On Old Towns and New Deacons

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.