Saturday, March 25th, 2012
And so…the final installment of the Italy Musings…. I’m sitting at Emmanuel College waiting for
class to begin and I have to admit, I’d rather be at home in my bed
sleeping. Jet lag isn’t usually a
problem, but for some reason, this time it’s really hitting me. Nevertheless, the caffeine is pulsing through
my veins and I hope it will carry me through.
Today was the first day back at
school and while I was happy to see most of my little munchkins, I couldn’t
help but wish I was still in Italy. I
was excited to share my stories with my students, but was sorely disappointed
by the lack of response from my Grade 9 students. I was so glad to teach my grade 12s and share
some of what I experienced with them, though words could not adequately explain
what my musical experience in Italy was like.
I did find myself getting teary eyed as I talked about some of the
experiences with these wonderful students.
I love teaching these grade 12s because they understand what music can
do, and what it can evoke. I feel myself
calming a little bit now, as I settle into this comfortable chair in the lounge
and start to put down my thoughts and continue to document my experience.
I left off in musing 2 with the
beginning of our bus tour. After
spending a lunch at the Piazza Navona, we made our way to the Vatican Museum-
this is where some of the chaos started.
We were let off on the busy side of a street and began the long trek to
the entrance of the Vatican Museum.
Though Wednesday, the middle of the week and during a low travel season,
the streets were thick with tourists milling around the street, trying to keep up
with their tour groups. Local tour
guides held flags and umbrellas and pointing sticks up in the air so that their
groups could spot them and follow them like a group of anxious kindergarten
kids. The group I belonged to, 160
people strong, had yet to meet our local tour guide at the museum doors. Like cattle, we were herded by our tour
mangers and began to walk to the Museum doors, a couple of blocks away. It is difficult enough trying to herd 160
people, but our group was a rag tag group with people in wheel chairs, using
canes, people with bad backs and people with short legs as well as those who
were physically fit. We also had members
who were easily distracted by the sights around them and constantly needed a
guiding hand to bring them back to the group.
Somehow, we made the walk, divided into 4 groups and met our tour
guides. Our tour guide was a lovely
young man named Mario who had a baby face that sported a welcoming smile. We were just about ready to go into the
museum when we realized we were missing some of our “cane” and “wheel chair”
people. This was when panic began to set
in, and while we waited in the sea of people, our tour leaders tried to find
the missing people. When it was decided
we couldn’t wait any more, we entered the museum, passed through the scrutiny
of the security guards and tried to stay in our groups. To our relief but also to our annoyance, the
missing people were in the museum- someone had seen them and led them through a
much closer door. The only problem was,
no one had thought to let the group know.
We had to quickly put our annoyance aside though as we had to begin the
tours or else we would run out of time.
What can I say about what I saw at
the Vatican museums, except that I was in awe.
The Sistine chapel took my breath away.
The collection of sculptures and of paintings made me appreciate art in
a way I had never appreciated it before.
Mario was probably the best tour guide I had ever had- a knowledgeable
and humourous man- and he made the art and history come alive. The only problem with this feast for the eyes
was that it was also a pain to the feet.
For three hours we walked, trudged up stairs with our slow group and
took in the sights. By the time we had
reached the actual Basilica of St. Peter, we were exhausted. For me, the exhaustion was short lived. I don’t know about the rest of the group, but
as I entered the Basilica, the excitement of being there gave me a boost of energy. I physically gasped as I walked into the sacred
space and I unintentionally tuned out everything that Mario was saying. I was in my own little Spiritual fog. As I drank up the beauty around me, I found
tears stinging my eyes- even more so as I turned to see my favourite sculpture,
the Pieta, in its simple profundity.
We had to rush through the Basilica
as it was nearly time for us to meet as a choir, but I was able to make a stop
at the place where Pope John Paul II was resting. I don’t know why I feel such a strong
connection to Blessed John Paul II, but I have always loved the man. When he died, I was so deeply moved and
affected. Perhaps it was the love he
showed for young people, or the fact that he was such a “real” person, not
being ashamed of the fact that he was an actor and always reaching out to all
nations. Perhaps it was his well-written
and well-supported Encyclicals or the poignant speeches he made- whatever it
was, I have a true love for the man.
Being at his resting place moved me so deeply and my only regret was
that I couldn’t have a couple of minutes to pray.
We gathered after our director
sternly told Mario that the choir was needed immediately. An air of panic began to hit the choir as we
realized that we were later than we needed to be. We were ushered to the St. Joseph’s altar
behind the main altar and the panic became even more frenzied. At this point, I will not point fingers at
anyone nor will I lay blame- all I can say is that, somewhere along our journey
to the Vatican, there had been some major miscommunication. The program we were set to sing at mass which
had been “approved”, apparently had not been approved and a very stern looking
priest was talking to our director. Our
music was not appropriate for Lent. I was aware of that earlier in the planning of
the trip, and I often wondered in previous months how we had been approved, but
that is neither here nor there. With
literally minutes before the beginning of holy mass, our program was changed. The choir was much larger than the choir area
and so the singers were arranged in a way where many of the choristers could
not see the conductor. Our organist was
not allowed to play the organ before mass.
You could cut tension with a knife.
In the midst of this, I too began to worry. I’ll be honest. Part of me was afraid that I wouldn’t get a
chance to conduct and that I would have to face the embarrassment of telling
everyone at home that my dream had been shattered. Just as my stomach began to knot, I was told
that I’d still be good to conduct the Introit.
All of a sudden, the tension was interrupted by the sound of a deep bell
ringing. I knew this was the beginning
of mass, so I literally jumped over the pew and jumped onto the conductors box-
it was not the dignified beginning that I had envisioned. The Vatican organist frantically motioned to
our organist to start playing. Frazzled,
he began, but we could barely hear the introduction. Taking a deep breath, I grounded myself
during the short introduction, took another breath and began to conduct. With that first note sung by the choir, I
could feel something very profound happening.
The sound of the voices echoing through the chambers of the holy space
resonated not only in the church but in my heart. Here I was, at the most central place of
worship in my faith tradition, making music in praise of a God who I loved so
very much. In those couple of minutes of
music making, I felt a connection to all those who had made music in those
chambers once before. I felt a
connection to the frazzled singers who had relaxed into the music and most of
all, I felt a connection to God.
Through the gift I had been given, through music, I felt that I was
giving back to Him. It was so
profound. For many, many years, I have
tried to find my niche in this world and though I have felt comfortable in
places, I had never been sure if I was really where God wanted me to be. In those few minutes, I felt a certainty that
I was doing God’s will- ministering through music in the Roman Catholic
Church. Tears were starting to well up
in my eyes as this confirmation of love and certainty filled my heart. This was my place- not the Vatican, not
conducting the choir- but expressing my love for my God through song. I held it together during the song and
throughout the rest of mass, but at the end, as I thanked my director for
giving me such a wonderful chance, I lost it.
As if a spiritual catharsis, I sobbed into his tuxedo lapel at a loss for
words.
I will be honest, it was difficult
after that experience as those who could not see singing at a mass as a
ministry, but more as a performance started on anti-Catholic rants. No one said anything to me directly, but I
could hear the comments starting as soon as we entered the bus. The anger that we couldn’t sing what we
wanted to sing clouded some people from realizing just how beautiful the
experience had been. We- a mish-mash
group of different people from all different denominations- had shown
solidarity and harmony by singing together as a group. We were like the mosaics that were so common
in Rome- many different pieces coming together to form one beautiful piece of
art that together formed a full picture that praised God. While I am a very traditional Catholic- I’m
not at all considered progressive- I have never judged those who belong to
different denominations. If we
celebrated the similarities, we would find that our love of God is common. I was hurt that I was hearing these attacks
and that there was so much misconception surrounding the situation. It took away from some of the joy I had felt
just an hour before. Me being me, I
swallowed and hid the hurt as we headed to a dinner with entertainment and
stayed all smiles. When we got back to
the hotel, it was another story. After
having a few nightcaps with choir members, I headed to my room, curled up with
my teddy bear like a child and cried.
The tears started off as tears of anger but as I let the anger wash out
through the flow of tears and began to reflect on my own spiritual experience,
the tears changed from anger to tears of peace and joy at how lucky I was. Religious fights and intolerance and
misconceptions have happened since the beginning of organized Religion. Christianity, when it was a new religion, faced
division right away. There was conflict
between doctrines, heresies were proclaimed, leadership was argued over. I realized that no matter what denomination,
there was always dvision- why? Simple-
we’re human. While our institutions are
influenced by the divine, we ourselves are not divine and human nature takes
over. No matter what, there will always
be misconceptions and hurtful words and while they may upset me, it made me
realize that I am so very comfortable where I am. I am happy to be a Catholic. I do not delude myself by saying everything
in the Catholic Church has always been wonderful, but really, can anyone name
anything that involves humans that has been perfect and flawless?
This was again a
profound moment for me, realizing that yes- I was a happy and proud Catholic
and even more proud of the fact that God had gifted me with something I could
offer back to him.
The Vatican experience went from
amazing, to bittersweet and back to amazing for me, and provided enough
revelation to last me a lifetime- however, that was not where the Spiritiual
experience and revelation ended. I
didn’t think I could take much more as my heart was full and I was physically
weary from the spiritual roller coaster, but there was another experience that
touched me even more profoundly.
(I’ll stop here to
let you know that it is now 4 days since I began to write musing 3- the
busyness of my North American life has taken over once again and this is the
first time I have found even a few moments to reflect and muse)
So, what could touch me more
profoundly than the Vatican? Our next
musical experience came close. We went
to the small town of Palestrina to sing in the church where Giovanni Pierluigi
Palestrina himself had been the organist.
For my non-musical friends, Palestrina was a great composer in the
church. He finds his place in my top 5
composers. His choral music has always
been among my favourite music to both sing and to listen to. The church was once again beautiful- what
Church in Italy had I found that had not been- and a feeling of old familiarity
came over me when I entered the church.
Again, I found myself thinking of those who had been in the church over
years, who had worshiped the same God, participated in the mass and sung the
same beautiful music. While the
temperature in the church was frigid, my heart was warmed as I thought of the
connections.
Once again, while we sang, I found
myself lost in the music. The resonance
of the voices, the meaning of the music, the joy of singing about and to God
brought me to tears again. Thinking of
Palestrina and reveling in the fact that I was singing one of his most famous
compositions in his very home church elevated my joy and heightened all of my
senses. Once again, I was going into sensory
and spiritual overload. The sound of the
singing, the sight of the art (including a sculpture by Michelangelo), the feel
of the old pews, the smell of the cold stone walls and the taste of the sacred
air I was breathing was invigorating.
While this was not as profound as the experience at the Vatican and
while I did not experience and major Epiphanies, I still was moved by the whole
experience and was sad to bid adieu to St. Agapito church when we left. I was happy to learn that this evening had been
a very touching moment for many of my fellow choir members and that it had
taken away some of the bitterness they were feeling from their experience at
the Vatican.
My most profound moment would follow
the next day, the Saturday. It was going
to be our final performance in a church and it was a magnificent church. San Andrea della Valle was a beautiful
church- one of the most beautiful I had ever seen- which actually held the body
of 2 Popes and which housed one of the most beautiful ceilings I had ever had
the blessing of seeing. We arrived there
in the morning and when I walked into this holy place, I literally lost my
breath as I walked in. The combination
of the cold air and the magnificence and gloriousness of the place hit me full
force as we walked in. I don’t know what
it was about this church, but the air of holiness almost made me feel like we
had entered the Holy of Holies. My eyes
immediately shifted to the magnificent ceiling and then like a distracted
squirrel began to bounce from corner to corner of the church. The art was heavenly, the altars holy, the
organ- magnificent. I was lucky that I
did not trip over anything or knock over any of our slow moving choir members
as I walked to the sacristy where we would leave our belongings- I didn’t look at where I was going at
all.
We were given a free day after
dropping off our belongings and were to return in the evening for the concert. I spent the day hopping from magnificent
church to magnificent church, taking pictures and marveling at the architecture
and the artwork. Each church was
different, but equally beautiful and they seemed to pop out of no where. All of sudden, during my walk, there would be
another holy building, nestled in the middle of a non-descript intersection
that would beckon me to come in, say a prayer and marvel at its beauty.
My goal that day was to get back to
the Vatican- no matter how long of a walk it was. By the time I had reached the Basilica, my
feet were hot and swelling from walking but I was excited to be back. Goodness- Saturday at the Basilica is a claustrophobic’s
nightmare. Paranoid that I would be
pickpocketed and feeling suffocated by all the people surrounding me, I debated
not even going into the Basilica. The
lines looked long, it was hot and the stench of sweaty people surrounding me
was making me feel nauseous. I decided to
brave entering the Basilica- after all, I had walked all that way, why should I
settle myself on the outside.
I’m very glad that I did go in. Now that I was on my own, I could wander
around freely and spend time at the site.
I took hundreds of pictures, though the pictures will never do justice
to what I saw. I said prayers for my
friends, family and even my enemies and wandered around leisurely, ducking out
of the way of cameras that were pointing every which way, with people behind
them trying as hard as I was to capture the essence of this place. Coincidentally, I ran into baby faced Mario
the tour guide, who was leading a group of South Americans through the
Vatican. In his friendly welcoming way,
he greeted me and let me know that he would be joining us for the concert that
night. It was nice to see a familiar
place throughout the crowd.
Time restricted me from doing more
of what I had planned and wanted to do.
I had desperately wanted to go St. John Lateran and St. Mary Maggiore,
but I had to begin the trek back to San Andrea della Valle.
I’ll skip to the evening concert-
the time before it was a quick practice, a delicious meal and attending mass in
Italian at San Andrea. The concert would
feature a Japanese Choir, An Italian Choir and we, the Canadian choir. The Italian choir sang first and I was
transported to another place as they sang their program- all choral church
music. We followed the Italian choir and
I sang my heart out as we lifted our voices as one in praise of God. The Japanese choir was the last group, and I
wish that there hadn’t been a language barrier so I could have told them just
how they affected me.
The Japanese choir, was a group
comprised of young ladies in university.
They were very youthful looking, most of us had erroneously guessed that
they were 14-15 years old. They were
full of energy- even though they were so well disciplined and behaved, you
could see the energy dancing in their dark, bright eyes even before they
sang. They were very dignified looking
in long black skirts and pristine white blouses. Their shiny black hair was styled in
different ways, but shared the common factor that whatever the style was, it
allowed their faces and bright eyes to be clearly seen. They started off in opposite aisles of the
church facing each other and surrounding the audience. Silence…..and then music, such glorious
music! They sang an antiphonal “Jubilate
Deo” that caused tears to prick my eyes at the very phrase they sang. Never had I heard such a pure sound in my
life, and I have heard many choirs. The
purity of their girlish voices made my heart quicken and my soul swell. Each song they sung seemed to make even more
impact, but it was when they sang one of my very favourite choral pieces, “Ave
Maria” by Biebl, that I had really felt like I had reached heaven and was
surrounded by singing angels.
As soon as they started singing “Ave
Maria”, it was if everyone in the church was gone. All I could hear were the beautiful strands
of music. I remember turning my head to
the left to look at the Tabernacle, the most central structure in the Catholic
Church where the body of Christ is housed.
Just to the left of the ornate tabernacle was a statue of Mary the
mother of God, holding her Son. I began
to weep uncontrollably. I was so
overwhelmed by hearing the purity of the music and gazing at this pure woman,
Mary, who I admired so much and who I had such a devotion to. Such love.
Such pure love. I had forgotten
this feeling of love. I remembered the
last time I felt it, and for the first time in a long time, I remembered and
missed greatly the Felician sisters whom I had so wanted to join. I know that my place is not with them, but I
so wanted at that moment to run to the Mother house on Mississauga road and be
with them and love God as they loved God.
My ministry is elsewhere, but the feeling was so overwhelming. The angelic faces of the Japanese girls, the
music, the art, the love- it was so profound and I found myself thinking, “And
this is only a taste of what the joy and love in heaven will be like”.
The rest of the program of the
Japanese choir continued to bring me to tears.
They sung such beautiful music using ancient sacred texts such as the “Tantum
Ergo”, but was set to modern, beautiful, spirit filled music. I actually had to leave my seat at one point
because I was so overcome with emotion.
So many thoughts ran through my mind- thoughts of gratefulness for the
gift of music, thoughts of love for God and for my family, thoughts of love for
those I was singing with (especially for my director, singing teacher and my fellow
St. Leonard Choir members) and thoughts of profound joy that I had been a part
of this event.
That concert was a Spiritual milestone for
me- A confirmation that indeed I was living out my intended vocation.
We followed the concert with a
dinner for all the choirs- once again, the universality of music, the
commonness of music as a language made itself evident. There were 3 different languages spoken among
the choirs and because of this, we gravitated to our own choirs at the
dinner. We spoke with our own friends
and smiled at the other groups but didn’t really speak with them. Then, one of the Italian choirs started to
sing “Siyahamaba”. I’m not shy. I jumped in with the Italian group and
started singing with them. Their eyes
lit up when they realized that I from Canada knew the same song. Other people joined in and we began a conga
line that melded the Italians, Japanese and Canadians together- joined together
by a South African freedom song. What else but music could join people
together like this?
At our last concert on the Sunday
afternoon, at the Festival of Brotherhood
and Peace, we sang together again but added 3 more Italian choirs. At the end of the concert, unplanned, all
choirs sang “Auld Lang Syne” in our own languages- once again English, Japanese
and Italian rang out. Spontaneously our
choir reached out to take the hands of our Japanese and Italian siblings in
song. It was a beautiful, touching sight
to see hands of many colours and ages joined together and lifted as the common
language of music unified all those present in harmony. It is a sight I will forever treasure and it
was beautiful ending to my experience in Italy.
It has been almost a week and I
still vividly remember at every spare moment I have the peace, the harmony, the
joy, the love, the feast for the senses and the reminder of the love and
greatness of God that I experienced in those short 9 days. Though this is probably the longest musing I
have ever written, my words do not adequately describe my true experience. I have tried to share and explain my
experience as best I could using simply vocabulary but I know I didn’t even
come close. It is my hope and prayer
that you, my family and friends, may experience such a profound trip that will
touch your soul and rejuvenate your spirit as much as this excursion did for
me. I went on this trip because I wanted
to sing and travel and in return, I received so much more than I ever would
have thought.
I have learned that I am the person I was intended to be by the
creator. I have learned that music is my
mother language and the language in which I best speak my faith. I learned that “music is the universal
language” is not simply a cliché and can be one of the most beautiful sights if
you see in action. I have learned that
my vocation in life is being fulfilled.
Most of all, I have realized that I am beloved by God and blessed by His
divine gift of music in so many ways. I
am so humbled and grateful. Amen.
