Holy Week is not something I have ever celebrated before. However, being immersed in this Catholic community, I knew that I wished to partake in all Florence had to offer. And I could not be happier with my decision.
We began with Mass on Holy Thursday. We had been told by our Catholic club that we would have reserved seating. However, after arriving, Deanna and I realized that there was no hope in finding anyone in the mass of people (pun...mass...Mass...haha).
Luckily, there were a few seats open for us, and we squeezed among the crowd as the religious officials and Cardinal processed in. I instantly became annoyed with the large groups of tourists who came in by telling the guards there were there for Mass...and then proceeded to get in our view, take pictures, walk around the sanctuary with their jaws on the floor, and walk out. It was the most disrespectful thing I had witnessed thus far in my life. I tried not to become angry, telling myself that it was not for me to judge them. However, as we began the readings, and read about the last supper and what Jesus was saying to His disciples, I could not help but burst into silent tears. Here it was Jesus's last night on earth. He knew what He would soon endure. And He was scared. He went for prayer in solitude into the garden and prayed to God, asking for help and strength. He was about to die on a cross, suffocating and beaten, because I am a sinner. Because we all are sinners. And He was doing it willingly, as a flawless human being with no sin. And here these people were tromping through His Mass. It was our time to thank Him and to praise Him. If I were Jesus, I would be flaming with uncontrollable anger. Life isn't fair. People are bad. And He died for them?
Then, I realized. I'm not Jesus. And Jesus is not angry. He forgives these people, for they know not what they do. I instead dried my tears (Deanna was kind enough to hand me a tissue halfway through), and instead I prayed for those people. And through this, I was able to see more about why Jesus is such an amazing figure.
Good Friday's service was long. And the church was cold. Needless to say, I was a frozen ball by the time we left. But I was so glad to once again be amongst this worshiping community. And I was so excited for Sunday. I was able to decipher a part of the reading and what the homily was about--particularly, how the water and blood flowing from Christ's side represented the baptism by water and blood.
On the morning of Easter Sunday, I awoke feeling like it was Christmas. The streets of Florence were bustling at the early hour of 9:00 (that's early for Florence). There were so many people packed in the city center that I could barely fight my way through to the church entrance. I entirely missed the procession with the cows pulling the cart and the bands, but there was not chance I could have seen it with the great multitude of people. Inside the church, we waited an hour and a half for Mass to start, and were happy we arrived early for seats. After the Cardinal sang the Gloria to signify the start of Mass, a fake dove ignited in the front of the sanctuary, flying in a large flame on a wire to the city center, where it ignited the cart waiting outside. The phenomenon we were all waiting for: Scoppio del Carro. We knew what to expect, and even purposefully got seats on the side aisles so we could have a good view of the dove and the cart outside. But I wasn't prepared for the firework that accompanied the igniting of the dove, or for the dove's return back to the pillar in the front of the church after lighting the cart on fire! I almost teared up; it was one of the most impressive sights I'd seen, with the exception of the fireworks and Eiffel Tower on July 14 and Elphaba ascending in "Defying Gravity" in Wicked. As the fireworks went off outside the church door, the entryway filled with flames and smoke, and our ears buzzed with loud noises from outside. It was so calming to be inside the church, in this holy place, away from the tourists and the flames but still seeing and appreciating this great tradition. A man stood on a chair, blocking our view in order to get a decent video on his iPad. Someone threw a balled up bulletin at him, resulting in laughter and relief from many.
After the service, I joined Deanna and her roommates for an Easter lunch/dinner. I had created the menu, and they willfully complied. Prosciutto-wrapped cherry tomatoes stuffed with pesto and mozzarella, zucchini and parmesan chips in an herb cream cheese dip, pesto and provolone bruschetta, and cinnamon polenta cake with Nutella cream cheese and (moldy) strawberries. We cooked and ate and played Head's Up, and then went to Lion for wine. Two glasses of wine and a free limoncello shot later (which I urged Deanna and Cara to take with the English boys sitting a few tables down), I was throwing peanuts across the aisle into Sem's mouth and hitting Cara's teeth with failed attempts. It was a wonderful and blessed Easter, to be sure.
The next day (Pasquetta), Deanna and I headed to Assisi for a day of prayer in their abundance of churches. It was a beautiful day with flawless weather. We hiked and walked and talked and at each church, we stopped and prayed. We stopped briefly in a cafe for a break before continuing on, walking through shops and looked at olive wood rosaries and crosses. My favorite church by far was not the touristy Basilica of Saint Francis, but was instead the small, empty church. We were the only people there, and spent a few moments in contemplative prayer. I was so thankful for such a fabulous week of closeness with God.
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