This Sunday morning I visited my favorite cathedral and favorite monastery church and all before 11 o’clock. Up early to Santa Maria dei Fiori for Mass. I’ve learned through the years that one way to enter these huge cathedrals before they become crowded with tourists is to go to early mass. And so I did. Outside a side entrance I encountered a friendly, optimistic old priest, cane-in-hand, waiting for security to open the doors for 7:30 Mass. “I’m a priest here….Oh, I love Boston… I’ve been to Worcester. And New York…Poughkeepsie.
I decided that I would try Mass again under this magnificent dome. It would be my third time. The other two were rather upsetting; I must have exuded guilt that I was a non-Roman Catholic taking Communion. The first time, easily more than fifteen years, I was reprimanded by the priest. I came forward with open hands, only to have him shake a finger in my face and with a loud “NO” place the wafer in my mouth. I figured he was speaking out against Vatican II, but it sure shook me up—I’m not accustomed to being yelled at by men (or women). A few years later I tried again, but this time the priest called me back, and then said, “Va bene,” and I returned to my seat. It seems that he hadn’t see me eat the wafer and was concerned that I was saving it. (To sell? To save? To give to someone?) I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, but clearly I didn’t know the rules.
So, with trepidation I decided to try again, and this time all went well. There was my friendly priest who loves Boston helping me on my way.
I decided that I would try Mass again under this magnificent dome. It would be my third time. The other two were rather upsetting; I must have exuded guilt that I was a non-Roman Catholic taking Communion. The first time, easily more than fifteen years, I was reprimanded by the priest. I came forward with open hands, only to have him shake a finger in my face and with a loud “NO” place the wafer in my mouth. I figured he was speaking out against Vatican II, but it sure shook me up—I’m not accustomed to being yelled at by men (or women). A few years later I tried again, but this time the priest called me back, and then said, “Va bene,” and I returned to my seat. It seems that he hadn’t see me eat the wafer and was concerned that I was saving it. (To sell? To save? To give to someone?) I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, but clearly I didn’t know the rules.
So, with trepidation I decided to try again, and this time all went well. There was my friendly priest who loves Boston helping me on my way.
Next on to the Church of St. Francis, a hefty climb from the piazza in Fiesole where Bus 7 from the Piazza San Marco in Florence had left me at the central square. A twenty minute ride through the suburbs of Florence and then up the winding ‘Fiesole hills’ with magnificent views of Florence and the Duomo below. A magical spot.
The Franciscan complex, situated on the top of a hill, is a simple, working monastery. The section open to the public includes a small church with some minor early Renaissance paintings, two miniscule cloisters, and a winding staircase leading to six cells of the early monks.
The Franciscan complex, situated on the top of a hill, is a simple, working monastery. The section open to the public includes a small church with some minor early Renaissance paintings, two miniscule cloisters, and a winding staircase leading to six cells of the early monks.
Ah, if I were a privileged monk I’d have two cells; one here in Fiesole, and another in Florence at the Convent of San Marco. What arrogance; I have a long way to go!!!!