Day 662: The Vatican, Now Known As The Pope Hall Of Fame

“I am a gold coin … the unfortunate world revolves around, not God, but me, and there’s nothing I can’t buy … as my actual value drops, however, my metaphorical value increases – proof that poetry is consolation to life’s miseries. But despite all such heartless comparison and thoughtless slander, I’ve realized that a large majority do sincerely love me. In this age of hatred, such heartfelt – even impassioned – affection ought to gladden us all.” — from My Name Is Red by Orhan Pamuk

Heavily armored to decipher and acknowledge the financial aftermath of the Italy trip, I am happy to report that we stayed right on budget, despite the current miserable performance of the US Dollar against the Euro. Calculations show that the exchange rate held steady between $1.33 and $1.34 for the entire 10 days despite Bush’s June 9 appearance at globalization talks in Rome (explains the carabinieri with riot gear all over the place). However, the leading economic indicator, i.e. my checkbook, speaks volumes of pause, deceleration and other great immigrant, squirrel-saving-nuts-for-winter habits. To answer your question, Ms. Lisa Mulvey, don’t go to Italy when we did. On the other hand, August is a bad month, when most Italians close shop and retire to the beach. Also, Rick Steves’ Italy 2007 was wrong only once – buy this book over Lonely Planet and others.

When planning a trip to Italy, Rome is a tourist’s must, but once is enough. It is a large, messy and bustling city built upon 2000+ years of government, architecture and art, but if solace is what you are after, Florence and Venice are it. As for the proverbial bad Roman drivers and traffic, if you’ve driven in New Orleans, India or both, you are amply qualified to take on Roman streets and its motorists. In four days, I witnessed only one accident and that, too, a small plastic part flying off a scooter that sideswiped a taxicab. Piffle.

As I put away paperwork and shred receipts, the mind travels to one of the first big stops on the Roman journey — the Vatican, and its own long love affair with all things currency. The Holy See has more money than God (pun intended), and one only has to look at the sheer expanse of this sovereign city state along with its stupefying collection of buildings, art, staff, and visiting worshippers on any given day, not to mention the Vatican’s own radio station, to immediately understand this. The entire shebang is supported, ostensibly, by donations from Roman Catholics the world over. To this, I mouth a big Yeah Right, unless one counts money and resources “given” by those nations colonized and people proselytized in the name of the Catholic cause over the centuries.

Let’s back this discussion up a bit. I’m a non-Christian who has read several versions of the Bible from cover to cover and agrees with the existence, philosophy and goodness of Jesus Christ, and am married to a man who was raised Lutheran (B-team Catholics). Do I believe Jesus is the son of God, a spiritual light, a dove and an emanation from immaculate foreplay and consummation? No. Do I believe he was a shaman who put himself out there to help his people get back to the basics of their faith? Absolutely. In my readings, Jesus told Jews to be better Jews and to cancel the subscription to the middleman and accompanying rituals. So, tell me, why does sweet baby Jesus, incarnated on earth to simplify things and help lessen our sins, need and bless what I describe here? Where amidst this Pope Hall Of Fame with gigantic statues of and rooms named after popes and donors (and comparatively miniscule instances of Jesus), ostentation and humanist works of art is the room for God and humility, if that is indeed the purpose of the flagship Catholic church? Why the contradiction that is Constantine’s removal of Roman idolatry followed by the installation of Jesus on the cross as the true God and the subsequent ascension of papal figures to God status? Tell me if this isn’t exaltation of the middleman all over again.

Wandering towards the Sistine Chapel, literally at the end of the vast tunnel that is the Vatican Museum, it was hard to ignore the wayside eye candy fit for kings, popes and everyone in between. Even the Hall of Maps, anterooms and lesser quarters are museums unto themselves; days are required to study each of these gorgeous spaces in great detail. Never let it be said that the Catholic Church isn’t a patron of the arts, all the way to the present with a whole wing dedicated to modern interpretations of Catholicism. Oh my goodness, are these sculptures and frescoes – created at the hand of man in the name of the spirit – awe-inspiring to the power of infinity. Humankind will be lucky to see such astounding works in marble, paint, mosaic and labor ever again. Yet, my mind, heart and soul could not help but flip back and forth between what the Vatican and its knee-weakening splendor purport to stand for and evoke in each visitor and the highly questionable means by which it all came about. Much of the marble and gilded rococo were, to my eyes, too reflective to absorb the rays of human faith.

Too, I understand performing all that we can within our human power in order to reach God. Michelangelo may have created the Sistine’s inimitable ceiling and Raphael The School Of Athens as penance and offerings to their Creator, as acts of prayer in and of themselves. Yet, this doesn’t dispel the overwhelming suspicion of the Vatican’s existence as a huge exercise in self-congratulation and, quite frankly, popery. The Pope as father and papal decrees as divine word only seem to bolster this worship of self and the religious fiefdom, one that had great influence on European world domination.

Through all of this, I inhaled the fresh frankincense, sought the content in the form and asked for peace, understanding and common sense to prevail. To see through a facade and still solemnize its professed beauty and beneficence is a great ability, whether given to us or grown over eons of biological mutations. Often, it’s best to accept that we are who we are in an imperfect world, and that asking why wilts the charm.

After this, we left for melanzane alla parmigiana and fresh, cool Italian wine. God loves pagan tourists, too, or he’s fattening us up for the Lake of Fire.