BIG PORTION
Everything happens for a reason, if we are open to reason. Earthquakes don't happen because God intends to destroy lives - but lives can be renewed, healed, and enriched through such a tragedy, to those who believe in and seek a "message" or "lesson" in every experience.
I don't believe God "takes" children who die, I believe God "receives" them into eternal bliss upon their untimely deaths, and that those left behind can painfully grow closer to family, friends, God, and perhaps most importantly, their own inner hearts, through their sad and unfair earthly loss.
While going through the process of my divorce, I was sent to mediation. After having been verbally attacked and physically threatened by my ex husband’s attorney, I requested that I be moved to a separate room. I was.
I picked up a book off the shelf. It was by Wayne Dyer, one of my favorite positive spirits on this planet. I opened it randomly, and landed on a blank page, opposite of which was the Prayer of St. Francis. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prayer_of_Saint_Francis)
Make me a channel (originally "instrument") of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
I broke into tears, and asked God to finish this legal nonsense and give me new life. At that moment, the Mediator entered the room and asked,
“Barbara, what do you want?” I answered that all I wanted was ‘what was fair according to the law’ - no more, no less.
“Don’t you know,” she said, glibly, “that in this business, Fair is the “F-word?”
Mouth agape, stomach and heart practically jumping out, I realized that I truly was in the grips of Satan. The very system I had thought would bring justice, was, in fact, as corrupt as the guiltiest perpetrators in the criminal courts across the hall. I broke into tears, and she decided she could not help our “situation.”
Sometimes, circumstances change unexpectedly. Though these events may be beyond our control, our response is completely up to us. We can choose to be thrown into a tizzy, or welcome the opportunity to be catapulted into new possibilities.
There are many kinds of trains in Italy. I discovered this when the Ticket Attendant on the train to Ancona informed me that my ticket was “no good.”
“You no change-a train-a!” he attempted to explain.
“Si! I changed trains!” Using sign language, I said, “I got off in Giulianova, went to another platform, and got on this train!” He shook his finger at me, as if he were a reprimanding grade school nun.
Nonetheless, he punched a hole in my “wrong” ticket and let me slip. The very Regional train I had taken last week to Loreto, now, once again passed through the same towns, and then some. Regional trains move slowly and stop often. I was to have boarded an Inter-City train, fast and direct from Giulianova to Ancona.
Upon closer inspection, I noticed the word “ICE” on my ticket (Inter City), as well as a boarding time, which was a few minutes later than the actual time I had boarded. Oops!
Due to my late arrival in Ancona, I missed my direct connection to Foligno, then Assisi. The three and a half-hour delay in Ancona was a welcome respite, as the pain in my right hip (sciatic nerve) was excruciating by this point. Sitting is the worst thing for me.
This unexpected layover also afforded me the time to ride a city bus to Piazza di Cavour, supposedly a beautiful spot.
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| Local Covered Food Market |
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| San Ciriacco |
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| Shopping! |
Along the way, I snatched quick photos of the Cathedral San Ciriacco overlooking the busy port, rode through the city streets, enjoyed the architecture and center pedestrian walkways along the way, and disembarked at Cavour.
It was under total construction. Thankfully, there was a market going on nearby. Twenty minutes and zero purchases later, I was on a bus headed back to the station.
I arrived in Foligno, with an hour layover, and first visited the Station Chapel - yes, a Catholic Chapel at a train station.
Finally, after I wandered a few tree-lined blocks around the station, had a cappuccino and a slice of cardboard pizza, and anxiously travelled the last twenty minutes to Assisi, I arrived, almost five hours later than I had “planned.” At this point, I am definitely thinking of staying a second night.
Upon hearing English being spoken by three men and a woman at the station, I asked how they were getting up to the village. Voila! We shared a shuttle for 19.50 Euro - I pitched in five. The driver dropped the “Youth With a Mission” foursome off at Palazzo Panoramico, when I showed him the Srs. of Atonement address on my iPhone.
“You-a walk-a!” he pointed down (then up) the narrow street, motioning past the Church of St. Clare. “It’s-a easy!” After three not-so-easy, hill-climbing circles around the beautiful Church, I finally found the guest house. What a perfect location and absolutely serene environment.
An old friend, a priest I have known since 1981, stays here all the time. This, in fact, was his thirtieth trip to Assisi, having known the “head nun” here, longer than he has known me. Like me, she had been a Youth Minister in the Diocese of Fresno, many ions ago.
Arms open wide, peaceful broad smiles on their faces, the two Religious greeted me at the gate, and showed me to my clean and simple room - number seven - with a plaque above the door, reading, “St. Francis of Assisi,” my home for one - or two - nights.
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| "Our" View of St. Clare's! |
I washed up and we immediately headed for some much needed refreshment at a café, when my friend said,
“Ok, something really funny is about to happen.”
“Should I turn around and look?”
“No” he said, “Just wait about five seconds.” He stood up and waved, as we all suddenly made a scene and shouted “Ciao!”
Another “small world” surprise - a family from his Parish, and friends of mine from 25 years ago, experiencing what I call a “Spiridipitous” moment. The couple and her two sons, her sister, their hometown Pastor and I enjoyed catching up, while sharing some typical local Italian red.
This is not the Assisi I had remembered from 2000, when my 70-year-old mother, ten-year-old daughter, and I visited for a day. Our driver, Luigi, had enjoyed our hymn-singing in his car, as we entertained him en-route to the Hermitage, through a few narrow streets, a visit to a pizza place where a blind man wouldn’t keep his eyes off my daughter, (yes, blind - he must’ve been attracted to her voice), and a quick go-over of St. Clare’s.
Assisi is now an artsy, café-laden, mix of religious habits, youth group t-shirts, and Bobo (Bohemian - Bourgeois) tourists. There are also a lot more cars, squeezing precariously through stone-walled alleys.
Then there are the locals, trying to make a buck, while navigating English, Dutch, Portuguese, and Swahili, to name a few. The town is alive, yet peaceful, oozing with color and energy, yet serene. I fell in love with all of her.
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| Hermitage Courtyard |
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| A Pilgrim In Prayer |
My friend, eager to show off his “second home,” treated us all to a full-blown tour, driver and all. He narrated the life of Francis and Clare, their Orders, their beginnings, their deaths, and their in-betweens.
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| To Climb Where He Climbed |
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| Francis and Me |
I was so impressed by the piety, appreciation, and prayerfulness of the two sons of the Bakersfield family, as the young men quietly took it all in, each of us searching for a special pebble to call our own “piece” of Assisi.
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| Portziuncula |
We visited the Portziuncola (little portion), inside the giant Basilica of Santa Maria deli Angeli, where I was overcome with tears before entering this sacred little stone house of worship, that I knew Francis himself had restored, touched, and blessed. I was humbled as I knelt in the very place that those dedicated brothers and sisters knelt and prayed - over seven hundred years ago.
Thousands of sunflowers, oddly, with their backs to the sun, stood luminously before us, beckoning us into their fields. Even Lambie got in on the photo session, as we inched into the yellow playground, up to our necks in petals and bees, to capture a memory or two of this glorious day.
Back in the van, I snatched a pic of this bus in front of us. Just loved the "senior" couple in love.
An amazingly delicious and huge meal followed at an Italian restaurant, a quite perfect place to end a day in Italy. The gift of dining with their Pastor, encumbered by the stresses and tasks of Parish business, shown in the smiles and conversation of the family gathered at this sacred table. Every moment is filled with holiness, if we allow it to be.
After stuffing ourselves on prosciutto, cheese, bruschetta of olive tapenade, paté, artichoke puree, and fresh olive oil and balsamic reduction for the fresh bread, we found room for more!
Rabbit, Marsala-glazed pork, spinach-ricotta ravioli in butter-sage sauce and ragu, penne, gnocchi, wild mushroom sauce, and wine - and espresso. We bade our farewells and waddled in our separate directions, feeling struck by luck, friendship, generosity, and blessings.
Now for my own well-deserved stroll through a town I have only previously been able to "whip" through. As I exited the Srs. Of the Atonement gates, I noticed the sign for Rocco Maggiore (Major Rock), and decided to hike it up to the fortress atop the hill.
I quickly detoured, following signs to San Rufino, where I saw the font at which both Francis and Clare were baptized. Again, tears anointed my face, as I prayed for my newly baptized grand-daughter, Violet Odessa, and her big Catholic sister, Hazel Renee (whose middle name is my Confirmation name). Now to the fortress.
A fortuitous hike for my already aching body, I determined to make it to the top, where 360-degree views of the countryside and town below made it well worth the effort. 
I chose the outer passageways to re-enter the city, walking along high-walled narrow "streets," discovering magical doors, gates, windows, and flower boxes, and then coming upon an open door.
At first, I thought it was another place of Exposition of the Blessed Sacrament, so many of which are scattered in the most unexpected of places here, but no - it was an art exhibit. Santa Maria Della Rosa.
Behind the main exhibit was the giant TAU, the Franciscan cross. I sat before it and meditated for a few precious minutes.
I could see the steeple of St. Clare to my left, (where the original Cross of San Damiano can be found) - quite far away, but continued to traipse in the opposite direction, hoping - and always seeking - another miraculous discovery. https://www.google.com.mx/#q=original+cross+of+san+damiano)
I was not disappointed, when I landed myself in the sparse, simple, silent Chapel of St. Stefano, her stones listening to my voice and echoing back to me, as I sang the Ave Maria - alone - with God.
Next I found the little Church of St. Andrea, then St. Marghuerita, and finally, the Basilica of St. Francis, where his tomb was housed. Seeing the burlap-esque garb of the ancient Saints, Francis and Clare, I wondered about their relationship. Were they in love beyond a spiritual sense?
When Francis found himself tempted by demons, he rolled himself in the thorny bushes of a rose garden, now encased in the Basilica Santa Maria degli Angeli where we had visited that morning.
Were his demons of lust? How could pure love, rooted in the love of Christ, be considered lust? Were other temptations the source of his self-inflicted punishment?
Botanists have studied the garden, and departed puzzled, after identifying the "now thornless" rosebushes where Francis threw himself, as a surely "thorny" species. There is no scientific explanation for their “thornlessness.”
Why did he throw himself into pain? What message do the now-thornless roses give to us today?
As I threw myself into the arduous climb up a steep, narrow street toward the Guest House, once again, I veered off the beaten path, only to see what appeared to be a “pop-up Benediction Chapel.”
I peered in to see the Blessed Sacrament in a Monstrance on a simple altar. Upon entering, I found myself in the company of two nuns, each on opposite sides in the last rows.
I prayed briefly, feeling bad that I would have to leave shortly. When I knelt to leave, genuflecting on two knees, as is customary when the Eucharist is “exposed,” one of the nuns arose from her place of contemplation and began Benediction!
Benediction, the process of “putting Jesus away” into the Tabernacle, involves specific prayers and movements, like much of organized religion. I cherish the familiarity and discipline of these practices, as I savor this gift - a few moments with two nuns and Jesus in the heart of Francis’ hometown. Cool!
About five hundred steps away, I happened upon San Pellegrini Chapel, in which three English-speaking musicians were engaged in a rehearsal.
I sat for a few pieces, basking in the operatic trio, a flautist, a pianist, and a tenor, all of whom would be performing the following night at the Assisi Music Festival. I thanked them for this gift, as I would be long gone by the time their performance would begin.
The Oratory of the Pilgrims, home to magnificent paintings and old frescoes, was originally a hostel for Pilgrims on their way to Rome who wanted to pay homage to the remains of Francis.
The chapel is dedicated to St. Anthony Abbot and, not surprisingly, St. James of Compostela, who I am sure has drawn me to this place to pray, as I am contemplating doing the 500-mile walk of Camino del Santiago de Compostela! Not sure if, but hopeful that, this body can undertake that arduous journey before I relax in my own tomb.
Exhausted, after nearly four hours of roaming, I turned into a short, stony passageway, wherein, a grandmother feebly attempted to quell the cries of her one-year-old "charge," while an older child stood by patiently.
"Make me a channel of your peace..." I began to sing the Song of St. Francis, my voice echoing through the dark corridor, and instantly, the baby calmed. His little eyes began to roll back in his head, as the grandmother thanked me. I motioned her to start walking and keep moving!
I began the final ascent toward “home,” feet and legs sore, my sciatic nerve screaming at me to put my feet up or stand still or find a hot tub. I filled my decanter with water flowing from a wall fountain, one of many around this town.
It was then that I happened upon a Biologic store of wines and local treats, where I picked up a "superior" red suggested by the owner.
After purchasing some olive wood nativity ornaments at a shop across the way, (St. Francis was the author of the "nativity scene" decoration), coming "home" to the tranquility of the Atonement House was just what my weary bones needed.
The priest and I finished the evening with a cheese, apricots, pears, and prosciutto snack, coupled with the sulfate-free superior red from the local Biologic winery.
We watched the full moon rise and the fuscia sun set over St. Clare's steeple and the Umbrian plain, as we discovered the meaning of the two glowing planets we had been watching for two days.Not for 2000 years, when the infant Jesus was visited by the shepherds following a bright "star," have Jupiter and Venus appeared so close and brilliant in the sky. We were seeing the "Star of Bethlehem," as we caught up on years of missing memories, endured tragedies, and pursued dreams.
"Oh! I see you from-a Sicily!" (the land of Mafioso). He left me alone after that.
Assisi, with its Little Portion Church, and its Big Portions of architecture, art, music, sanctity, kindness, and food, is now on my list for a longterm stay.
I did not expect to be so overcome with peace and gratitude while returning to Francis' roots. As I said farewell to my friends, new and old, the Sister in charge said to me,
"You truly have a Franciscan spirit. Please come back." I will.
Another great blog. Thank you for making me feel as if I was traveling along side of you.
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