“Passion
Of Rome”
Semester Abroad ~ by
Nicholas Pellicani
|
|
...
| Rome
has been called the Caput Mundi, or Capital of the World. While its
present day relevance has diminished of late, it still conjures up images
of Julius Caesar inspiring, elaborate papal processions, and Mussolini
yelling from the balcony. A semester abroad allowed myself the opportunity
to stroll through the beautiful piazza’s and feast on the world’s best
food, but I was not prepared for the impression one magical night would
leave on me. It would be a calm, modest, yet deeply spiritual night
shared by thousands, which would forever make Rome a part of me.
The night began
as many others in the timeless city had. A dinner in the cozy Trastevere
neighborhood included prisciutto and mellone, pasta carbonara, and veal
among other delights, consumed with generous servings of the vino di casa
of course. Both my parents and my roommate from school had come to
visit, making this an unforgettable night already. For all of them,
this was their first visit to Rome, so I made it my personal goal to show
them the vita bella, or the beautiful life. By 8 pm, early by Italian
standards, we paid our bill, and proceeded to the Coliseum, a place they
had seen earlier in the day, yet quite another sight when viewed at dusk.
Time had clearly taken its toll on the marbled structure, but the shadows
of the night and Roman ruins standing proudly in the backdrop made this
remarkable structure look sturdy enough to last another 2,000 years. |
|
|
| Vespasiano
began the construction of the Colosseum. Its original name was the Amphitheatrum
Flavium. The Colosseum was more than 160ft high with eighty
different entrances and could seat more than 50,000 people. When
the Colosseum was completed in 80 AD, there were 100 days of games in which
thousands of gladiators and animals were killed in the celebration. |
|
|
..
This was Good
Friday, the beginning of the most important weekend on the Christian calendar.
The crowds had begun to gather in the grassy space between the Coliseum
and the Arch of Constantine, just as they would have done before bloody
gladiator battles centuries ago. Though of equal anticipation, this
was quite a different occasion. At 9, the Holy Father, Pope John
Paul II would preside over the Stations of the Cross, a ceremony that commemorates
the fourteen stages leading up to the crucifixion of Jesus Christ.
As I had assumed the role of translator/tour-guide earlier in the day,
I had to literally drag both my parents through the thousands already content
on their view of the events, a task not easily accomplished when neither
set of eyes are going in the direction I was taking them. This was
obviously my first time at such an event, yet for some reason, I instinctively
decided to stop at a location that seemed “good enough,” though none of
us knew where we should be looking. The upper, or third, level of
arches encircling the Coliseum was lit with flames, which gradually replaced
the dimming sunlight. Surrounding us were walks of all life; groups
of nuns, large Italian families, young couples, and people just like us,
more curious than pious. Absent were the pushing and yelling found
so often in Roman streets and restaurants, replaced with holding hands
or immersion in prayer. I had done the Stations several times before,
but for obvious reasons, I realized that this year would be a bit different.
.
|
|
| Painted
between1508 and 1512 the Sistine Chapel is the Vatican's greatest work
of art. The above photo is of chapel's ceiling. |
|
|
The
proceedings began with two men emerging from the darkness on a small hill
pushing the wheelchair of the 84-year old pontiff. Much to our surprise,
my choice of location proved to be ideal. With the Coliseum to our
back, we were about 40 feet from the small rise, which rose roughly 15
feet high on a spot that marked the start of the Ancient Forum. Unlike
other papal celebrations, the somberness of the occasion designated only
a small stand from which the Pope read from, and a small reading light.
His enthusiastic, yet overtly restricted from Parkinson’s, wave to the
crowd triggered a response unequaled in any sporting event or rock concert.
I felt a little uneasy clapping for such a revered and holy individual,
as I thought it trivialized the moment. However, when I saw the plethora
of emotion from those around me – crying, singing, cheering, and complete
silence – I realized that perhaps there are no set rules tonight, and I
was liberated from that point forward. Italians have always worn
their emotions on their sleeves, and tonight was certainly no different.
Though many in attendance had probably been familiar with the sight of
the Pope at such a close distance, the admiration, love, and reverence
directed at the frail pontiff was more than any king, athlete, or movie
star would have ever expected. |
.....
Neither of
my parents were part of the Church, so they were not entirely familiar
with what was about to happen. I explained to them briefly its significance;
but being outside, with no walls, no pews, and no Bibles, I told them more
accurately, to “just enjoy.” An unknown speaker announced the stations,
beginning with “Jesus is Condemed” over the speakers in Italian, then English,
followed by a dozen more languages. Though all the prayers were in
Italian, by about station eight, even my parents had been able to recite
them with the masses. Following the “Amen” marking the end of each station
- which by the way rhymes with common when pronounced by Italians - another
flame on the Coliseum was extinguished, creating the feel of ancient pagan
ceremonies. In this exact location, hundreds of innocent prisoners
and slaves were tossed into the ovular arena at the mercy of animals or
warriors, simply to arouse the spirits of the bloodthirsty Romans.
While horrific crimes against humanity persist even today, that night we
were reminded that there was still some good in this world.
The scriptural
passage for each station was read aloud from an unknown speaker in different
languages, further adding to the universal and communal aspects of the
Church’s message. However, we were disappointed not to hear English,
an intentional sign by the Pope of his lack of support for the current
war in Iraq. Yet, condemnation quickly turned to sympathy, as the
cross passing in front of us was handed off to an Afghan family who lost
their innocent son from a bombing several weeks prior. The cross
was then handed off to the family of the Chinese doctor who exposed the
world to the SARS epidemic. Often, the Catholic Church is perceived
as irrelevant in the increasingly secular and modern world. But as
witnesses to its spiritual power, we were reminded that Christ’s passion
is just as important today as it was then.
.
| Finally,
at the conclusion of the stations, the Pope read aloud his Good Friday
message. Though I had a basic proficiency in Italian, his poor health
made it impossible for me to understand him. However, about ten feet
or so from our spot we heard an English speaking Jesuit translating the
Pope’s words for a group of students. We slowly moved in his direction,
and hung on his every word. John Paul discussed the need for us to
love, as Jesus had taught us to. But it was not his words that moved
me the most, but his difficulty in saying them. At least six times,
he was forced to pause and wipe his mouth of drool. Occasionally,
his voice would tail-off to the point where he was barely audible.
His obvious condition brought women in the crowd to tears, and seemed to
mirror his message on the suffering of Christ. “At the place where
Christians were martyred by Roman pagans, we too must keep in mind our
responsibility as followers of Christ to bear our own crosses” he said.
Eventually, he ran out of energy, his neck barely able to support his head,
and an assistant came to the microphone and finished the written out speech.
Unlike pontiffs of other generations, the piety and sincerity of Pope John
Paul truly related him psychologically with the first Pope, St. Peter,
who is buried just two miles down the road. Just as the Coliseum
behind us was clearly a shadow of its former glory, John Paul’s physical
condition was a universe away from the spiritual power that lay within
him. |
|
|
|
The
Piazza Navona in Rome.
|
|
|
.
The proceedings
finally came to a close to the thunderous applause of the crowd, who understood
the holiness of the occasion. The crowds dispersed on foot, vespa,
or bus to return to their noisy, busy lives. Yet, at least for myself,
I felt as if I shared an intimate conversation with all those present.
Whether it was the little bambino running around the adult’s legs, the
Jesuit translator, or his eminency himself, all those present shared in
the one thing we had in common – being Christian. Until that moment,
Rome had been simply a series of churches, ancient ruins, and sprawling
piazzas. Though everything about those structures was beautiful,
it was the beauty of the Italian people I began to recognize and fall in
love with at that point. It is hard to find a more diverse and awe-inspiring
collection of famous buildings, but their personalities were as cold as
putting your face on their marble façades. It is the warm
smile of an elderly woman at the morning market, the bright eyes of the
children kicking around a soccer ball, and in this case, the spirituality
and rarely seen vulnerability of perhaps one of the most important people
on Earth that defines the beauty of Rome. The history and gravity
of that night’s Station of the Cross fit in well with Rome’s title as the
Eternal City, linking its ancient beginnings with its Catholic identity.
At that moment, standing with my parents in the perfect Mediterranean night,
I felt as if Rome had in fact always been my home, or at least that’s what
my heart was telling me.
To contact
Nicholas Click Here
.
.
|
