Community

Many years ago when I was still an active language teacher, we had our first exchange between Bristol Central High School and the Lycee Jean Monnet in France.  The chaperoning teachers stayed with me while the students were housed with their American peers.  The whole point was not only to practice language skills, but also to experience what everyday life is like for families in another country, to become for a short time a member of the community. 

The Sunday after the French students arrived, my neighborhood volunteer fire department was holding their annual pancake breakfast fundraiser.  What better way for my French colleagues to see what small town Connecticut was like?  So we headed out around 9 am and walked to the firehouse where friends and neighbors, young and old, were involved in selling tickets, offering door prize  chances, cooking, serving, and cleaning up.  We were enjoying our blueberry pancakes and sausages when suddenly,  Josie, my dear friend and colleague, started to cry.  Not sobs, just quiet tears that gave me pause.  What was wrong?  In her most endearing way, she explained that she was just so moved seeing a community come together to work for the good of everyone.  She seemed to feel that her small town in France was not capable of showing such unity (an opinion with which I disagree, having spent many weeks in that same small French town), and that seeing the different generations and races working together was inspiring and she was moved to tears.  It was the sense of community that she was experiencing and that caused such emotions.

Last night, in the neighborhood of Pantanari, I had a similar experience.  In years past, Pantanari has been on my walking route.  About a kilometer down our steep hill brings us to the frazione of Pantanari, one that has had problems similar to those of us in Ioffredo and Castello.  There has been repeated flooding and many parts of the neighborhood are at risk when it rains heavily.  I had always noticed a ruin of a church, Santa Maria di Monte Vergine, but never really gave it much thought.  This year I hadn't walked that route; it has been so hot that the idea of a challenging, hilly walk was just too offputting, so I wasn't aware of the repair works that had been going on.  But work was indeed happening, volunteers putting in their time and money to restore the church, and last night was the celebration of its reconsecration.

There has been a church on this site since 1370, when it was first documented in church writings.  The original church and many subsequent iterations had been destroyed, by fire, flood, earthquake, and time.  The church that stands there now dates from the early 1700's.  It's a tiny church, able to hold maybe 100 people, with an impressive wood beamed ceiling, some remnants of early frescoes, and a beautiful altar painting that dates from the 1770s. 

The reconsecration of a church is a momentous occasion, and one that was looked forward to for months by the people of Pantanari.  At 7:00 pm, the ubiquitous marching band struck up its first notes.  They were followed by the procession of priests, deacons, altar servers, and finally, the archbishop of Benevento who paraded from the sacristy to the piazzetta in front of the church.  Don Antonio Raviele, a distant cousin, acted as MC for the evening.  I have very fond memories of Don Antonio.  In 1982, he baptised my daughter Marta, the first time he had performed that sacrament.  I remember a handsome, tall, slender young man with a thick head of jet black hair.  Now 37 years later, he is still a handsome man although quite a bit heavier in the middle and lighter on top.  His gray hair is very thin and he does fill out his priestly robes more than in 1982!  He has a soft, soothing voice and he explained all the different steps that the Archbishop had to perform to allow this church to reopen.

There were chairs set up in the piazzetta and by the time the process began they were all taken.  Tables were set up on the other side of the piazza, waiting for the refreshments to be served after.  Balloons and banners festooned the whole area and there was a spot on the front of the church where a simulcast was being shown for those who couldn't fit inside the church.  It was small town Italy at its best, everyone coming together to celebrate the years of work to repair the church and the realization of the dream of so many.

First the Archbishop blessed the water, then finally unlocked to doors to the church.  At the altar, he put on a special "apron" and then  proceeded to anoint the altar with holy oil., massaging the oil into the marble altar top, making sure every spot was covered.  Then there was the igniting of the incense so the interior of the church could be purified, the anointing of the various crosses with the oil, and many other steps.  Don Antonio explained the meaning behind each ritual and clarified what was happening.  Whether one is religious or not, it really doesn't matter.  The devotion of the people who were witnessing and participating in the ritual was moving.

I sat towards the rear of the piazzetta and had a very good view of the whole process.  As night fell, a cool breeze wafted through the crowd and made me glad that I had worn a long sleeved sweater.  Then the moon rose over the craggy heights of Mount Pizzone and shone down on us all.  It was a transcendental feeling with the breezes, the moon, the music, and the beautiful church coming back to life.

At that moment, I felt like my friend Josie.  I was moved to tears, not because of a religious devotion but because of the beauty of a community coming together to celebrate the completion of a common goal.  In Italy today, community seems to be in short supply.  It's a very divided country, not unlike my own.  But at moments like this, we can see the unity that can come about when everyone works for that common goal.  I feel blessed to have been able to experience these moments, if only as a spectator.  Community is what we must embrace.