The View from a Drawbridge

By the time you read this, I will most likely be in Rome. Just typing that sentence excites me. I’m actually writing the post about a month in advance, though, because as much as I love you, Dear Reader, the last thing I want to do while on vacation is stress out about this blog. So I’m making sure I have plenty of posts in queue, just waiting to go live.

Current/past me can’t really say for certain what the mindset will be/is of current/future me. Here’s hoping the trip is going well. I’m sure I’m relieved that we have a reliable house/dog sitter, so we don’t have to worry about the home front. All should be under control there, although we’ve been gone for more than a week, and I have no doubt that I’m longing for my dogs.

But what I’m wondering most about that other me, aside from how she’s feeling about her travels through Italy in general, is, more specifically, her reaction to all the religious spaces she has been in. Catholic Basilicas, Jewish Synagogues, Animist and Polytheist places of various types including Ancient Roman Temples and rooms with Mythraic altars. I will probably pay a visit to the Vatican, too. And of all the years I choose to travel to Italy, I had to pick the Jubilee, a year of remission of sins, debts, and universal pardon in the Catholic Church, so I’m guessing Rome will be chock full o’ adherents hoping for what sounds like to this non-Catholic to be the religious equivalent of a Get Out of Jail Free Card. And lest we forget, the Pope passed away and the process to replace him will most likely still be ongoing. So much for traveling in the shoulder season.

I don’t espouse any of these religions. In general, I believe that many horrible things have been done in the name of organized religion, and I look at all bureaucracies, spiritual or otherwise, with a jaundiced eye. But organizations are not individuals, and I’d like to think that many people look to religion for a moral compass and for stability and for a way to make sense of the world around them. And in fact, I am part of a religion, too, so who am I to criticize? And one of the things that attracts me most about mine is that we don’t proselytize, which is probably why I’ve found no evidence that it is represented anywhere in Italy.

Many of the religious spaces I will enter in Italy will be free of charge. Some will ask for donations, which I will choose to contribute to. At least they will be making an attempt to hold up the illusion that the stern nun sitting at the door won’t grab me by the ear and toss me into the via if I don’t pony up, so I’ll play along.

Some will have an entrance fee. In some cases, the fee will rankle. Some religions already have way too much money, and they do not spend it where it is most needed. That bothers me. But at the same time, I’m about to treat their place as a tourist venue, and there’s bound to be some traveling equivalent to a carbon footprint that I ought to offset, right? I mean, they’re having to keep an eye on me to make sure I don’t steal the baptismal fonts, and they have to keep the lights on and sweep the floors and keep the sacred skulls from getting cobwebs to avoid a bad Yelp review, and so on. They wouldn’t have to do that but for the constant stream of visitors. So, yeah, I understand why one should cough up some euros.

And even if I don’t respect the many awful things that have been done in the name of, or with the help of, various religions, that doesn’t prevent me from admiring their architecture and their art and the fascinatingly grim history that stretches back to way before Europeans invaded and co-opted the Americas. It also doesn’t prevent me from respecting the people around me who have chosen to walk a different spiritual path than I happen to be on. And because of that, I will always respect their sacred spaces.

The saying, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do” could not be more apropos. In fact, according to Wikipedia, it came about from a very similar conundrum. It seems that Saint Monica and Saint Augustine were used to the way things were done in Milan, where they did not fast on Saturdays. But in Rome, they did, in order to better prepare themselves for Sunday religious rituals. They were about to visit Rome, and they were unsure of what to do. So they asked Saint Ambrose, who told them, “When I am here (in Milan) I do not fast on Saturday, when in Rome I do fast on Saturday”. And from there the saying was born.

I think it’s sage advice, because it’s all about respect. So, when entering a basilica, I will dress modestly. My shoulders will be covered. I will not be showing much leg, if any. I won’t be wearing a shirt with an inappropriate (or, in fact, any) slogan. Just as I remove my shoes in places that ask me to, and cover my hair if that’s required, in other venues, I will, in this case, “Do as the Romans do.”

So what will I be thinking? Probably something along the lines of, “What gorgeous mosaics. What an incredible building. Such stunning frescoes. I’m so lucky to be seeing this with my own eyes. Here’s hoping I don’t get struck by lightning for trying not to think about of all the things that are bundled up in the same package, such as war and genocide and greed and torture and epidemics and poverty and child abuse and ignorance and corruption and colonialism and forced assimilation and exploitation.

Fear not. Those thoughts are simply on hiatus while I take my vacation. Institutions be damned, it’s not healthy to crush yourself under the sheer weight of your righteous indignation 365 days a year.

It’s okay to appreciate the magnificence and creativity that humans are capable of if they manage to lift themselves up out of the muck and mire of daily existence. Even beautiful things that are born from a tainted womb are worthy of some form of respect. Sometimes, you are allowed to gaze at things like the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and feel awe without overthinking it.

Namaste.