Week 7

When I planned my trip to Italy last May, I had a list of expectations, like any other who was planning to come with our group. As someone who enjoys all things historic, especially ancient, I was beyond excited, I was ecstatic - elated - and inspired. Ancient Rome, just below Ancient Greece, had a warm spot in my heart for as long as I could remember. This, I thought, was where it all happened. This, would be where I could see for myself how far back time has stretched in countries much older than our infant America. This trip to Italy would show me how history and religion were not only celebrated, but respected. It was this, this enormous, fantastic belief, that made for the most disappointing part of the Rome Experience. The realization that not everyone respects the ruins of what were once great and powerful cities, and that in all actuality, the ancient is not only under-appreciated but hidden behind the more modern - was what hit me the hardest during my two month long journey of Italy.
When I say people do not respect the history of these historic locations, I do not mean that they have learned about these sites and honored them in their thoughts, or remembered the people and what they once stood for. I mean something much simpler than that. Entering the Colosseum, for example, after the initial shock of being surrounded by such a colossal building, a quick survey of the area shows parents allowing their children to climb the crumbling walls, taped off for good reason. Cigarette butts litter the ground, as do food remnants and wrappers. The holes that once supported the marble of this building are now filled in by litter which people decided not the throw on the ground or supplied waste cans. Passing the initial anger and frustration of what has become of what was once the center of socialization and entertainment in Rome, it is still possible to be awed by the building, and to wonder what it was like beneath the stage, or in the seats.
Rome, is just one example of the ancient cities that once existed. There is also Pompeii, which is in phenomenal condition considering its age and the devastation of the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. Pompeii, in comparison to Rome, is more well preserved both because of the tomb which encompassed it from the eruption of Mount Vesuvius until excavations began, but also because Pompeii is not as easily reached as the ruins in the city of Rome. While Rome is the epicenter of Ancient, the Catholic Church, and the hustle and bustle of city life for the Italians, tourists, and travelers - Pompeii is on the outermost edge of small towns and little known areas. Rome seems to be on the agenda of most serious tourists, which is quite understandable; See the Colosseum, the Roman Forum, a few fountains and churches - it's the plan for most who travel to Italy - but it is majorly the traveler who goes to Pompeii. That is not to say Pompeii is pardoned from the curse of tourists and litter, but from my own limited experience, I felt a sense of respect in the Pompeii ruins that seriously lacked in the Colosseum and Roman Forum.
In assuming Pompeii is more frequented by travelers, it can be easily accepted that the level of respect for the history of the ancient city would be higher. Just as, with the Colosseum as my best example, for the tourist, it may be nothing more than something to check off the list of "What to See While in Rome".
I believe the disappointment I faced my first weeks in Italy were made up for with my short trip in Pompeii. With surviving wells, road blocks, original frescos, and even roofs in some of the buildings, Pompeii made imagining life in this city easy, whereas the tourists in the Roman Forum were so much of a distraction, and tours were so hurried, that I could hardly keep track of the pictures the guides flipped through to give us a visual of what this field with scattered column fragments once was.
While I realize now that being in Italy and remembering it later on bring much different thoughts to the surface, I would urge anyone interested in the ancient history of this great civilization to visit Pompeii. I would urge them to lose themselves in the streets, in the open homes and spectacular views. Rome, of course, must be seen, remembered, and respected for what it once was - but it has also become something much different, and that cannot be forgotten when visiting the area. Pompeii, however, is frozen in the sort of way I foolishly and naively believed part of Rome would be. Pompeii is still very much alive. Though the people are long gone, and the walls have crumbled here and there, the imagination takes over when one walks down the narrow streets and sidewalks, or when they enter the open spaces for markets and meeting areas. Ancient Rome is a graveyard with trees and gates surrounding it, and people who come to pay their respects - either because they feel they have to or because they miss what it once was.
Both areas are spectacular, no doubt about it, and I while it wasn't what I expected, I wouldn't have given up this opportunity, this experience, for anything.

Week 6

I will be honest enough to say that I was worried, when I made plans to come to Rome, that perhaps I wouldn't have as great an experience as people from a Catholic background, as several of my classmates are. In small-town-Ohio, it's easy to overlook someone's religious background, but it seemed to me, that the Catholic Church wouldn't have to stretch so far in Roma, and with the little I knew about Catholicism, I was going to have a difficult time understanding a large portion of the culture in Italy.
As a Theology student, majoring in literally, "the study of God", I was quite interested in seeing if devotion would be different here, in what can be easily considered, the Catholic Capitol of the World, versus that which I have been exposed to while attending a private Catholic University. The Mass held on campus was my first test.
Everything ran smoothly in our little chapel. The priest spoke in English, and I was moved by the message. The second week, I even got up to read the passages, and shook a little when my classmates answered back, from years of practice and memorization. In larger chapels, when I couldn't understand the message, I still felt presence, stronger than I had known before. So many people surrounded me, devoted, completely. Last weekend, I watched a son carry his ninety-four year old mother to a front pew, as he does each Sunday. There are people such as this in America, in Ohio, in my hometown. There are strangers who would shake my hand and wish peace to my soul, but here, it felt so natural yet so strange. On the street, the very same people might not even nod back when I wish them a good morning, and yet, they turn their very brightest smiles on when in this spiritual environment.
On whether the Catholic Church itself is global or Roman, to the best of my knowledge, the Catholic Church emphasizes community. Communities are different all over the world. Here, true enough, Romans are living right next door to Vatican City, but tourists and travelers make pilgrimages to Rome daily by the thousands to see the same sites, and perhaps appreciate them more so for not having them so near.
Papal Audiences invite people from all over to hear the Pope address the Catholic Community, making them more comfortable by translation and introduction of the various areas in attendance. Such recognition causes shouts and songs in all different tongues, smiles stretching from ear to ear.
I cannot imagine the Church as anything other than Global, for all they try to incorporate people from other countries and regions. Roman, yes, of course. Rome will always be the heart of the Church. A heart open and willing to receive and share.

Week 5

Italian Leisure

While strolling along a small portion of the Villa Borghese property earlier this week, which consists of about 148 acres, museums, fountains, statues, and various other attractions, I was able to observe Italian culture in a casual manner. With park benches lining the sides of the park's paths, people-watching was made quite convenient, though I found it most interesting to walk along with the people who strolled along, or to do what most came to this gorgeous park for, to find myself away from the bustle of the city.
Couples could be seen walking hand in hand, or sitting along the edges of the ancient Roman amphitheater ruins while people jogged around the track below. A game of soccer went on in this spot as well, and along the sidewalks which were lined by bushes and twin fountains, people biked along - either singly or in bikes made for two or four - an amusing thing to see for the first time. Dogs were walked and people hummed along to the music in their heads, much like happens in public parks in the United States.
My class had been told to find the differences and similarities between Italian leisure and American leisure, and so I watched, mentally tallying the number of those who read, sang, ran, laughed, or kissed. I found that the majority of those who came to the park, did so not for aimless wandering but for exercise while enjoying the scenery. The paths were made wide enough so that this could occur without trampling those of us Americans who came for leisurely walks, enjoying our time in this park which seemed as if a world of it's own. I strolled, turning politely from the couples who kissed, and moving aside for the children and dogs who wandered by.
I found myself, at last, as I journeyed into a clearing in the woods which was decorated by an ornate stone fountain surrounded by four stone and mossy benches which curved in the same circular way. It was here that I sat a while and thought of how I spent my wandering times back home, in the public parks I loved to visit in the Autumn, Spring, and Summer months. While at home, there were also runners and people willing to exercise their children and pets, there seemed a far more amount of people willing to sit and read a book on a bench or stare at the sky. It seemed, to me at least, that Italians would have considered this wasted time. I wondered, also, how I would change when I would return home. Could I do as I have always done, and enjoyed a park as a place to escape headaches and the modern world - or would I instead, do as the Italians and rush through the park, my eyes forward, my feet speeding to a beat that meant I was running? Considering it now, also, I think of how in Italy, we walk an average of six or seven miles a day, whereas back home, I would have been surprised to get half. So, will I then have to replace my leisure time for exercise to keep up with all I have accomplished here?
These questions I seem to ask myself daily, but in the end, I think what I have always thought about the beauty of the outdoors and the wonders of leisure time, and that is that it is deeply needed, for myself at least. While others may feel refreshed and alive after a jog, a run, a game of soccer, or just fresh air - I need the time to clear my head, to think of nothing but the changing leaves - or the good book I'm holding in my hands. Italian leisure is to be appreciated, but is not for everyone, I would say.

Week 4

The Piazza: A Cultural Experience

Whether it be at the base of the Spanish Steps, or beside a narrow road by the Pantheon, piazzas are everywhere in Rome. A piazza, much like a shopping mall or public park, is a place of connection and socializing. Usually in the heart of shopping areas and restaurants, these squares (or circles, or ovals, or rectangles) are paved for the pedestrians and usually center around an obelisk or fountain.
In Rome, the piazza is the ideal place for observing the culture and personalities of the Romans, as well as the tourists and travelers that journey to this crowded city by the thousands. It is not only possible to observe, but also participate in the daily activities of the natives of Rome. In Castel Gandolfo, for instance, a small town up the hill from our campus and home for two months, children play soccer around the fountain and between the shops and decorated outdoor restaurants.
Last weekend, as my fiance and I were shopping around for miniature sculptures and scarves for family and friends back home, a group of children were kicking around a ball. One child kicked the ball hard enough that it started toward the edge of the piazza, and consequently to where we were standing. Just as I began to wonder whether or not I should allow the natives around me to gather the ball and send it back, an Italian man in his mid to late twenties ran up and kicked the ball back toward the children. Strangely, I was disappointed, as if I had been rejected by the culture, by the community that is the piazza.
Just as the pout began to form on my mouth, a boy of about three years dropped a ball he was carrying around with him. The ball started to roll toward us, like the time before, and the toddler waddled his way after it, a silly grin plastered on his face. There was a momentary pause in time where I had to make the crucial decision, for a second time, whether to stay an observer, or to emerge myself in the community that is a piazza, and thereby emerge myself in Italy. I bent, picked up the ball, and carefully handed it back to the handsome child. His grin widened, my heart swelled, and he ran back toward the other children. For five seconds, I was completely and utterly Italian. No one wondered where I was from, who I was, and whether or not I would respect their culture and traditions. No one sneered, pushed, or laughed at broken and improper beginner Italian. I was accepted, fully, by that child, and nearly skipped my whole way home.
Piazzas, whether they be spaces for tourists to ask directions, or travelers to feel like Italy is home, are chances to observe, understand, and emerge into the Roman culture. Though at times they can be the most irritating places to be, crowded, noisy - uneven and filled with puddles from a recent rain -- there are those brief moments, seconds of time, that remind us what a piazza is. What Rome is.

Week 3

Does History Bolster or Limit Faith?

Faith, from what I understood of what I was taught growing up, was the trusting without proof, a full belief in something that could not be proven or disproven. As I began college, however, and started Theology classes, of which I found myself extremely fond, faith began to be watered down the more I knew of history and fact.
As an example, during my childhood I was told the stories of Noah and the Arc, or the Garden of Eden, but as I researched later on in college, I found that the Bible is not the only place "the Garden of Eden" has appeared. Not by that name, I'll admit, but in about where it was assumed to be, and following other myths and stories - the Garden of Eden sounds an awful lot like the mythical places of Atlantis or Avalon. Historically, these places were just as avidly believed in, yet today there is no proof any of them existed. In a similar way, Noah and the Arc was myth before it was biblical. The same story, by different names, was told thousands of years before "Noah". by the Greeks, when Zeus became angered with the lives of man, and warned Deucalion I and his wife to stock a chest full of provisions, board an arc, and when they were the last two alive, Zeus stopped the storms.
If I had, as I was taught, relied solely on faith as a foundation for my beliefs, my belief system would have crumbled when I realized that much of the "Christian" stories and traditions I had learned, originated as belonging to another religion and set of beliefs, and were, by definition, pagan.
Instead, I found myself on a journey, wondering which was a better result: Faith, or Knowledge. If you know something, there is no faith to it. If you do not yet know, you rely on faith. By this standard, I have been able to overcome much of the distress other people in my family feel when they hear that our Christian ways were adopted from other religions. Where some people's faith may be at risk when biblical stories are called myth, mine is strengthened. I believe, because I know it's right, not because I was told growing up that that was the way, or because I read it in a book.
The steps in Santa Scala are an excellent example of such faith. During the time of Emperor Constantine, St. Helena, Constantine's mother, had a set of marble steps brought over from Jeruselum. These steps were thought to be the very same that Jesus had walked on on His way to His trial. Today, Christians from all over the world come to Santa Scala, across the street from the Basilica of San Giovanni, to crawl up the stairs once believed to be walked on by Jesus Christ. While the other students in my group were informed before we entered the building that historians have reason to believe that these were not in fact the same stairs Jesus walked on, many of them still entered and crawled up the stairs, a painful but deeply spiritual journey of prayer and endurance. Faith, for me, is believing in something greater behind it all, and the students who crawled up the stairs despite fact, are the best examples of what I am trying to express. The fact that Noah was based off of Deucalion does not bother me, because it is the message behind the myth that is important. Whether history says Noah existed or not, whether or not Jesus walked up the Santa Scala steps before his trial and crucifixion, is not important. What is important is the story behind Noah and his Arc. The passionate spirituality and conviction behind each set of knees that press into the marble stairs, and the hands that clasp together as they recite prayers said for thousands of years. Faith, is what is important, and in my opinion, history could never hinder faith. History merely shows a person what kind of faith they had, and how strong it was before tested.