Hurray! Jorge and I were finally well enough to spend the whole day away from the apartment. It began with a metro ride to the Ottaviano metro station, and then Maggie, Ricardo, Jorge and I followed the signs directing us towards the Vatican.
Many have heard me say, “I was raised more Catholic than the Pope.” … and it’s true. With my brothers and sisters, I went to Mass daily. In our parochial school we had Catechism every day; there was Confession on Saturdays, as well as Benediction some Sundays. The Way of the Cross was held every Wednesday during Lent, and in May we took flowers to the Virgin Mary and said the Rosary every afternoon. There were many assorted feast days that also required religious observance. Holy Trinity Parish was the center of our family’s life.
As a little girl, this seemed perfectly normal, but as I grew older, I began to feel that my religious upbringing was, perhaps a tad, excessive. Pretty soon after I moved away from home, I stopped attending Mass regularly. But during difficult times of my life, I have sought the solace of my childhood faith. I would like to be a strong believer
but to tell the truth, it is an elusive thing for me.
Yet, arriving at the steps of St. Peters today, I must say I the wonder surfaced. The ceremony and symbolism… the Pieta , St. Peter’s burial place, the main altar, the Swiss Guards. I knelt, I prayed…
I came away feeling grateful for my family and all my blessings.
I am thankful for the solid sense of grounding and belonging that I received as a child.
I felt comforted that I had been to the Vatican. This photograph of the Pieta is like my faith… pretty fuzzy, nonetheless, I can recognize it is there.