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.