A Prayer from Boston

For Longing 

by John O’Donohue

Blessed be the longing that brought you here
And quickens your soul with wonder.
May you have the courage to listen to the voice of desire
That disturbs you when you have settled for something safe.
May you have the wisdom to enter generously into your own unease
To discover the new direction your longing wants you to take.
May the forms of your belonging–in love, creativity, and friendship
Be equal to the grandeur and the call of your soul.
May the one you long for long for you.
May your dreams gradually reveal the destination of your desire.
May a secret Providence guide your thought and nurture your feeling.
May your mind inhabit your life with the sureness with which your body inhabits the world.
May your heart never be haunted by ghost-structures of old damage.
May you come to accept your longing as divine urgency.
May you know the urgency with which God longs for you.


Thank you, Amy, for sharing this with me.

Dear loved ones, may this prayer prompt in your hearts fruitful reflection and invitation.

A Linguist's Paradise

On an average day, I have the opportunity to speak in three languages. Italian is that on which I'm most focused. In this period before beginning my studies, I use Italian most. There only a handful of people with whom I speak English. When I start school, I will be using English often, as it is the language of my courses and is spoken by most at the university. Then, there is Spanish.

The only native English speakers I've encountered are those with whom I teach. I've landed a position teaching English at a well-esteemed school for children ages one to seventeen. The school is run by a British headmistress, under whom are my fellow expatriates and me. My colleagues include two Americans, two Aussies, two Brits, and one Irish gent. Each of us with a different motivation for residing in Italy and all of us teachers of the desired English language.
Being in the company of fellow English mother tongues offers me the pleasure of speaking in a more preferred, sophisticated manner of speech, which contrasts the current basic ability in which I can express myself in Italian. And of course, my English continues to expand being in the company of the various English varieties. Being at the school is a time of reprieve, where I am free in my native language and well-understood, at least by the teachers.

One of my recent meetings was with a woman from Spain. She, too, is studying here in Rome, at the university Sapienza. She speaks and understands English very well, and her Italian is minimal at the moment. When she and I converse it's a festival of languages. We go from English to Italian to Spanish, depending on how strong our lexicon is on the topic of discussion.

I have made another friend who contributes to the diversity in my language encounters beautifully. He is an Italian resident from India. His native tongues are Punjabi and Hindi (the national language of India). He knows a bit of English from his studies in India. And now he speaks Italian fluently, having lived here nearly ten years. Mama mia, this makes for quite the variety.

I imagine that once I begin my studies, I will be in the company of people of every language. The philosophy professors represent the gamut of French, German, Italian, English, Spanish, Czech, and Polish.

My language repertoire will be further broadened (and likely confused) with the additions of Greek and Latin.

Somebody pinch me...

Adaptations

With clear memory of what I learned the last time I dwelled in Italy, I expected to make some distinct changes in my life during this stay. These are necessary adjustments for a proper fit in this Roman environment. Here are a few:

1) No excessive smiling. Really, there is no need to smile unless you're in a state of spiritual ecstasy or you've experienced a Marian apparition. 

If used out of context the smile accomplishes two things, a) distinguishes you as a foreigner, and b) welcomes the pestilent attention of Italian men. 

No, grazie.

2) No dinner until 7PM, at the earliest. I've committed to acquiring the eating habits of Italy. This means no snacking. I take a piece of toast with jam or a yogurt to accompany a cappuccino in the morning. No cappuccini after 11AM. Then there's a light lunch or maybe just a caffe in the afternoon, and dinner around 8 o'clock. 

3) When arriving in a store or place of public service, don't assume that someone will greet you. The person working there could be of saintly character, but you will still have to speak up. Timidness will get you trampled on, ignored, or likely struck (physically) by an Italian man with red framed glasses, an Armani suit, and five o'clock shadow, riding on a vespa. 

4) All shoes should be made for walking. Oddly enough, in this place of shoe-making expertise, shoes serve most practically. Of course there are Italian women sporting stilettos, but I'm fairly certain those women ride a vespa or car to work, they don't walk. At this point I've ruled out any shoes in which I'm not willing to walk a mile on cobblestone.

Italians are minimalists. That's the best way to put it. 

I thrive in the simplicity of life here. This feature is what I adored most during my first stay in this Mediterranean country, and now I get to embrace it more fully. 

Space is limited so you can't have excess. Fridges are small, so you buy enough food for a couple of days. Streets are crowded and narrow, so you walk. In all, one will find that Italians live with a sense of balance. 

With restriction and liberty in their right places, life is healthy. 

Beata Vergine Maria Addolorata (Memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows)

La Basilica Santa Maria Maggiore has five Masses daily. There are three in the morning, beginning at 7 o'clock, one in the afternoon, and one in the evening.

This morning I planned to awake in time for the second morning Mass. I left a bit early for some time of quiet prayer.
Daily Mass is held in one of the side chapels. I knew this upon arriving, but to make sure I knew of which chapel, I asked a Sister standing next to me. She confirmed that Mass was to begin at 8 o'clock in the chapel further down. I saw that the closest chapel's gates were open and the alter was lit, so I thought, "I'll just come in here for some private prayer." Upon entering, I realized that there was a community of people gathered. So, I quietly kneeled down, expecting that I would head to the other chapel in fifteen minutes or so.

About five minutes into prayer, there stood two priests at the gates. They processed down the chapel aisle, carrying the consecrated hosts and took their places near the alter. Come to find out, I was celebrating Mass with a South African group on pilgrimage.

As I continued in the celebration, I was filled with pure joy for many reasons. One reason of the humorous nature is that I was one of two fair skinned people in the congregation. So, there I was, not only a foreigner in Italy, but I was participating in the Eucharistic celebration with a bunch of South Africans. If that's not funny, I don't know what is. This comical reality brought forth a deeper and more substantive note- How amazing is the universality of the Church!
My heart was delighted in reflecting on the fact that I am part of a greater family that spans this earthly dwelling. And, I got to share in the celestial celebration with sisters and brothers of a distant land. Father (not sure his name) shared a beautiful homily about Christ's insurmountable love, love so great that He shared with us His mother that she might watch over us.

I was awed by the strength in voice of the hymns sung by the community. When we shared the sign of peace, not one person was skipped by another. I was embraced by the pilgrims with a love I will always remember.


Today my prayers are joined with those of the Santa Barbara family of Our Lady of Sorrows Church.

I am home.

Sadly, it wasn't until Saturday that I finally attended Mass here in the ancient city, four days after arriving.

Celebrating Mass marks my official welcome and the initial sense of being home.

Since arriving, I have been introduced to many new acquaintances, thanks to the social butterfly, my landlady, Luisa. Whether it's been the invitation from a phone call, doorbell ring, or prepared gathering, Luisa has graciously set out to broaden my circle of friends and expose me to an overload of Italian conversation. For this, I'm certainly grateful.

Among the many acquaintances are two Italian women, mature in age and wise in life. I had the great delight of accompanying Gisella and Virginia to my first Mass in town.

Virginia and I awaited our third companion to arrive at my building. When I saw Gisella making her way up the steep sidewalk to greet us, an immediate smile surfaced. She embodies the quintessential, old Italian woman. Dressed properly for Mass (dress, sweater, nylons, and nice shoes to suit), she greeted us with a refreshing "Buona sera". From there we walked the mere five minutes trek to the basilica doors. The path to arrive at the church includes one street crossing. It's located at a curve in the road, where there is a nearly constant flow of traffic (Italian traffic doesn't stop for pedestrians). As the three of us approached the street, Gisella gracefully yelled, "Fermi, fermi, fermi, passa la Nonna." This means, "Stop, grandma's crossing." I looked at her and chuckled.

Gisella and Virginia were so excited to introduce me to the Dominican priests who shepherd the basilica congregation. The two ladies escorted me to the sacristy where I met a couple of the priests. Then, we walked to the other side of the tourist-filled space to the confessionals. For the first time I saw the fashion in which big Roman basilica's sacramentally care for the international masses. There were five or six confessionals lining the length of the church, each one occupied by a priest available to hear confessions in a different language. German, Polish, Italian, Spanish, English, and likely some others that I didn't see.
Because Father Angelo was in the open confessional, I was introduced to him there. Gisella explained that I was an American who recently moved here. And I explained further that I was a student at the Angelicum. It was a joyous introduction.

At six o'clock, Mass began. It was beautiful to once again be part of the Italian celebration. I left with my heart full and my spirit enlivened.

Sono Arrivata

Out with the old wall paper and in with the new. The image of Florence's Ponte Vecchio that lined the background of this blog two years ago has been replaced by the site of my new home and the icon of yet a new journey.

I take residence in this writing space for the purpose of documenting my continuance of existential discovery. I hold writing to be a useful channel for processing life. And thus, I write in this cyber space to process my encounters further and, in turn, share a bit of what life is bringing here on this distant shore.

I've imaginatively proposed various ways that I might begin this revisitation to blogging... Though I start anew in this ancient city, there is an extended preface that has welcomed me to this present moment. Being here is a manifestation of surrender, trust, discernment, and mission, with love and grace being both the catalysts and products of such fruits.

I can't say that it's been explicitly patience that has accompanied me across the bridge of finishing my undergraduate degree and returning to this sacred land to continue my studies. I consider the period one of anticipation. With a spirit of waiting, I was continually comforted in the graduated propositions presented by God. And, in the great beauty of companionship with Christ, I was given a time of formation and preparation that aided my next step, the one on which I stand today. 

Two years ago, I spent the summer living and studying in Florence. After completing my stay, I returned to the States with a voiced openness to God's direction and a thirsting desire for an invitation to navigate me. My return landed me back in Santa Barbara with a position in education. My two years working at Bishop Garcia Diego High School and the surrounding love of my family and friends nurtured within me a recognition essential for my steps forward. My deep desire to continue academically was solidified and the call to grow in the truth of our faith became incomparably pronounced. After visiting the options of a couple programs within the States and one abroad, I was left at the doorstep of the study program I will soon begin.

I have to laugh a bit, as is fitting when recognizing the unveiling of God's plans, because the former motions that moved me to this doorstep resembled that of a labyrinth. It is not from my own capacity that I made my way to this long-awaited welcome mat, but rather, it is through the spiritual direction offered to me by God. He attuned my heart to the recommendation of friends and the presentation of fulfilled desires. And here I am, sitting at a desk, in an apartment of my own, on a street neighboring the Papal Basilica honoring Our Blessed Mother, in the land of pilgrims and saints, in gratitude and hopeful anticipation.