By FR. KEVIN M. CUSICK
A flight to Rome on Easter Monday sets the stage for my reflections. An evening departure meant deciding whether or not to attempt sleep on the plane. I declined.
I arrived at Leonardo da Vinci Airport, picked up my luggage, then proceeded to buy a ticket for the train to the Eternal City.
The lack of trust on the part of Italians meant that if I wanted to purchase my ticket by using the machines, I needed to submit to an extra security check by using the code which was matched to my credit card. That meant I had to know the code. I did not.
I decided to buy my ticket instead by an attendant in the station who briskly informed me that, according to the oddly capricious business practices of the Romans, I could buy it only from my small and rapidly declining treasury of Euros. “Italia,” I responded. She murmured a defiant rejection of my declaration of antiquated and backward business practices.
A South American pilgrim I encountered at the airport who wanted to travel also via train to the San Pietro station told me she had three hours free and wanted to know whether she should try to see St. Peter’s Basilica or the Vatican Museums. I avoided discouraging her as to the slim possibility of visiting either one in the time allotted by simply mentioning that there are lines for both.
The first humbling for all who seek popular pilgrimage destinations is all the other people doing exactly the same thing. Patience is required when visiting anything on your bucket list involves first queuing up and then watching your limited store of trip days drain away in large blocks of time in order to experience it.
I checked into my room after walking from the station near the Fornaci area of Rome to the Prati neighborhood north of Vatican City.
A sleepless night on a plane does not prepare one well for a forced march in sandals on miles of hard pavement but, after Mass at the convent where I had lodging and two pieces of rustic pizza to sustain me, off I went.
Travel in Rome by foot by following the water led me more directly to my destination of the Church of Santa Maria in Aracoeli, Capitoline Hill. The map quickly made plain that tracing the curve of the Tiber River between Castel Sant’Angelo near my overnight accommodations and the area near the Bocca della Verità would prove physically economical as well as scenic.
Only upon reflection afterward did I realize the apt symbolism while on spiritual pilgrimage of following the flow of the legendary river, cutting through Roma Aeterna and separating the newer Christian Vatican from the Forum of the pagan Ancient Latins.
From the moment of Baptism, newly celebrated for Easter converts and with its promises reaffirmed in our Paschal liturgies for all, we enter into the flow of the life of the Church by faith and grace in Christ.
I made a picnic dinner along the banks of the Tiber that evening. This was en route to retracing my steps for a return to my lodging after a trek up and down the Aventine Hill and stops in Trastevere.
Morning Mass at St. Peter’s Basilica came first thing on the first full day of my Roman Easter Octave pilgrimage.
I woke a bit late for the 7 a.m. opening of the Sant’Uffizio gate, where one must enter to get to the sacristy, but made myself ready quickly nonetheless and walked the many blocks to the Vatican.
This was on a Wednesday and the expected crowds for the general audience were more of a challenge than usual. Additional security checkpoints had been set up outside their normal location in Piazza San Pietro. All other foot traffic through the square was forbidden. I suspect this was an additional precaution in light of the Easter slaughter of Christians in Sri Lanka.
I made my way around the outside perimeter of the square by tracing the route of streets one block closer to the Tiber and farther away from and around from the Bernini Colonnade, to a second checkpoint near the Holy Office gate. I showed ID to the policeman and convinced him to let me through for the purpose of saying Mass. He refused permission at first, but relented after I persisted.
Again at the gate itself I was challenged by the Swiss Guard posted there to go back through the security machines under the colonnade behind me. I explained that the police had already checked my bag with vestments, altar, cards, and missal and he let me through.
The police posted further inside Vatican City stopped me again, one of whom wanted to check for my name on a list of those who had reserved altars for Holy Mass. I explained that I was going in to the sacristy to request to say Mass. He thought I was going for the purpose of reserving an altar and let me pass. Reservations aren’t necessary, but perhaps he did not know this.
After this point, one makes a left, then a sharp right and enters a door marked “sacristy,” then up steps, following more signs.
The men working in the sacristy were very accommodating and made a 1962 Missal available readily. The priest sacristan Don Angelo appeared to be in good spirits. You may remember it was last year that I had a somewhat unpleasant encounter with him. We did not converse on this occasion.
The young man Giovanni from Calabria who helped me to carry the missal, altar cards, chalice, and cruets to the altar of Innocent XI for a traditional Mass asked for my prayers.
At this writing, I am pausing in a restaurant en route to my preferred accommodations in the city that had no room for me my first night. I needed WiFi to file this story after some time for writing and editing.
As I rest my bags and my feet at a table with a view of the busy Roman street, I am refreshed in body by the water I drink. I am refreshed also by reflecting upon the waters of life Christ provides through the faith and sacramental life of parishes all over the face of the water-blessed Earth and here in Rome as well.
Thank you for reading and praised be the risen Jesus Christ, now and forever.
@MCITLFrAphorism
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