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04/27/2005: "News from Rome, Italy"
Today, in nearby Rome, the new Pope Benedict will be officially installed as leader of one billion people. I am trying to decide whether to brave the crowds. The day of Pope John Paul's death, I was in a plane on the way to Italy to work on a series of paintings and teach an art course. The week of my arrival, some of my students went in to attend the viewing of his body. They stood all night among millions thronging toward St. Peter's square; they returned exhausted and elated, even the non-Catholics among them deeply moved by the experience. I decided to go in to his funeral later that week.
I packed my paints and set up my easel next to the Colisseum, where a crowd had gathered next to a large screen televising the event. The event on the screen was somber and strange: lots of old men in robes enacting age-old ceremonies in the media age. The mood on the street was reverent but enthusiastic: multitudes of young folk in bright clothing, holding hands, strumming guitars, breaking into spontaneous song, dancing, cheering. They were from everywhere: Spain, Korea, Brazil, Poland -- especially. I painted the Colisseum looming over them, and in the margins I scribbled some notes about an inscription on one massive wall commemorating the Christian martyrs who died there. John Paul, survivor of Stalin and Hitler, had known a few things about martyrs. He was also the first Pope to have publicly anguished over the persecutions his own Church had perpetrated, from Constantine to the Crusades, from inquisition in times of Christian power to indifference in times of Jewish peril.
I did not stay. Not expecting to find lodging in Rome, I took a train to Assisi, where I painted in the cold and rain outside the Saint Francis basilica. For several days, pilgrims from the funeral poured through the streets, bearing boots and backpacks where Francis had once walked barefoot. Inside the basilica, they paid homage to Giotto's homage to Francis: tender, glowing frescos depicting a majestic circle of history from Adam to Moses to Christ to Francis' humble brotherhood. Severely damaged in an earthquake seven years ago, those of the frescos that could be restored, have been beautifully preserved, at least until the next earthquake. Some of the visitors came in shiny black cars. Standing aside to let one retinue walk past, I recognized the president of Brazil.
When I returned to Orvieto, everybody was abuzz about the convocation of cardinals. The Vatican was sealed. One friend commented about the array of hi-tech jamming devices, to prevent the news media from eavesdropping about the proceedings. Meanwhile, inside, the cardinals prepared to send smoke signals about their deliberations. The new may vie with the old, but politics stay the same. I wish Benedict XVI the best, but I think I'll stay in Orvieto today.
