://jmgarciaiii.blogspot.co.uk/search?q=bergoglio) and his Lenten letter to  faithful of Buenos Aires the was so awesome that I needed to repost it. Can't wait for his first encyclical.

And rend your hearts, and not your garments, and turn to the Lord your God: for he is gracious and merciful, patient and rich in mercy, and ready to repent of the evil. (Joel 2:13)

Little by little we become accustomed to hearing and seeing, through the mass media, the dark chronicle of contemporary society, presented with an almost perverse elation, and also we become [desensitized] to touching it and feeling it all around us [even] in our own flesh.  Drama plays out on the streets, in our neighborhoods, in our homes and -- why not? -- even in our own hearts.  We live alongside a violence that kills, that destroys families, that enlivens wars and conflicts in so many countries of the world.  We live with envy, hatred, slander, the mundane in our heart.

The suffering of the innocent and peaceable buffets us nonstop; the contempt for the rights of the most fragile of people and nations is not so distant from us; the tyrannical rule of money with its demonic effects, such as drugs, corruption, trafficking in people -- even children -- along with misery, both material and moral, are the coin of the realm [today].  The destruction of dignified work, painful emigrations and the lack of a future also join in this [tragic] symphony. 

Our errors and sins as Church are not beyond this analysis.  Rationalizing selfishnesses, does not diminish it, lack of ethical values within a society metastisizes in [our] families, in the environment of [our] neighborhoods, towns and cities, [this lack of ethical values] testifies to our limitations, to our weaknesses and to our incapacity to transform this innumerable list of destructive realities.

The trap of powerlessness makes us wonder:  Does it make sense to try to change all this?  Can we do anything against this?  Is it worthwhile to try, if the world continues its carnival merriment, disguising all [this tragedy] for a little while?  But, when the mask falls, the truth appears and, although to many it may sound anachronistic to say so, once again sin becomes apparent, sin that wounds our very flesh with all its destructive force, twisting the destinies of the world and of the history. 

Lent is presented us as a shout of truth and certain hope that comes us to say "Yes, it is possible to not slap on makeup, and not draw plastic smiles as if nothing happened."  Yes, it is possible that all is made new and different because God remains "rich in kindness and mercy, always willing to forgive" and He encourages us to begin anew time and again.  Today, again, we are invited to undertake a Paschal road toward Life, a path that includes the cross and resignation; a path that will be uncomfortable but not fruitless.  We are invited to admit that something inside us is not going well, (in society or in the Church) to change, to turn around, to be converted.

Today, the words of the prophet Joel are strong and challenging: Rend your heart, not your clothing: be converted to the Lord, your God.  These [words] are an invitation to all people, nobody is excluded.

 

Rend your heart, not the clothing of artificial penance without [an eternal] future. 

Rend your heart, not the clothing of technical fasting of compliance that [only serves to keep us] satisfied. 

Rend your heart, not the clothing of egotistical and superficial prayer that does not reach the inmost part of [your] life to allow it to be touched by God. 

Rend your heart, that we may say with the Psalmist:  "We have sinned." 

"The wound of the soul is sin: Oh, poor wounded one, recognize your Doctor!  Show him the wounds of your faults.  And, since from Him our most secret thoughts cannot hide themselves, make the cry of your heart felt [to Him].  Move him to compassion with your tears, with your insistence ¡beg him!  Let Him hear your sighs, that your pain reaches Him so that, at the end, He can tell you:  The Lord has forgiven your sins."  (St. Gregory the Great)

This is the reality of our human condition.  This is the truth that approaches authentic reconciliation between God and men.  This is not a matter of discrediting [one's] self-worth but of penetrating, to its fullest depth, our heart and to take charge of the mystery of suffering and pain that had tied us down for centuries, for thousands of years, [in fact,] forever. 

Rend your hearts so that through this opening we can truly see. 

Rend your hearts, open your hearts, because only with [such a] heart can we allow the entry of the merciful love of the Father, who loves us and heals us. 

Rend your hearts the prophet says, and Paul asks us -- almost on his knees -- "be reconciled with God."  Changing our way of living is both a sign and fruit of a torn heart, reconciled by a love that overwhelms us.

 

This is [God's] invitation, juxtaposed against so many injuries that wound us and can tempt us temptation to be hardened:  Rend your hearts to experience, in serene and silent prayer, the gentle tenderness of God.

Rend your hearts to hear the echo of so many torn lives, that indifference [to suffering] does not paralyze us. 

Rend your hearts to be able to love with the love with which we are beloved, to console with the consolation with which we are consoled and to share what we have received. 

The liturgical time the Church starts today is not only for us, but also for the transformation of our family, of our community, of our Church, of our Country, of the whole world.  They are forty days so that we may convert to the same holiness as God's; that we become collaborators who receive the grace and the potential to reconstruct human life so that everyone may experience the salvation which Christ won for us by His death and resurrection. 

Next to prayer and penitence, as a sign of our faith in the force of an all-transforming Easter, we also begin, as in previous years a "Lenten Gesture of Solidarity."  As Church in Buenos Aires, marching towards Easter and believing the Kingdom of God is possible we need that, in our hearts torn by the desire of conversion and by love, grace may blossom.  [We need] effective gestures to alleviate the pain of so many of our brothers who walk alongside.  "No act of virtue can be large if it does not also benefit another...  Therefore, no matter how you spend the day fasting, no matter how you may sleep on a hard floor, and how you may eat ashes and sigh continuously, if do not do good to others, you do not accomplish anything great."  (St. John Chrysostom)

This year of faith we are traversing is also an opportunity God gives us to grow and to mature in an encounter with the Lord made visible in the suffering face of so many children without a future, in the trembling hands of the elders who have been forgotten and in the trembling knees of so many families who continue to face life without finding anyone who will assist them. 

I wish you a holy Lent, a penitential and fruitful Lent and, please, I ask you all that you pray for me. 

May Jesus bless you and may the Blessed Virgin care for you. 

Paternally,

Card.  Jorge Mario Bergoglio S.J.

Liturgy

I feel like I should rename this site the prodigal blogger. lol. I can't believe its been since November! Mi despiaci.

Anyways, look at this. ->
It's called frappe and its one of a number of Italian fried, sugar-covered deliciousnesses that you can only get during carnival (the period of time between the Presentation and Lent). It got me thinking about how things are so seasonal in Italy. These frappe are literally only available for one or two weeks a year and if you asked for them any other time they'd look at you like you'd just sprouted a third head. I was trying to think if we had an equivilant sense of time and season in the States. The closest thing I could come up with was Peeps at Easter. lol. With our Walmarts and our supermarkets I feel like this is lost on us sometimes. I can have about any type of produce at any time of year where as Italian fruits and vegetables have a much more obvious tie to the season (as do their gelato flavors, good luck finding blood orange before February.) This is wonderfully convenient for us back home but I also feel like it takes away some of the fun and anticipation that should naturally be there. It's an awesome thing when you peel your first orange of the year to find little flecks of red (like these guys.) Culinary and cultural life is not one monotone procession but is full of ebbs and flows, at times wild and Bacchic, at others subdued and muted.

Like all good things, this is incorporated into the life of the Church and I think it might also be a partial explanation of liturgical seasons. From the contemplation of the incarnation at Christmas, to the meditation on the suffering of Christ in Lent, and His Resurrection at Easter or even the long period of ordinary time littered with the feast-days of important men and women, the life of the Church has this same ebb and flow. Maybe if I had a deeper knowledge of human nature I could make some insightful comment about how this variety is necessary to keep our attention or to help us to grow. When we were kids I can remember wishing that every morning was Christmas, but as you grow older you realize that the magic that you enjoyed as a little kid exist precisely because it doesn't happen everyday, in the same way a brilliant sunset captivates us because of its rarity and fleetingness. Maybe filling the calendar of the Church with different seasons and feast, different moods, and colors sets a tone for our very human nature, one the aids in engaging our imagination and holding our attention. If you have the chance this Lent, take some time to live  in the season.


           There is an appointed time for everything, and time for every affair under the heavens...
           a time to plant, and a time to uproot the plant...
           a time to weep and a time to laugh;
           a time to mourn and a time to dance...
           a time to seek and a time to lose;
           a time to keep and a time to cast away...
           a time to be silent and a time to speak...
           a time of war and a time of peace.
               Ecclesiastes 3:1-8


See you in the Eucharist!

Adventures (Installement II)

-or- Old Fashion Blessings

Two weeks ago we completed our final class trip of the semester. The last day of this Northern Italian trip found us in Venice. Venice is a strange place, as in it has no roads, only one proper piazza (incredible for an Italian town), is intensely ornate, and that whole its built on a marsh thing. (I've wondered both times I've been in Venice whoever thought that was a good idea?) After going along on a site tour in the morning I decided to hitch along with Sister Catherine, Peter and Sara to go see two other islands in the lagoon.

What we found was totally beyond anything I'd been expecting. Venice is busy and crowded, all buildings and canals. Burano, the first island we stopped at had a significant amount of open land and hardly any tourists due in part to its distance from Venice proper (about a 45 min boat ride) and the weather (overcast and a little drizzly). The island was composed mostly of two story houses which were unexceptional apart from an apparently unwritten rule that your house had to be a different color than anyone else's house on the island. The effect was wonderful even on a gray day. We set about finding lunch and ended up at the "Bar Sport". It was an unassuming little place (the best in Italy normally are) but had some fantastic sea food. I've found myself become more adventures with cuisine over the course of the semester as this Spaghetti alla Vongole attests. (It was incredible by the way).

The trip to Burano was also really helpful in understanding the history of Venice. On the main island its hard to understand what exactly the city was built on. It can give you the impression that it was started by a bunch of crazy people who just started driving piles into the ground and building their houses on them. However, farther out in the lagoon you see lots of islands, large and small, coming far enough out of the water to support vegetation and even trees.

Near Burano was one of these largely unsettled islands named Torcello. Sister Catherine's guidebook provided the history of the island. Basically, Torcello was the place before Venice became the place. A roman settlement existed on the island all the way back to the 6th Century. However, as Venice grew in power and influence, starting around the end of the first millennium, Torcello declined. Until about 50 years ago the island was largely uninhabitable due to malaria. The original settlement has been almost entirely reclaimed by the marsh, with a few exceptions. The most impressive and astonishing is a 7th Century Basilica, Santa Maria Assunta. The first impression is its size, which is remarkable for its age and with the back drop of a now largely unpopulated island. The most incredible remnant of this once powerful settlement however, is on the inside of the Church. The entire rear wall of the basilica is covered by an 11th Century mosaic in the Ravena-Byzantine style. And it is SO awesome!  

Its one of those rare pieces of art (or in this case a piece of art and prayer) that you can just sit and devour like a good meal. And like a good meal there's a satisfaction when you finish that is hard to describe in any other way. The four of us sat and looked at it for at least 30 minutes, and we all had the feeling that we could have stayed there much longer. The mosaic is not only really large, really old, and really well done but also it had some intriguing iconography that I'd never seen before. The mosaic works in three movements. At the very top, almost out of view in this picture, is the crucifixion. The next series down is the resurrection. The final four layers are the last judgement, the End Times. In most mosaics the figures are very static, there's no depth or scaling. However, on this one the figures got larger as you went up the mosaic ensuring that they would still be easily visible from the floor.

Christ in glory, with His throne prepared below

The Angels calling up the dead (check out the lion's mouth)

Among the interesting representations in this mosaic was the calling up of the dead. While this is an indispensable part of any last judgement scene this mosaic gave it a special twist. The angels not only called up the dead from their graves but also from the bellies of wild animals. While plenty of mosaics show animals eating saints this is the first time I've ever seen an animal throwing up a saint. Another interesting depiction was Eve. She showed up in both in the Resurrection, being pulled out of Hell along with Adam, and also in the Last Judgement. You can see her in the picture of Christ in glory. She's just to the right of the throne. If her dress reminds you a standard mosaic figure it should. She's dressed in a way typically reserved for Mary, the Mother of God which reveals the classic Old Testament prefigurement and Catholic teaching that Mary is the New Eve.

Bottom left scene of the mosaic

My favorite part of the mosaic though, was the scene on very bottom left. While the mosaic had worked chronologically top to bottom to this point, the bottom left frame breaks with this order. Instead, this scene, which is the closest and most approachable to the viewer, has four main images. Just out of this picture is Christ calling the children to himself (you can see a few of them next to Mary). Next is the Blessed Mother in the traditional posture of prayer, interceding for us, the viewers. To her left is the Good Thief and finally the next to him is the Door of Paradise with the Seraph and St. Peter, keys in hand gesturing to us to come in. In my experience I've never seen a mosaic that engages the viewer so actively. What a beautiful invitation! We are called in our humility reminded of Jesus' love for the small and the meek. We are reminded of the powerful intercession of Mary our Mother, and of all the saints. We're encouraged by the example of the Repentant Theif, who even at the 11th hour received the grace of conversion and forgiveness and, after his brief labors, was with Jesus that day in Paradise. Finally, we come to the representation of the entrance to Paradise. The seraph who guards the gate no longer wields the flaming sword that banished Adam and Eve but rather he welcomes, just as St. Peter stands prepared with the keys to usher us in to the space prepared for us from all eternity. This door is not in the heights, not even among the saints in the middle of the series, but at the very, very lowest point so close and so attainable through God's unsurpassable mercy.

After a long while, we managed to tear ourselves away and explore the rest of the church. I really liked the simplicity of this mosaic which was in the apse of the church behind the main altar. There is nothing to distract from Mary and Jesus. The importance of the Church and the island was also attested to by the bodies of several martyrs who still reside there. At a certain point we realized that the door keeper had been standing waiting for us to leave for a while, we'd been almost the only people in the church the entire time. Turns out we'd lost track of time a bit and as Sister Catherine led us out of the basilica I wonder if she though the Last Judgement was actually upon us. We were met with an entirely red sky, the first movement of an incredible sunset. As we walked down the path back to the boat stop the sky was aflame with shades of red and purple. What had been a dreary, overcast day when we entered the church, had been transformed into a glorious conclusion. As we stood waiting for the boat our view looked every part a painting, too incredible to be real.

What made the whole experience all the more stunning was that we'd stumbled upon this beautiful church and incredible sunset literally in the middle of nowhere but yet just miles from Venice, one of the most touristy, overrun parts of Italy. The solitude reminded me of going out to St. Joe Ost, or Pilsen but then finding an ancient, world class mosaic of a lost society hanging on the back wall. Oh and tack on an indescribable sunset to boot.


Blessed be God
Blessed be His holy name
...
Blessed be God in the quiet places
Blessed be God in the forgotten wonders
Blessed be God in the fire of the sunset
...
Blessed be Jesus Christ, true God and true man
Blessed be the great Mother of God, Mary most holy
Blessed be God in His angels and in His saints
                                                                       Amen.


See you in the Eucharist,
Tony

Adventures (Installment I)

I'm realizing that I've already procrastinated so much on posting about the things I've seen and done in the last two months that I'm am hopelessly behind. The task of writing about even a portion of the experiences I've had living and working in Italy so far was daunting enough to even keep from trying for many weeks (in which time I spent a weekend in Padau, and 10 days in Greece, Fall Break, and Northern Italy. oops.)  Anyway the end of the semester is rapidly approaching and I've got to get a move on here hence the idea of which this blog post is hopefully the first part of. Instead of making one humongous post which you would be make-you-tired-of sitting-before-you-got-done-reading long I decided to do it in small bite size morsels.

A long time ago (almost 2 months?) I went to Padua over a weekend. Besides being the resting place of one of the most awesome saints ever (This Guy) -->    its also a really nice little town. Its home to one of the oldest universities in the world and as such is dominated by bicycles and young people. A couple of the main roads are closed to traffic and are just pedestrian. I went there to see St. Anthony and obviously spent a good deal of time at the Basilica. They didn't allow any photography in the church so sorry no pictures of St. Anthony's tongue (yeah its in the reliquary) however it was also nice not to have to worry about trying to take pictures of things and instead just enjoy the moment. There was a special blessing of St. Anthony that I was able to receive, I went to a couple masses in the Church, and spent a lot of time praying and writing in front of the Blessed Sacrament. Sunday mass at the Basilica was especially great. It's a large church but it was filled with faithful there to see St. Anthony (he's such a big deal in Padua they just call him "Il Santo", "The Saint"). Sadly its rare to see any of these old marvelous Italian churches full and alive for the liturgy but when it happens its a special blessing and it seems this happens every weekend in Padua.

Basilica of St. Anthony

Scrovegni Chapel

The town itself was really wonderful though too. There were several concerts going on in different piazzas in the evenings. Saturday there were two huge markets one for fruits and the other for vegetables. Padua also has one of the largest piazzas in Europe the Prato della Valle. There is also an incredible work of art called the Scrovegni Chapel by Giotto. Its a small family chapel that is all that remains of the Scrovegni palace. Giotto was one of the earliest Renaissance fresco masters and this chapel is by far his most impressive surviving work. Its incredible not only for its colors (amazingly vibrant), and its age (its over 800 years old), but also because of the theological framework that its designed around. The intricately detailed figures are organized into three cycles. The topmost is the life of Mary, the middle is the active ministry of Christ, and the lowest is His Passion and Death. The way Giotto parallels the scenes from each three of the cycles is truly remarkable and cause for much longer consideration than the 15 minute time period you are allowed to visit the chapel for.

Recognize this guy? Its there too.

After I visited the Chapel on Saturday
I went and walked through a nearby park to think about the fresco. In one of the most fantastic scenes of Italian life that I've encountered yet, I ran into five members of the "Guardian Angel Safety Patrol" moving a baby grand piano down a gravel path, with steps, to the central fountain of this park. Clad with red berets and beer guts (should it be called a wine gut in Italy? Not sure on that) these balding men finally managed to get the piano moved at which point another Italian sat down and began to play incredible music. It was such a picturesque scene. It was a beautiful, sunny, late-summer day. The perfect day to just sit on a park bench and think (with a soundtrack to boot). Kids were playing in the park, a young woman was making animals out of balloons (apparently for free) and at one point a group of people walked by being led by a man carrying a 10 foot rowing oar (no idea what that was about).  Looking back now a couple months later it really was a very blest weekend: kind people, an awesome saint, fantastic art, beautiful nature; what more could you ask for?

Well that feels good to have finally finished a post, hopefully another will follow shortly but until then, I'll see you in the Eucharist.

To a Saint

Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her. May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.

JMJ+OBT

I was in mass when she passed away. I didn't hear the news for several more hours that my Grandma Butel had died. Her health had been steadily declining for the last several months between a heart condition and pulmonary fibrosis. Our family knew she didn't have much longer here but we weren't expecting it quite so soon. She went to the hospital on Tuesday night and my mom was able to go up and spend Wednesday night with her and another of her sisters. When mom left in the morning she told grandma that she loved her and grandma told mom that she loved her too. She passed away at 11:30am Kansas time. The oldest in the family Aunt Mary was there by her side during her last minutes. She said about seven minutes before grandma died her breathing changed and they knew she was going. About a minute before she died, my aunt said she opened her eyes wide and stared at the ceiling and her last word was "Mom."

I don't know what Grandma saw as she was dying but I know what kind of woman she was and that gives me every reason to believe that some members of the Church Triumphant could have come to take her home. She was everything you would think of when you think of a grandmother: kind, gentle, loving, maternal. She was a small beautiful old lady, with snow white curly hair. She could have easily been a bitter old woman. Her life had given her every excuse to be so. But for all the difficulty involved in raising 13 children on a poor Eastern Kansas dairy farm she had one of the most beautiful souls of anyone I have ever known. I think it was her faith that gave her the strength to be the person she was. She went to mass regularly and made her weekly adoration hour even up to week that she died. When she was in the hospital the first night one of my aunts was reading to her out of a book that she sometimes read before she went to bed. The passage was about how we are to be Christ to others. My aunt told her that was what she had been to all those around her and she responded, "That's what I was supposed to do."

I have lots of fond memories of Grandma like her apple crisp warm out of the oven covered in quickly melting homemade ice cream. Or coming back from Saturday night mass and having frozen pizzas (they never tasted quite as good anywhere else). Or playing seven point pitch with her and my little sister and my uncle. Or the last conversation I had with her in her kitchen before leaving for Rome when she told me how proud she was of all her grandchildren going off and doing things she never would have dreamed of when she was our age. Or the birthday cards we would get from her. We couldn't read her handwriting so mom would translate for us. There was never very much money with the cards and Christmas presents weren't extravagant (I don't know how they managed to do what they did with so many grandkids) but I'll always remember that at some point in the letter she would tell us we were in her prayers.

My memories of Grandma aren't "big" memories but I think that's because that's not the kind of person she was. She left her mark on the world not in big notable ways but rather in the little ways she showed all of us her love, in the quiet sacrifices she made for her kids and grandkids. The family that she raised and the times we spent with them will always be my most lasting memory of grandma. She was a simple woman, from a very simple background. She, along with my other grandparents left me an inheritance more lasting than any material gift. They left me their example, one of lives given to their families and neighbors through good, honest work; an example of simplicity, piety, and charity.

I hope my title was not too bold. I'm not sure that its completely theologically correct but if there is anyone I have know personally in my short life that deserves the title of saint it is her. I also want to say this because I like to think that in a small way I was able to be with her as she entered the eternal wedding feast. I didn't realize it until many hours later when I was able to talk to my mom but when grandma passed away at 11:30am in Kansas that was 6:30pm Rome time. On Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursday we have mass on campus that starts at 6pm. On Thursday we had a new priest who asked for intentions during the prayers of the faithful. It was the first time since I've been in Italy that I've been able to include Grandma in the intentions for the mass and as I prayed, "For my Grandma Butel as her health is declining" little did I know that, that she was literally in the last moments of her life. The consecration for the mass and the subsequent reception of communion would have been immediately as she was passing away. It adds new significance to one of my favorite phrases, "See you in the Eucharist."

May the perpetual Light shine upon her. Amen.