On Thursday of our second week in Rome, we awoke early and headed off to St. Peter's for our second big Mass at the biggest basilica in the world. This time we were there for a Diaconate ordination for the North American College (NAC). Diocese throughout the U.S., Canada, and Australia that send seminarians to study at one of the Pontifical (under the direction of the Pope) universities in Rome have those seminarians live at the NAC. They live, eat, pray, and receive formation at the NAC, then head out to whichever university they are studying at during the day for class. On this day, 16(?) NAC'ers were being elevated to the status of deacon at the Altar of the Chair in the apse of St. Peter's. One year from now (most likely), those deacons will be ordained priests back in their home diocese.
For us it was a special day as a man from the same diocese as some of our group was being ordained along with the man who is doing his apostolate with our group, Justin. He comes every Wednesday to our community night and preaches at the Mass. For the men being ordained, it was their wedding day. They followed in procession with broad smiles and sincere joy behind a few hundred priests (not exaggerating) as the entirely American, English-speaking crowd belted out a rousing chorus of "All Creatures of Our God and King" accompanied by an organist who could coax every last ounce of sound and energy out of those giant pipes. Bishop (soon to be Cardinal) O'Brien presided. The Mass was entirely in English which was music to my ears. At then end of the ordination rite, the new deacons were vested by a priest of their choosing, generally a man who has served as a spiritual father to him. This was a very touching moment. I saw up on the altar no blood relatives, but a lot of fathers none the less bursting with pride for these young men. When the time came for the new deacons to distribute communion for the first time as Ordinary Ministers of Holy Communion (by contrast, when I distribute communion at Mass, I am an extraordinary minister of holy communion; which makes me feel, not inaccurately, like I have superpowers). I made my way through the calm, orderly, American line to receive my Lord, then over to the deacons who were distributing the Precious Blood. I approached a giant of man in a robe who made me think of Little John from the Adventures of Robin Hood. With a tremendous smile and gusto I have never before experienced, he offered me a golden chalice proclaiming with a fitting Australian accent "The Blood of Christ". I felt my spirits lifted by Christ through this man whose heart shone even greater than he stature in a manner that upon later reflection reminded me of Grandpa Hank. I returned to my seat and sat in silence soaking up that sublime smile and sincerity. After communion and a closing blessing, the organ once again struck up and 3000 or more Americans sent the newly ordained out to the world to begin proclaiming the Word of God with "Oh God Beyond all Praising". As this was one of those rare occaisions when more men are in attendance at a Catholic church than women and they were all singing, St. Peter's thundered with Brahm's tune which culminated with trumpet fanfare that very nearly accomplished the very thing claimed impossible in the first line of the song. Personally, I felt ready to slay a dragon then charge off to the Holy Land to be martyred. It was an entirely different experience than the Papal Mass from a few days before. A much more...American experience. All I can say is God Bless America.
In the days that followed we prepared ourselves for the beginning of classes the next week. I wish I could tell you more precisely what we did, but as I write this we have just finished our third week of class. Woops. One thing that did happend was our second Italian lesson, meaning it is time for the second installment of...
The Giovanni Comments of the Week
"The Caribinieri, they very democratic....they club everyone!"
in response to our complaints of being charged for water and bread at the restaurants..."You will not be charged for the air you breath, unless your breathing is very exaggerated, then you will be charged.
On our final day before classes, Fr. Carola led the group on a trip to Norcia. Norcia is a small medieval town in the mountains of Umbria where Sts. Benedict and Scholastica were born. The town is markedly different from Rome. I would go so far as to say that Norcia is much more Italian than is Rome. Most importantly, Norcia was quiet and peaceful. We had very little scheduled for the day, just a Mass at noon followed by a meal, then Vespers at 5:30. This gave us some time to wander.
The Franciscan in me drove me to make a bee-line outside the walls of the city to go for a rosary walk through the valley. As I walked, I started to realize how much I miss open spaces. Rome is very cramped. I grew up in North Dakota, which is the opposite of cramped. I remembered Grandpa Kemp driving Joe and I west of town in the the early days of his Explorer Sportrac to a point where we could see for miles in every direction and telling us to count the number of lights we could see. Though it was the dead of night, we counted only three. I think it is somewhat an American phenomena, but I like my space. Norcia was a great escape.
Not only did Norcia sport open space, but there were also MOUNTAINS!!! I love mountains. I love climbing mountains. Later that afternoon, as Fr. Carola led a group on a walk through that same valley I had been in earlier, I started to get that itch; so I turned to Fr. Carola and asked if it would be a problem if I climbed that mountain over there. He smiled and said "Do whatever your heart desires." So I ran up the mountain. I actually only made it about 2/3 of the way up. It hadn't taken me long to ditch the road for what I thought to be a foot path. Apparently, it was formerly a foot path that had since become overgrown. Still I made it a good distance and found an excellent view of walled Norcia before turning around. When I got back, my dress khakis where full of mud (thanks for the Tide Pen Mom) and my Livestrong t-shirt that I providentaily put on that day was full of sweat, but my heart was beaming.
Mass was at the church of St. Benedict with the order of Benedictine friars that had repopulated the monastery in Norcia just 7 years before. The chruch itself was simple and elegant. The Mass was elegant. Three friars led the congregation in beautiful chant that filled the large nave. Two young novices served flawlessly for the presiding rector who could have starred in Indiana Jones. Throughout the Mass, enough insence was burned to produce more smoke than the people of Rome in a day. It was a very solemn, very moving liturgy.
Even more moving was the scene just outside after Mass. There we met the one Benedictine in town who was not at the Mass. This young priest was taking over as pastor of a parish in Norcia that night. He was also a spiritual directee of Fr. Carola. Father Carola had been like a father to the man since he had arrived in Italy from America, so he was overjoyed to have him in town on this important day in his life. The brother earnestly asked Father for his blessing. Right there in the town square, he knelt down and the priest layed his hands upon him and sad an emotional blessing which he finished with a kiss on top of the humble friar's head. Once again, I witnessed the sort of depth characteristic of a proper father/son relationship and was reminded that such depth goes beyond blood relationships.
Their meeting was cut short as we needed to make our way over to the convent of the Poor Clares' where lunch was waiting for us. The day before, Father Carola had called ahead to the Mother Prioress of the Poor Clares asking her if they would anticipate vespers (start evening prayer early) by 30 minutes so we could pray with them before catching our bus at 6:10. The Mother responded as would any Italian woman, habit or apron, "Yes, of course, but where will the children eat." Father informed her that we had a picnic lunched packed which we were planning to eat the piazza. This, of course, was unacceptable as we must have something hot with our meal. So we arrived at the convent where Father was given a key to the refectory where we found a large pasta dish, fresh fruit, bread, water, wine, fizzy wine, and desserts. In addition, Fr. Carola passed around some wild boar sausage which Norcia is famous for. Later that evening, we joined them for evening prayer, we in a chapel in front of the altar, they behind the gate in the two trancepts. Father Carola was behind the grate to preside and Jake Voelker became probably the first layman to ever set foot back there when he went to hold Father's breviary at the blessing. We did not dare send back one of the women for fear the the Poor Clares, badly in need of vocations, might throw a habit on her and we'd never see her again. As it was, we caught only glimpses of the existing Poor Clares, but we are keeping their intentions and vocations in our prayers. Thank you again for reading.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
On Elephants and Indians
Monday morning dawned on our first Italian class with Giovanni Ceretti. With our group of 26 too large to effectively learn a language in a single class, we've been split into two groups delicately labeled Group 1 and Group A. This is of course intended to prevent anyone from thinking that one group is better than the other, which we probably would not have done had the groups been called "1 and 2" or "A and B". But the euphemistic labelling has gotten me thinking and I've decided that Group A is clearly superior.
Intensive Italian is a course designed to in four months time bring us from having no knowledge of Italian to being capable of basic, essential communication in Italy (i.e. "More wine please." "Yes, I'll have gelato." and "Where is the water closet?"). This task is accomplished through two 4-hour class periods per week. That has snooze-potential written all over it. But not with Giovanni. He is the most bubbly, eccentric professor I have ever been taught by. He entered our class a few minutes late panting and flopped a stack of photocopies on the desk before announcing to the class that the photocopy place was very far away. At this point his phone hanging from the lanyard around his neck rang, so he answered. After a short conversation in Italian which none of us understood, he hung up and announced to the class that the plague was running through his house and two of his daughters were sick, which justified his answering the phone during class. Then the lesson commenced.
An substance of an Italian course with Giovanni is nothing unusual from what one would expect from a language course, what makes the 4 hours fly by is Giovanni. Respond incorrectly to a question and you risk being buzzed, muted with his remote control, or shot with his thumb and forefinger gun. He has great pride for Italy and its culture and is refreshingly un-PC in expressing his feelings of superiority. Many of the comments he makes are hilarious but could get him fired if he were teaching in the U.S. I've decided to write down my favorites and make them a weekly feature this blog. So here you have it; the first installment of...
The Giovanni Comments of the Week:
"I have only ten copies, so I will have to kill four of you."
"Where logic ends, British phonetics begins."
Ohhh, Giovanni. How we love thee.
At 4:15, Giovanni gave us our first homework and dismissed the class. The semarians were meeting with Fr. Carola at 7:00 for formation and did not want to walk the :45 minuts back to Bernardi, so we decided to find a place to do homework instead. We ended up in the Piazza Quirinale, a site decidedly not conducive to homework, but our assignment was at about an 8th grade level, so that was not a problem. Part of our assignment included reading a passage about Italian use of hand gestures (which we read out loud together) then matching a number of hand gestures with their meanings. We hadn't talked about this in class, so we were essentially clueless. Eventually I decided to ask one of the Caribinieri (the military police) patrolling the piazza for some help. I explained that I was an American studying Italian, then demonstrated one of the gestures at random asking him what it meant. The one I picked was a closed fist with the index and pointer fingers sticking up, like the "Rock On" sign with the thumb tucked in. The guard started a bit then said "That is very bad sign. Very bad." We explained the scenario to Giovanni during the next class and he got a good laugh. Apparently that hand gesture would be used, for instance, if someone were to cut you off in traffic. What it means is that while you are here cutting me off, your wife or husband is at home cheating on you. I had strolled right up to the military police and, essentially, flipped him off. Giovanni was surprised I had not been clubbed.
When the seminarians went to formation, the rest of us lay people went to dinner at L'Archetto. Mmmm...delicioso. It was the best meal I have had thus far in Italy. I have already gone back once and will probably go back about once a week.
Tuesday we had Mass at the Angelicum and introduction to Church and Culture in Italy with the Rossi Sisters (a class that consists almost entirely of visiting various sites around Rome and witnessing how the Church has literally shaped Rome and the Romans and vice versa). We also the introduction to European Politics in the early 20th Century with Sister Helen. Both of these "introductions" were in fact "class". We were given homework :-( All in all it was probably the most normal day we have had since arriving in Rome. Heck, I managed to describe it in a single paragraph.
Wednesday we had scheduled our second Italian class. I woke at 7:00 and headed downstairs for some breakfast where what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a sign on the bulletin board saying Italian was cancelled for the day. The black death had lingered over the Ceretti household (don't worry, his girls have all since recovered). We had an entire day ahead with nothing to do. People started throwing around the possibilty of making a trip to the beach and everyone quickly latched on to that idea. By 9:45, we were on our way to catch a Mass near Bernardi before changing and heading off to Lido di Ostia.
We could not have been blessed with a more perfect day. The weather was sunny with a high in the low 80's and light breeze. It was a Wednesday in October, past the beach season, so the beach was fairly open. Twenty students plus the Martens' (Dr. Martens is a St. Thomas professor who is spending the semester in Rome at Bernardi with us and teaching one of our classes. His wife and 11 year old son Sam are along as well) arrived from the hour long journey on public transportation (it costs only 1 euro each way!). We immediately dropped our stuff and ran out into into sea. I got a few feet in before being tripped up by one of the random boulders that dotted the otherwise perfectly sandy beach. Upon further inspection, the boulder I tripped over appeared to part of an old column or a cement footing. Only in Italy.
After our initial splash, a game of ultimate frisbee was organized (Italian Group A vs. Italian Group 1). I've decided that ultimate is one of the better large group sports to play, particularly when both men and women are present. Everyone can be active. Everyone can contribute. Noone needs worry about getting hurt (though Will and Angie - teammates - had a sterling collision in the endzone). It was a good match. We followed that up with a picnic lunch of bread, salami, cheese, pesto, nutella, oranges, and drinks. The rest of day we passed building sandcastles, napping in the sun, walking out to the pier. Eventually we made our way back to Bernardi a little sandy but totally content. Thank you God for sick days and beaches. And thank you for reading.
Intensive Italian is a course designed to in four months time bring us from having no knowledge of Italian to being capable of basic, essential communication in Italy (i.e. "More wine please." "Yes, I'll have gelato." and "Where is the water closet?"). This task is accomplished through two 4-hour class periods per week. That has snooze-potential written all over it. But not with Giovanni. He is the most bubbly, eccentric professor I have ever been taught by. He entered our class a few minutes late panting and flopped a stack of photocopies on the desk before announcing to the class that the photocopy place was very far away. At this point his phone hanging from the lanyard around his neck rang, so he answered. After a short conversation in Italian which none of us understood, he hung up and announced to the class that the plague was running through his house and two of his daughters were sick, which justified his answering the phone during class. Then the lesson commenced.
An substance of an Italian course with Giovanni is nothing unusual from what one would expect from a language course, what makes the 4 hours fly by is Giovanni. Respond incorrectly to a question and you risk being buzzed, muted with his remote control, or shot with his thumb and forefinger gun. He has great pride for Italy and its culture and is refreshingly un-PC in expressing his feelings of superiority. Many of the comments he makes are hilarious but could get him fired if he were teaching in the U.S. I've decided to write down my favorites and make them a weekly feature this blog. So here you have it; the first installment of...
The Giovanni Comments of the Week:
"I have only ten copies, so I will have to kill four of you."
"Where logic ends, British phonetics begins."
Ohhh, Giovanni. How we love thee.
At 4:15, Giovanni gave us our first homework and dismissed the class. The semarians were meeting with Fr. Carola at 7:00 for formation and did not want to walk the :45 minuts back to Bernardi, so we decided to find a place to do homework instead. We ended up in the Piazza Quirinale, a site decidedly not conducive to homework, but our assignment was at about an 8th grade level, so that was not a problem. Part of our assignment included reading a passage about Italian use of hand gestures (which we read out loud together) then matching a number of hand gestures with their meanings. We hadn't talked about this in class, so we were essentially clueless. Eventually I decided to ask one of the Caribinieri (the military police) patrolling the piazza for some help. I explained that I was an American studying Italian, then demonstrated one of the gestures at random asking him what it meant. The one I picked was a closed fist with the index and pointer fingers sticking up, like the "Rock On" sign with the thumb tucked in. The guard started a bit then said "That is very bad sign. Very bad." We explained the scenario to Giovanni during the next class and he got a good laugh. Apparently that hand gesture would be used, for instance, if someone were to cut you off in traffic. What it means is that while you are here cutting me off, your wife or husband is at home cheating on you. I had strolled right up to the military police and, essentially, flipped him off. Giovanni was surprised I had not been clubbed.
When the seminarians went to formation, the rest of us lay people went to dinner at L'Archetto. Mmmm...delicioso. It was the best meal I have had thus far in Italy. I have already gone back once and will probably go back about once a week.
Tuesday we had Mass at the Angelicum and introduction to Church and Culture in Italy with the Rossi Sisters (a class that consists almost entirely of visiting various sites around Rome and witnessing how the Church has literally shaped Rome and the Romans and vice versa). We also the introduction to European Politics in the early 20th Century with Sister Helen. Both of these "introductions" were in fact "class". We were given homework :-( All in all it was probably the most normal day we have had since arriving in Rome. Heck, I managed to describe it in a single paragraph.
Wednesday we had scheduled our second Italian class. I woke at 7:00 and headed downstairs for some breakfast where what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a sign on the bulletin board saying Italian was cancelled for the day. The black death had lingered over the Ceretti household (don't worry, his girls have all since recovered). We had an entire day ahead with nothing to do. People started throwing around the possibilty of making a trip to the beach and everyone quickly latched on to that idea. By 9:45, we were on our way to catch a Mass near Bernardi before changing and heading off to Lido di Ostia.
We could not have been blessed with a more perfect day. The weather was sunny with a high in the low 80's and light breeze. It was a Wednesday in October, past the beach season, so the beach was fairly open. Twenty students plus the Martens' (Dr. Martens is a St. Thomas professor who is spending the semester in Rome at Bernardi with us and teaching one of our classes. His wife and 11 year old son Sam are along as well) arrived from the hour long journey on public transportation (it costs only 1 euro each way!). We immediately dropped our stuff and ran out into into sea. I got a few feet in before being tripped up by one of the random boulders that dotted the otherwise perfectly sandy beach. Upon further inspection, the boulder I tripped over appeared to part of an old column or a cement footing. Only in Italy.
After our initial splash, a game of ultimate frisbee was organized (Italian Group A vs. Italian Group 1). I've decided that ultimate is one of the better large group sports to play, particularly when both men and women are present. Everyone can be active. Everyone can contribute. Noone needs worry about getting hurt (though Will and Angie - teammates - had a sterling collision in the endzone). It was a good match. We followed that up with a picnic lunch of bread, salami, cheese, pesto, nutella, oranges, and drinks. The rest of day we passed building sandcastles, napping in the sun, walking out to the pier. Eventually we made our way back to Bernardi a little sandy but totally content. Thank you God for sick days and beaches. And thank you for reading.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
On Italian Dining and Inner Peace
Our first Saturday in Rome, we were already given the chance to attend a Papal Mass. John Paul II performed these fairly regularly, particularly early in his pontificate, but the ability to travel has in the 30 years since JPII's election brought the throng of tourists to such a swell that it is no longer possible for the Holy Father to stroll through St. Peter's Square. The frequency of Papal Masses seems to have also been affected as Benedict performs public Masses only for special occaisions.
One such occaision happened to land on our first weekend in Rome. The Pope was ordaining new bishops for the first time during his pontificate. Father Carola was able to obtain enough tickets for all to attend, so by 7:30 on Saturday morning, we had joined the queue outside security in St. Peter's Square. The gates opened at 8:00 to a throng of nuns and clerics pressing to obtain a seat near the front. Habits and cassocks fluttered as ordinarily reserved men and women shoved, elbowed and sprinted for a chance to get a seat near the center aisle where could be found the best view of the Pope as he processed in.
We found ourselves toward the back of the madness where things were a bit more civilized. An armed guard waved the woman in front of me through then indifferently asked her to continue along when she stopped after having set off the metal detector. We found seats near the center aisle toward the back of St. Peter's. It was 8:15. The Mass was not beginning until 10:00.
Time actually passed fairly quickly as I took in the most massive church in the world for the first time. It is truly enormous. From where we were seated, I had some difficulty making out the Pope at the High Altar where the Mass was being presided; he was well over 100 meters away. To give some sense of the immensity of the place, that high altar is located 2/3 of the way from the entrance to the back of the Church. Another altar (The Altar of the Chair), is located on the back wall of the Church. On Thursday, a number of us attended the ordination of deacons from the North American College at this altar. The congregation stretched from the altar of the Chair to the High altar (approximately 1/3 of the nave) and it was probably the largest congregation I have ever been a part of. A few thousand were in attendance. The procession included the 21 deacons to be ordained, 8 bishops, the presiding archbishop, hundreds of priests and dozens of other deacons or seminarians serving the Mass. All this fit easily into the back third of St. Peter's. It is huge.
As the Papal Mass began, the lights suddenly brightened and everyone stood expectantly. The Pope was proceeded by a number of cardinals in attendance. At last the the Pope appeared, smiling and sending nuns on either side of the aisle into a delirium of joy. The Mass itself was beautiful. It was in Latin. The Sistine Chapel choir sang beautifully. Sadly, all the grandiosity and the hubbub prevented me from entering into the liturgy. I was a long way from the action listening to words I could not understand in a chair that was a bit too small in an environment that was extremely distracting. I was not prepared for this, so in spite of the beauty of the ceremony and the impressiveness of the whole scene, I had a difficult time finding the presence of God. In the simple chapel at the Missionaries of Charity, I felt as though I could taste Christ's presence. At the most magnificent Church in the world, He was only vaguely present. What a curious thing such feelings are.
The afternoon passed quickly with more orientation. That evening a few folks began murmuring of finding a place to have dinner. Fr. Carola offered to show the way to a local ristorante owned by a friend of his if a few people were looking to have dinner. He dispatched a seminarian to find those interested in such a venture and he returned with 17 more. Off we went for a most authentic taste of Italian dining.
The restaurant was in a tiny alley near the Piazza Navona. When we arrived, we found 10 or so tables for 2-4 mostly filled with patrons. This was a tiny place. We were a group of 19. Father entered, embraced the wife and greeted the owner and informed him of our intention to dine. We were in luck. His private room was empty at the moment. It would take only a few minutes to set the table for us. True to his word, a few minutes later the small, animated owner ushered us in to the back of the restaurant past a shelf stocked with many normal wine bottles and one monstrous bottle to a long table which barely fit from end to end in the room. Menus were handed out, but proved to be a formality as with a group that size it would be much easier on their simple if all ordered the same dish. Providentially, the owner had just gone out that day to buy food for a group our size coming in the following day for lunch. He suggested that we simply eat what was intened for the next day, to this we agreed.
Now we had to decide on wine. The man was most excited to inform us that he had a gigantic bottle of Chianti that would be just right for a group our size. After discussing the cost, we agreed, and sure enough the giant 5L bottle we spotted on our way in was brought to the table. It was very good wine, yet I still had trepidations as to whether we were up to the task of conquering such a behemoth. But I needn't have worried. We are all Catholic after all and proved more than up to the task.
Our meal began with the antipasti, bruschetta. Bolstered with a bit of extra olive oil, it was delicious. Conversation was pleasant and relaxed. After an ample amount of time, the owner and one of the wait staff returned to bus our dishes and begin serving the primi piatti, a simple penne pomodoro (pasta with red sauce). I was very impressed to find the owner of the restaurant a most amiable man who worked right alongside his staff. Taking orders, busing tables, chatting with patrons; he seemed the sort of man one could be proud to work for.
The pasta course was wonderful. Conversation was burgeoning as wine glasses were sent back to be refilled. Much conversation centered around the giant bottle. Thankfully, Will, a man of great functional strength, was seated near the middle to pour the wine, for a lesser man could hardly accomplish such a feat. A few of the women wished to save room for the meat course, so John and I happily finished their portion making everyone at our end of the table members of the Clean Plate Club. The secondi piatti was roasted pork served alongside mashed potatoes drizzled with some sort of glaze that I probably ate to quickly to taste (after which, I toasted to my father...inside family joke). By the time we finished the final course, the wine had all but run drop. Will poured the final drop into Matt Wanner's glass to a raucous applause from the dinner party. We quickly digressed to posing for pictures with the giant bottle as though glorying in the spoils of our victory. Care for the bottle was entrusted to Jared Johnson, who shepherded it as he would a child all the way back to Bernardi. On our way, we stopped for gelato near the Pantheon (by near, I mean twenty feet away).
And so, we wrapped up a proper night in Rome. All went back content and considerably lighter in the wallet. Such a dinner will probably happen once more if at all on our trip, but it was an experience to treasure complete with a keepsake tucked safely in Jared's room.
The next day was Sunday and we were, for the most part, free. I awoke that morning, said morning prayer from the breviary, then looked ahead to the day. We had orientation at 2:30 until Mass at 6:00 followed by dinner. Until 2:30, I had no obligations. This, I believe, will be the greatest blessing of my time in Rome. At school, I have so many things to think about each day from classwork to clubs to reserach to housework to feeding myself that it is difficult to find times for prayer and what's worse, those times I set aside for God I have a hard time pulling my mind away from the rest of my life to focus on what is most important. Here in Rome, I will have homework to do and that is about all. Service work will happen, but is less an obligation than an reward. I have nothing more to do beyond that than find a place to eat. I don't even need to cook for myself. Life is greatly simplified. The combined affect of this simplicity with the grace of the many prayers being said to God for my intention are already leaving me with a sense of peace and a fervor for holiness that I have not had in quite some time. How wonderful it is. I have been very happy thus far in Rome. A peaceful sort of happiness. So thank you to all who have kept me in their prayers.
I spent Sunday morning reading a novel loaned to me by Nick Michels called Fr. Elijah. It is a wonderful piece of apocalyptic literature that I will shamelessly plug here in this blog as a book for all to read. I prayed a Rosary and felt great consolation afterward. The peace in my heart lasted throughout the day. To cap off the wondeful day, after sending an e-mail to my parents, I talked on the phone with Rachel for the first time since arriving lifting my spirits to even greater heights. I went to bed that night close to God and to those that I love; I was a blessed and happy man. Thank you for reading.
One such occaision happened to land on our first weekend in Rome. The Pope was ordaining new bishops for the first time during his pontificate. Father Carola was able to obtain enough tickets for all to attend, so by 7:30 on Saturday morning, we had joined the queue outside security in St. Peter's Square. The gates opened at 8:00 to a throng of nuns and clerics pressing to obtain a seat near the front. Habits and cassocks fluttered as ordinarily reserved men and women shoved, elbowed and sprinted for a chance to get a seat near the center aisle where could be found the best view of the Pope as he processed in.
We found ourselves toward the back of the madness where things were a bit more civilized. An armed guard waved the woman in front of me through then indifferently asked her to continue along when she stopped after having set off the metal detector. We found seats near the center aisle toward the back of St. Peter's. It was 8:15. The Mass was not beginning until 10:00.
Time actually passed fairly quickly as I took in the most massive church in the world for the first time. It is truly enormous. From where we were seated, I had some difficulty making out the Pope at the High Altar where the Mass was being presided; he was well over 100 meters away. To give some sense of the immensity of the place, that high altar is located 2/3 of the way from the entrance to the back of the Church. Another altar (The Altar of the Chair), is located on the back wall of the Church. On Thursday, a number of us attended the ordination of deacons from the North American College at this altar. The congregation stretched from the altar of the Chair to the High altar (approximately 1/3 of the nave) and it was probably the largest congregation I have ever been a part of. A few thousand were in attendance. The procession included the 21 deacons to be ordained, 8 bishops, the presiding archbishop, hundreds of priests and dozens of other deacons or seminarians serving the Mass. All this fit easily into the back third of St. Peter's. It is huge.
As the Papal Mass began, the lights suddenly brightened and everyone stood expectantly. The Pope was proceeded by a number of cardinals in attendance. At last the the Pope appeared, smiling and sending nuns on either side of the aisle into a delirium of joy. The Mass itself was beautiful. It was in Latin. The Sistine Chapel choir sang beautifully. Sadly, all the grandiosity and the hubbub prevented me from entering into the liturgy. I was a long way from the action listening to words I could not understand in a chair that was a bit too small in an environment that was extremely distracting. I was not prepared for this, so in spite of the beauty of the ceremony and the impressiveness of the whole scene, I had a difficult time finding the presence of God. In the simple chapel at the Missionaries of Charity, I felt as though I could taste Christ's presence. At the most magnificent Church in the world, He was only vaguely present. What a curious thing such feelings are.
The afternoon passed quickly with more orientation. That evening a few folks began murmuring of finding a place to have dinner. Fr. Carola offered to show the way to a local ristorante owned by a friend of his if a few people were looking to have dinner. He dispatched a seminarian to find those interested in such a venture and he returned with 17 more. Off we went for a most authentic taste of Italian dining.
The restaurant was in a tiny alley near the Piazza Navona. When we arrived, we found 10 or so tables for 2-4 mostly filled with patrons. This was a tiny place. We were a group of 19. Father entered, embraced the wife and greeted the owner and informed him of our intention to dine. We were in luck. His private room was empty at the moment. It would take only a few minutes to set the table for us. True to his word, a few minutes later the small, animated owner ushered us in to the back of the restaurant past a shelf stocked with many normal wine bottles and one monstrous bottle to a long table which barely fit from end to end in the room. Menus were handed out, but proved to be a formality as with a group that size it would be much easier on their simple if all ordered the same dish. Providentially, the owner had just gone out that day to buy food for a group our size coming in the following day for lunch. He suggested that we simply eat what was intened for the next day, to this we agreed.
Now we had to decide on wine. The man was most excited to inform us that he had a gigantic bottle of Chianti that would be just right for a group our size. After discussing the cost, we agreed, and sure enough the giant 5L bottle we spotted on our way in was brought to the table. It was very good wine, yet I still had trepidations as to whether we were up to the task of conquering such a behemoth. But I needn't have worried. We are all Catholic after all and proved more than up to the task.
Our meal began with the antipasti, bruschetta. Bolstered with a bit of extra olive oil, it was delicious. Conversation was pleasant and relaxed. After an ample amount of time, the owner and one of the wait staff returned to bus our dishes and begin serving the primi piatti, a simple penne pomodoro (pasta with red sauce). I was very impressed to find the owner of the restaurant a most amiable man who worked right alongside his staff. Taking orders, busing tables, chatting with patrons; he seemed the sort of man one could be proud to work for.
The pasta course was wonderful. Conversation was burgeoning as wine glasses were sent back to be refilled. Much conversation centered around the giant bottle. Thankfully, Will, a man of great functional strength, was seated near the middle to pour the wine, for a lesser man could hardly accomplish such a feat. A few of the women wished to save room for the meat course, so John and I happily finished their portion making everyone at our end of the table members of the Clean Plate Club. The secondi piatti was roasted pork served alongside mashed potatoes drizzled with some sort of glaze that I probably ate to quickly to taste (after which, I toasted to my father...inside family joke). By the time we finished the final course, the wine had all but run drop. Will poured the final drop into Matt Wanner's glass to a raucous applause from the dinner party. We quickly digressed to posing for pictures with the giant bottle as though glorying in the spoils of our victory. Care for the bottle was entrusted to Jared Johnson, who shepherded it as he would a child all the way back to Bernardi. On our way, we stopped for gelato near the Pantheon (by near, I mean twenty feet away).
And so, we wrapped up a proper night in Rome. All went back content and considerably lighter in the wallet. Such a dinner will probably happen once more if at all on our trip, but it was an experience to treasure complete with a keepsake tucked safely in Jared's room.
The next day was Sunday and we were, for the most part, free. I awoke that morning, said morning prayer from the breviary, then looked ahead to the day. We had orientation at 2:30 until Mass at 6:00 followed by dinner. Until 2:30, I had no obligations. This, I believe, will be the greatest blessing of my time in Rome. At school, I have so many things to think about each day from classwork to clubs to reserach to housework to feeding myself that it is difficult to find times for prayer and what's worse, those times I set aside for God I have a hard time pulling my mind away from the rest of my life to focus on what is most important. Here in Rome, I will have homework to do and that is about all. Service work will happen, but is less an obligation than an reward. I have nothing more to do beyond that than find a place to eat. I don't even need to cook for myself. Life is greatly simplified. The combined affect of this simplicity with the grace of the many prayers being said to God for my intention are already leaving me with a sense of peace and a fervor for holiness that I have not had in quite some time. How wonderful it is. I have been very happy thus far in Rome. A peaceful sort of happiness. So thank you to all who have kept me in their prayers.
I spent Sunday morning reading a novel loaned to me by Nick Michels called Fr. Elijah. It is a wonderful piece of apocalyptic literature that I will shamelessly plug here in this blog as a book for all to read. I prayed a Rosary and felt great consolation afterward. The peace in my heart lasted throughout the day. To cap off the wondeful day, after sending an e-mail to my parents, I talked on the phone with Rachel for the first time since arriving lifting my spirits to even greater heights. I went to bed that night close to God and to those that I love; I was a blessed and happy man. Thank you for reading.
Monday, October 1, 2007
On Tours and Inspiration
Already, I have developed a bad habit of beginning posts and not finishing them. I have two from the past 6 days that I have started and failed to finish. Perhaps if I didn't write so much, I would not run out of time. Anyhow, here is the completed version of a post begun last Friday. Enjoy.
I cannot believe how action packed these first few days have been. The amount of sites we've seen, things we've done, and food we've eaten in less than a week mystifies my mind as I look back upon it. We have been busy; and yet, it is not the sort of busy-ness that propogates anxiety or tension (believe me, I know that sort of busy-ness well). Five days into this semester, I find myself more at peace internally than I have been in quite a while which I have no doubt is thanks to the many prayers and intercessions you have been sending up for me. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Know that I will continue to need them, even moreso than in this first week, as we start classes and the initial high is replaced by the tedium of a weekly routine. It is in that routine where character will truly be tested and grace is needed more than ever. So keep those prayers coming. Know that I too will be praying for you.
I suppose I should recount to you the events of the weekend. Friday morning began with Thanos splitting the 25 students into 4 groups and appointing a leader to each group in charge of successfully navigating to the Colosseum by 9:45. I was placed under the able leadership of Shannon "Oh Captain, my Captain" Barr who more than up to the challenge. Our route took us through the Piazza del Popolo and on to the Spanish Steps, which were not nearly so crowded at 9 AM as they had been at 3PM the day before (strange...).
After crossing the Via del Tritone, we worked our way into the small piazza where lies the Trevi Fountain. I have to admit, I had read much about the fountain before leaving for Rome, but I was still extremely impressed with the Trevi Fountain the first time I stumbled upon it. It is big and beautiful and is justifiably one of Rome's greatest tourist attractions. Hopefully I will not fall prey to the contempt bred by familiarity as I pass Neptune and his winged horses each day on the way to class.
Those of you who have been on the Catholic Studies Rome semester will recognize that this is indeed the route to the Ang. We passed by it and continued down the Quirinal Hill to reach the Colosseum. For those who have not seen it, the Colosseum is big. In comparison with my favorite large, round building, the Metrodome, I would say that the Colosseum covers less ground area but it is taller. I had not read up on the history of the building before we began our trek and did not take time once we arrived to reflect on the incredible significance of the place without which it is really nothing more than a giant, crumbling bit of rock. I was impressed by the grandeur of the Colosseum, but maybe next time I'll have to watch Gladiator first.
Near the Colosseum, we were met by a young, Italian archaeologist who showed us around to a few churches near the Colosseum. We began at the Santo Stephano Rotondo, one of the only circular churches in Rome. S. Stephano is dedicated to the first Christian martyr (besides Christ). The role of martyrs in the early Church was a big one, as the Roman empire alternated between ignoring Christians and killing them. Those who were unlucky enough to find themselves in the reign of a less sympathetic emperor and lost their lives were venerated for their willingness to sacrifice everything, even their life, for God. The entire circumfrence of S. Stephano is painted with large murals of the early Christian martyrs beginning with Christ. Under the Church have recently been discovered the ruins of a 3rd Century temple of the Cult of Mithras. This cult was practiced in Rome primarily by soldiers from the Middle East stationed in a barracks on this hilltop. We were given special permission to go down into the 1800 year old temple. The cult venerated a man, Mithras, who was born out of a rock and went on to save mankind by, among other things, catching and sacrificing a bull by his own power. Wanting for bulls, the soldiers instead cut the heads off of chickens and we were able to see wells where the blood was to run into. A few fragile murals on the wall depict the sun and moon as the cycles of the day were very important to Mithraen worship. It was an interesting site to see, and being told a bit more about it made this crumbling pile of rocks carry much more significance than they otherwise might have.
Next we moved on to Quattro Coronati, a church dedicated to four unknown martyrs. When Constantine converted the Roman empire to Christianity, these four men converted. The subsequent emperor demanded the return of Pagan worship, and when these four refused, they were killed (note again, the importance of martyrs). The inside of the main chapel was beautiful, yet intimate. St. Peter's is also beautiful, but imposing. This church I could feel a bit more at home in. We were allowed to walk about the cloister (inner courtyard) of the Augustinian sisters who care for the church. After leaving the cloister, we spoke to a nun through a grate and exchanged a donation for a key through a barrel wheel (read: ancient lazy susan) which historically was used by women unable to care for their baby to pass the baby on to the nuns inside who would care for the child. Just a cool little story from our tour guide.
Our tour took us also to the foundations of the Temple of Claudius, but by this time many of us (or maybe just me) were needing a break. My lack of attention was apparent as I spent the short description of the temple wathcing men in a nearby part dressed up in superhero costumes shooting a scene for a movie. Finally, we broke and went our separate ways.
Shannon Barr, Jake Voekler, Anne Carepentier, and I were not in the mood to return to Bernardi, so we walked along the Roman Forum, ascended the Capitoline Hill, then went to dinner in Trastevere. There we had some good pasta and a friendly waitress who taught us the proper term for the bill "conto or bille" then crushed our spirits by bringing it to us (it was more than we had expected). We were to meet Fr. Carola at the Gregorian Univeristy at 4:00, so we made our way there with the intent to grab some gelato. It was my first gelato in Rome. Heavenly. For those who don't know, gelato is like ice cream blessed by an entire host of angels. Two scoops of two flavors is the standard portion; I decided upon Strawberry and Lemon (sorry Rachel). Magnifico!! Bellisimo!! What else can I say? It was wonderful. I have gone back many times since.
Gelato in hand, we met Fr. Carola and the rest of the group in front of the Greg and he took us to visit the Missionaries of Charity - the order of nuns founded by Blessed Mother Theresa of Calcutta. I do not hesitate to say that this has been the most profound experience of my time in Rome thus far. The MC's live in a home that exemplifies their intentional poverty. Two small shanties, 15-20 yards long and 5-10 yards wide are connected by a cement path with an inadequate, plexiglass roof. Two channels run along the sides of the cement path to direct the water out of their hovel that cannot be kept out by the roof. We were directed into a small, austere chapel with a simple altar in front of a crucifix flanked by a tabernacle. The floors were covered with large sections of carpet not affixed to the floor. On the wall opposite the tabernacle hung a picture of Mother Theresa over a relic of the saintly foundress of this Order. The lodgings could not have been much more meager. Yet, they were well kept and orderly. And there was not even the hint of a feeling of distress or despair in the place, only a profound peace.
When we were all seated, a Croatian sister entered and knelt silently in front of the tabernacle in prayer. After a few moments, she looked up smiling and asked Fr. Carola to lead the group in prayer, which he did so. The sister then told us a bit of her own experience with Mother Theresa and of the work of the Missionaries of Charity. She spoke in clear but simple English. Yet I was moved by this woman and her words. Perhaps it was the bubbling joy with which she spoke of the her foundress. This joy was so simple, because it came from the simplicity of her life. Materially, she had not but what she absolutly needed. For work, she served the poor. This was her simple life, and in that life there was incredible peace and joy. The small hostel in which the sisters lived was palpable with this serenity. The key moment for understanding that peace came at the very beginning. There is nothing objectively joyful about having almost nothing and doing difficult work all day, every day. I don't think any of us would object to that. The source of her joy can be found in those first few moments of silent prayer. That joy came from her incredible closeness to Christ. The simple life and service to the poor were a way to Him. This is something I could have learned in any chatechism class, but to see these principles in action and feel His presence truly radiating through them was inspiring. Part of our program includes the opportunity to do service work with they or another order of nuns. I plan to take part in that opportunity.
It appears I have made no progress in learning to write more succinctly. If I am to keep up, however, I will be forced to. Thank you again for reading.
I cannot believe how action packed these first few days have been. The amount of sites we've seen, things we've done, and food we've eaten in less than a week mystifies my mind as I look back upon it. We have been busy; and yet, it is not the sort of busy-ness that propogates anxiety or tension (believe me, I know that sort of busy-ness well). Five days into this semester, I find myself more at peace internally than I have been in quite a while which I have no doubt is thanks to the many prayers and intercessions you have been sending up for me. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Know that I will continue to need them, even moreso than in this first week, as we start classes and the initial high is replaced by the tedium of a weekly routine. It is in that routine where character will truly be tested and grace is needed more than ever. So keep those prayers coming. Know that I too will be praying for you.
I suppose I should recount to you the events of the weekend. Friday morning began with Thanos splitting the 25 students into 4 groups and appointing a leader to each group in charge of successfully navigating to the Colosseum by 9:45. I was placed under the able leadership of Shannon "Oh Captain, my Captain" Barr who more than up to the challenge. Our route took us through the Piazza del Popolo and on to the Spanish Steps, which were not nearly so crowded at 9 AM as they had been at 3PM the day before (strange...).
After crossing the Via del Tritone, we worked our way into the small piazza where lies the Trevi Fountain. I have to admit, I had read much about the fountain before leaving for Rome, but I was still extremely impressed with the Trevi Fountain the first time I stumbled upon it. It is big and beautiful and is justifiably one of Rome's greatest tourist attractions. Hopefully I will not fall prey to the contempt bred by familiarity as I pass Neptune and his winged horses each day on the way to class.
Those of you who have been on the Catholic Studies Rome semester will recognize that this is indeed the route to the Ang. We passed by it and continued down the Quirinal Hill to reach the Colosseum. For those who have not seen it, the Colosseum is big. In comparison with my favorite large, round building, the Metrodome, I would say that the Colosseum covers less ground area but it is taller. I had not read up on the history of the building before we began our trek and did not take time once we arrived to reflect on the incredible significance of the place without which it is really nothing more than a giant, crumbling bit of rock. I was impressed by the grandeur of the Colosseum, but maybe next time I'll have to watch Gladiator first.
Near the Colosseum, we were met by a young, Italian archaeologist who showed us around to a few churches near the Colosseum. We began at the Santo Stephano Rotondo, one of the only circular churches in Rome. S. Stephano is dedicated to the first Christian martyr (besides Christ). The role of martyrs in the early Church was a big one, as the Roman empire alternated between ignoring Christians and killing them. Those who were unlucky enough to find themselves in the reign of a less sympathetic emperor and lost their lives were venerated for their willingness to sacrifice everything, even their life, for God. The entire circumfrence of S. Stephano is painted with large murals of the early Christian martyrs beginning with Christ. Under the Church have recently been discovered the ruins of a 3rd Century temple of the Cult of Mithras. This cult was practiced in Rome primarily by soldiers from the Middle East stationed in a barracks on this hilltop. We were given special permission to go down into the 1800 year old temple. The cult venerated a man, Mithras, who was born out of a rock and went on to save mankind by, among other things, catching and sacrificing a bull by his own power. Wanting for bulls, the soldiers instead cut the heads off of chickens and we were able to see wells where the blood was to run into. A few fragile murals on the wall depict the sun and moon as the cycles of the day were very important to Mithraen worship. It was an interesting site to see, and being told a bit more about it made this crumbling pile of rocks carry much more significance than they otherwise might have.
Next we moved on to Quattro Coronati, a church dedicated to four unknown martyrs. When Constantine converted the Roman empire to Christianity, these four men converted. The subsequent emperor demanded the return of Pagan worship, and when these four refused, they were killed (note again, the importance of martyrs). The inside of the main chapel was beautiful, yet intimate. St. Peter's is also beautiful, but imposing. This church I could feel a bit more at home in. We were allowed to walk about the cloister (inner courtyard) of the Augustinian sisters who care for the church. After leaving the cloister, we spoke to a nun through a grate and exchanged a donation for a key through a barrel wheel (read: ancient lazy susan) which historically was used by women unable to care for their baby to pass the baby on to the nuns inside who would care for the child. Just a cool little story from our tour guide.
Our tour took us also to the foundations of the Temple of Claudius, but by this time many of us (or maybe just me) were needing a break. My lack of attention was apparent as I spent the short description of the temple wathcing men in a nearby part dressed up in superhero costumes shooting a scene for a movie. Finally, we broke and went our separate ways.
Shannon Barr, Jake Voekler, Anne Carepentier, and I were not in the mood to return to Bernardi, so we walked along the Roman Forum, ascended the Capitoline Hill, then went to dinner in Trastevere. There we had some good pasta and a friendly waitress who taught us the proper term for the bill "conto or bille" then crushed our spirits by bringing it to us (it was more than we had expected). We were to meet Fr. Carola at the Gregorian Univeristy at 4:00, so we made our way there with the intent to grab some gelato. It was my first gelato in Rome. Heavenly. For those who don't know, gelato is like ice cream blessed by an entire host of angels. Two scoops of two flavors is the standard portion; I decided upon Strawberry and Lemon (sorry Rachel). Magnifico!! Bellisimo!! What else can I say? It was wonderful. I have gone back many times since.
Gelato in hand, we met Fr. Carola and the rest of the group in front of the Greg and he took us to visit the Missionaries of Charity - the order of nuns founded by Blessed Mother Theresa of Calcutta. I do not hesitate to say that this has been the most profound experience of my time in Rome thus far. The MC's live in a home that exemplifies their intentional poverty. Two small shanties, 15-20 yards long and 5-10 yards wide are connected by a cement path with an inadequate, plexiglass roof. Two channels run along the sides of the cement path to direct the water out of their hovel that cannot be kept out by the roof. We were directed into a small, austere chapel with a simple altar in front of a crucifix flanked by a tabernacle. The floors were covered with large sections of carpet not affixed to the floor. On the wall opposite the tabernacle hung a picture of Mother Theresa over a relic of the saintly foundress of this Order. The lodgings could not have been much more meager. Yet, they were well kept and orderly. And there was not even the hint of a feeling of distress or despair in the place, only a profound peace.
When we were all seated, a Croatian sister entered and knelt silently in front of the tabernacle in prayer. After a few moments, she looked up smiling and asked Fr. Carola to lead the group in prayer, which he did so. The sister then told us a bit of her own experience with Mother Theresa and of the work of the Missionaries of Charity. She spoke in clear but simple English. Yet I was moved by this woman and her words. Perhaps it was the bubbling joy with which she spoke of the her foundress. This joy was so simple, because it came from the simplicity of her life. Materially, she had not but what she absolutly needed. For work, she served the poor. This was her simple life, and in that life there was incredible peace and joy. The small hostel in which the sisters lived was palpable with this serenity. The key moment for understanding that peace came at the very beginning. There is nothing objectively joyful about having almost nothing and doing difficult work all day, every day. I don't think any of us would object to that. The source of her joy can be found in those first few moments of silent prayer. That joy came from her incredible closeness to Christ. The simple life and service to the poor were a way to Him. This is something I could have learned in any chatechism class, but to see these principles in action and feel His presence truly radiating through them was inspiring. Part of our program includes the opportunity to do service work with they or another order of nuns. I plan to take part in that opportunity.
It appears I have made no progress in learning to write more succinctly. If I am to keep up, however, I will be forced to. Thank you again for reading.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
On Travel and First Impressions
Night is fast approaching on our second day in Rome. Miraculously considering my state of health to this point and the definite potential for jet lag, I am only just beginning to feel tired at 9:30 PM. This means my body has successfully transitioned into Rome time. Sadly, my tongue does not follow such a natural transition as I was reminded today trying to order pizza at lunch (my pointer finger had to take over and was able to relate my desire with surprising accuracy). Italian classes will begin next week, until then we finish settling in and transitioning...oh yeah, and attending a Papal Mass which will include the ordination of several new bishops! Let me tell you a bit about the transit and transition of these last few days.
Mark Lanari (my roomate for the semester) and I were dropped us at the Minneapolis airport by his father. Living up to that wonderful axiom "Better Safe then Sorry", we had Mr. Lanari drop us off at around 10:00 in case there may be a line at either the check-in or security. When we walked into the terminal, there was no line. 2 minutes later we were checked in and 3 minutes after that we were through security. By approximately 10:05 we were ready to board our 1:45 flight. So we wandered the terminal a bit... I had forgotten what a delight the moving sidewalks can be. Of these, Mark and I endulged for well over an hour traversing the Lindbergh Terminal from end-to-end. After a quick lunch, we met with the rest of group at the gate and commenced waiting. It seemed that all of us were giddy about getting on the plane, but tired of being asked whether we were excited to go to Rome and what we were going to do there. So we read and chatted a bit until our plane boarded. The two hour flight to Atlanta went by smoothly as I talked with the surfer/sailboat merchant seated next to me. In Atlanta, the two hour layover flew by (no pun intended) as we boarded the plane and took off nearly on time.
The 10 hour flight from Atlanta to Rome had the potential for nothing but misery. To begin, I had woken up that morning, the morning I was to at last leave for Rome after a summer of waiting in perfect health, with a sore throat, clogged sinuses, and a headache. What's more, that morning had begun at 3:00 AM as I purposely awoke early in an attempt to ensure that I would be able to sleep on the plane. What a fool I was. As John Lodoen and I discussed at length after the flight, it is simply not possible for anyone over 6 feet tall to get comfortable in a coach seat of an airplane. Our legs are just too long. And so, on the overnight flight, I did not sleep. The in-flight movie was a chick flick starring Jane Fonda and Lindsey Lohan. The pasta I had for dinner was not very pleasing to the palate (the wine with dinner, by comparison, tasted great!). Yet, by some grace of God, frustration never set in. I was on my way to Rome. Who cares if was a little uncomfortable at that moment. But then, to top off the flight, I had a moment that was a little more than a little uncomfortable. Shortly after we began our final descent, I was hit with a sudden toothache. In a matter of seconds, I went from having no pain to holding my hand to my mouth to gripping the armests and clenching my teeth. Tears came to my eyes. It was absolutly brutal. I am still not sure what happened, perhaps the increase in pressure from my sinuses and losing altitude made something pop, but I have not been in such great pain in a long time. Thank goodness it slowly subsided and has not so much as hinted at returning. The first thing I wanted to do when I arrived in Rome was definately NOT visit a dentist.
We were passed through customs by a man who gave our passports a cursory glance as we held them up while walking by (Prego!). After waiting a maddeningly long time for our luggage, we finally made our way out into the terminal where the rest of our group was waiting. The bus driver complete with sign and a very limited English vocabulary directed us to the Mercedes-Benz bus across the street. We all settled in as he skillfully backed the bus from between two other buses onto a street packed with cars that were each about the size of one of his tires all while animatedly on his cell phone (I wanted to applaud). Onto the highways and then streets of Rome we flew, marvelling at the plethora of little motorinos zipping about. That drive into Rome was exciting. I can only imagine what it would have been like had I not been sick and tired of being sick and tired.
The hour long drive actually went by rather rapidly. As we parked alongside the Bernardi campus, our home for the semester, we were met by Thanos, the campus director, and number of seminarians who had arrived the day before and were ready to help us carry to its final destination. For those of you who have stayed at Bernardi, go ahead and skip this paragraph; it will be boring for you. The Bernardi residence in the north central part of Rome was originally a private residence before being purchased by an order of Spanish nuns in the early 1900's. With vocations decreasing, they were forced to sell the place and the University of St. Thomas picked it up in 1999. It is directly along the Tiber river 10 minutes NW of the Piazza del Popolo and 20 minutes NE of the Vatican (how perfect is that for a Catholic Studies Program!). It contains four floors, a rooftop terrace, and a basement. Two floors, one for men and one for women, house students in dorm style rooms. The third and fourth floors house Thanos's room and a pair of guest rooms. The terrace wraps around the upper floor and has a beautiful view of the city. The main floor and basement include a couple meeting roooms, offices, chapel, computer room, library, laundry, and dining room.
Truly, it is an amazing blessing for us to have such a place near the middle of Rome. It is like our little island in the midst of the chaos of another culture. And chaos is the proper word to describe Rome. It is busy. Traffic is a constant. Driving does not follow orderly patterns as it does in the U.S., but seems to be based simply upon how do I get from point A to point B without hitting anyone else. The streets have developed since around 600 BC and as such follow no predictable pattern. Yet at the same time, the place is beautiful. The architecture is amazing. I find myself noticeably more excited simply walking around than I would most anywhere in the United States.
That walking around happened mostly today (Thursday). Wednesday we had a short orientation from Thanos, a tour of the campus, Mass with our chaplain Fr. Carola, and dinner. A number of people went out to toast our arrival in Rome, but I was completely wiped out and went to bed by about 9:15. Today, I am glad that I did. I feel 200% better. We began our day with a trip on the Metro over to the heart of Rome where our school is located. The place where we will be studying is the Pontifical Univeristy of St. Thomas Aquinas (more commonly known as the Angelicum or just The Ang). It is a Dominican university founded in 1580 by Pope Pius V. The focus of our coursework is on the interaction of Faith and Culture, and all 25 of us on the Catholic Studies program living at Bernardi will be taking the same group of classes on this theme (with the exception of the two Masters' students). Our introduction to the Ang included a tour of their incredibly beautiful chapel designed by Bernini (who also designed many of the famous sites around Rome). The classes I am actually very excited for as it sounds like we are going to be diving into some interesting topics like the Church and European politics in the first half of the 20th century.
After our intro to the Angelicum, we split up and found our own way back to Bernardi. The walk which can ordinarily be accomplished in 40-45 minutes we rushed through in about 2 hours. Shannon Barr, Melissa Hackenmueller and I got our first of what will be many views of some of the big tourist attractions like the Trevi Fountain, Spanish Steps, and Piazza del Popolo. The afternoon was composed of another, very detailed, orientation to Bernardi with Thanos. When he finally finished, it was 20 minutes to 6:00 and we had not yet been to a Mass. A sheet posted on the bulletin board with Mass times at various churches around Rome listed a Mass at 1800 hours at Santa Anna, next to the Vatican. We had 12 minutes to make the 20-25 minute walk. About 15 of us took off from Bernardi alternately running and walking through a steady rain following one of the Masters' students who had been to Rome during the summer and was pretty sure she knew the way to Santa Anna. We lost a few stragglers along the way, prayed the Angelus on the run as 6 o'clock hit and we were still not to the Church. At about 6:05 we arrived soaked and panting to find a number of old ladies, just as you can imagine at any Church in America, praying the Rosary out loud and each at their own pace. The Mass didn't actually start until 6:30. It was in Italian and I understood only a few words, but could still follow along perfectly well. Christ was there. It was beautiful. We were late for our dinner at 7:00 but quite content. After all, we were in Italy, where a schedule is more of a suggestion.
Well. This has been quite a bit of boring regurgitation. We'll see if I can improve that in the future. I am off to bed. God Bless you and thanks for reading.
Mark Lanari (my roomate for the semester) and I were dropped us at the Minneapolis airport by his father. Living up to that wonderful axiom "Better Safe then Sorry", we had Mr. Lanari drop us off at around 10:00 in case there may be a line at either the check-in or security. When we walked into the terminal, there was no line. 2 minutes later we were checked in and 3 minutes after that we were through security. By approximately 10:05 we were ready to board our 1:45 flight. So we wandered the terminal a bit... I had forgotten what a delight the moving sidewalks can be. Of these, Mark and I endulged for well over an hour traversing the Lindbergh Terminal from end-to-end. After a quick lunch, we met with the rest of group at the gate and commenced waiting. It seemed that all of us were giddy about getting on the plane, but tired of being asked whether we were excited to go to Rome and what we were going to do there. So we read and chatted a bit until our plane boarded. The two hour flight to Atlanta went by smoothly as I talked with the surfer/sailboat merchant seated next to me. In Atlanta, the two hour layover flew by (no pun intended) as we boarded the plane and took off nearly on time.
The 10 hour flight from Atlanta to Rome had the potential for nothing but misery. To begin, I had woken up that morning, the morning I was to at last leave for Rome after a summer of waiting in perfect health, with a sore throat, clogged sinuses, and a headache. What's more, that morning had begun at 3:00 AM as I purposely awoke early in an attempt to ensure that I would be able to sleep on the plane. What a fool I was. As John Lodoen and I discussed at length after the flight, it is simply not possible for anyone over 6 feet tall to get comfortable in a coach seat of an airplane. Our legs are just too long. And so, on the overnight flight, I did not sleep. The in-flight movie was a chick flick starring Jane Fonda and Lindsey Lohan. The pasta I had for dinner was not very pleasing to the palate (the wine with dinner, by comparison, tasted great!). Yet, by some grace of God, frustration never set in. I was on my way to Rome. Who cares if was a little uncomfortable at that moment. But then, to top off the flight, I had a moment that was a little more than a little uncomfortable. Shortly after we began our final descent, I was hit with a sudden toothache. In a matter of seconds, I went from having no pain to holding my hand to my mouth to gripping the armests and clenching my teeth. Tears came to my eyes. It was absolutly brutal. I am still not sure what happened, perhaps the increase in pressure from my sinuses and losing altitude made something pop, but I have not been in such great pain in a long time. Thank goodness it slowly subsided and has not so much as hinted at returning. The first thing I wanted to do when I arrived in Rome was definately NOT visit a dentist.
We were passed through customs by a man who gave our passports a cursory glance as we held them up while walking by (Prego!). After waiting a maddeningly long time for our luggage, we finally made our way out into the terminal where the rest of our group was waiting. The bus driver complete with sign and a very limited English vocabulary directed us to the Mercedes-Benz bus across the street. We all settled in as he skillfully backed the bus from between two other buses onto a street packed with cars that were each about the size of one of his tires all while animatedly on his cell phone (I wanted to applaud). Onto the highways and then streets of Rome we flew, marvelling at the plethora of little motorinos zipping about. That drive into Rome was exciting. I can only imagine what it would have been like had I not been sick and tired of being sick and tired.
The hour long drive actually went by rather rapidly. As we parked alongside the Bernardi campus, our home for the semester, we were met by Thanos, the campus director, and number of seminarians who had arrived the day before and were ready to help us carry to its final destination. For those of you who have stayed at Bernardi, go ahead and skip this paragraph; it will be boring for you. The Bernardi residence in the north central part of Rome was originally a private residence before being purchased by an order of Spanish nuns in the early 1900's. With vocations decreasing, they were forced to sell the place and the University of St. Thomas picked it up in 1999. It is directly along the Tiber river 10 minutes NW of the Piazza del Popolo and 20 minutes NE of the Vatican (how perfect is that for a Catholic Studies Program!). It contains four floors, a rooftop terrace, and a basement. Two floors, one for men and one for women, house students in dorm style rooms. The third and fourth floors house Thanos's room and a pair of guest rooms. The terrace wraps around the upper floor and has a beautiful view of the city. The main floor and basement include a couple meeting roooms, offices, chapel, computer room, library, laundry, and dining room.
Truly, it is an amazing blessing for us to have such a place near the middle of Rome. It is like our little island in the midst of the chaos of another culture. And chaos is the proper word to describe Rome. It is busy. Traffic is a constant. Driving does not follow orderly patterns as it does in the U.S., but seems to be based simply upon how do I get from point A to point B without hitting anyone else. The streets have developed since around 600 BC and as such follow no predictable pattern. Yet at the same time, the place is beautiful. The architecture is amazing. I find myself noticeably more excited simply walking around than I would most anywhere in the United States.
That walking around happened mostly today (Thursday). Wednesday we had a short orientation from Thanos, a tour of the campus, Mass with our chaplain Fr. Carola, and dinner. A number of people went out to toast our arrival in Rome, but I was completely wiped out and went to bed by about 9:15. Today, I am glad that I did. I feel 200% better. We began our day with a trip on the Metro over to the heart of Rome where our school is located. The place where we will be studying is the Pontifical Univeristy of St. Thomas Aquinas (more commonly known as the Angelicum or just The Ang). It is a Dominican university founded in 1580 by Pope Pius V. The focus of our coursework is on the interaction of Faith and Culture, and all 25 of us on the Catholic Studies program living at Bernardi will be taking the same group of classes on this theme (with the exception of the two Masters' students). Our introduction to the Ang included a tour of their incredibly beautiful chapel designed by Bernini (who also designed many of the famous sites around Rome). The classes I am actually very excited for as it sounds like we are going to be diving into some interesting topics like the Church and European politics in the first half of the 20th century.
After our intro to the Angelicum, we split up and found our own way back to Bernardi. The walk which can ordinarily be accomplished in 40-45 minutes we rushed through in about 2 hours. Shannon Barr, Melissa Hackenmueller and I got our first of what will be many views of some of the big tourist attractions like the Trevi Fountain, Spanish Steps, and Piazza del Popolo. The afternoon was composed of another, very detailed, orientation to Bernardi with Thanos. When he finally finished, it was 20 minutes to 6:00 and we had not yet been to a Mass. A sheet posted on the bulletin board with Mass times at various churches around Rome listed a Mass at 1800 hours at Santa Anna, next to the Vatican. We had 12 minutes to make the 20-25 minute walk. About 15 of us took off from Bernardi alternately running and walking through a steady rain following one of the Masters' students who had been to Rome during the summer and was pretty sure she knew the way to Santa Anna. We lost a few stragglers along the way, prayed the Angelus on the run as 6 o'clock hit and we were still not to the Church. At about 6:05 we arrived soaked and panting to find a number of old ladies, just as you can imagine at any Church in America, praying the Rosary out loud and each at their own pace. The Mass didn't actually start until 6:30. It was in Italian and I understood only a few words, but could still follow along perfectly well. Christ was there. It was beautiful. We were late for our dinner at 7:00 but quite content. After all, we were in Italy, where a schedule is more of a suggestion.
Well. This has been quite a bit of boring regurgitation. We'll see if I can improve that in the future. I am off to bed. God Bless you and thanks for reading.
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