St. John the Evangelist begins his Gospel with an exhortation from the other St. John – the Baptist. When asked who he was by the priests and Levites sent from Jerusalem to interrogate him, he responded, “I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the Lord” (1:19-23). He was quoting the prophet Isaiah, who said, “A voice proclaims: In the wilderness prepare the way of the LORD! Make straight in the wasteland a highway for our God!” (40:3). This phrase of the Baptist is richly drawn on in liturgies during this period of Advent. It is a calling to prepare oneself for the coming of the Messiah. It is an exhortation to repent. St. Matthew adds a phrase to John the Baptist’s plea, "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand" (3:2). He is calling his listeners to have a change of heart and conduct – to turn their lives from rebellion to obedience towards God. The Baptist’s plea is both literal and figurative. He spent most of his life as an ascetic preaching in the desert. He was in the lower Jordan Valley when this exchange took place. Those who have been on pilgrimage to the Holy Land know that the land surrounding the Jordan River to the east of Jerusalem is arid and lifeless. On the obligatory excursion down to the Dead Sea, a good guide will point out Bedouins who still live in the area. Other than them, there is not much there. But the biblical meaning is more profound. St. John’s reference to the wilderness suggests that he was calling his listeners to come into the desert. The spiritual meaning of the desert is that it is a place of temptation, but also an oasis for allowing God to speak. I experienced this voice recently. However, I was not in the wilderness of the Judean Desert. I was in a place quite the opposite: the crowded, metropolitan city of Florence – a veritable cultural and artistic mecca. And a secularized desert. Last week, my family and I went to Florence for the holiday weekend of the Immaculate Conception. I was delighted we went, though it was rainy and very crowded due to the holiday. I love Florence. This is the city where I came to love the Italian language and culture. When I was 19 years old, I spent my first summer outside of the United States learning Italian as an undergraduate student in Florence. Later, for my master’s degree program through Middlebury College, I spent an entire year in the Renaissance city studying at our on-site campus, as well as at the University of Florence. Florence is culturally rich in so many ways. Not only does it have an unparalleled literary tradition – the fathers of the Italian language, Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio, were Florentine – the Renaissance was conceived in Florence: Giotto, Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Brunelleschi, Donatello were all from Florence. Uffizi Gallery paintings. From left to right: "The Birth of Venus" by Botticelli; "the Doni Tondo Holy Family" by Michelangelo; "The Duchess and Duke of Urbino" by Piero della Francesca (Photos courtesy of Bret Thoman) While the Renaissance is generally associated with humanism, it cannot be separated from Christianity. In fact, today many young, secular art students are forced to learn about Christian history, symbolism, and saints in order to understand Renaissance art. The same was true for me. Florence played a role in my conversion to Catholicism. During my undergraduate program, on Saturdays our school frequently organized excursions to nearby cities of interest. One day we went to Assisi. While the professor guided us through the Basilica of St. Francis, he did so as an academic. But I – a total agnostic at that point in my life – curiously, received his words spiritually. I had never heard of anyone doing something so profound as St. Francis. That day made an enormous impact on me. Two years after that summer, I converted to Christianity. Two years after that, I became Catholic. So inspired was I by the life of the saint from Assisi, I took St. Francis as my confirmation name. So when I return to Florence today, I do so joyfully. I take delight in bringing my children to the city that formed me so profoundly culturally and spiritually. I sense that they, too, recognize the awe-inspiring beauty in Michelangelo’s David, Botticelli’s Birth of Venus and Allegory of Spring, Fra Angelico’s frescoes in San Marco, and in Brunelleschi’s cathedral dome. At the same time, I am saddened when I return. While Florence has a rich Christian, artistic history, today it is a bastion of secularism and commercialism. It is on par with Milan in terms of fashion and shopping. Sadly, the church is in serious decline. The archdiocese of Florence, though massive (according to the official website, the archdiocese is divided into three areas and 18 vicariates with a total of 305 parishes and 804,000 Catholics) is experiencing an enormous crisis in vocations. Last year, the archbishop of Florence, Cardinal Giuseppe Betori, gave an interview to the Italian state media, RAI. He said, “[In Florence] next year there will be no one entering the seminary. […] I consider it one of the biggest wounds of my episcopate, because the year following my arrival [in Florence] in 2009, I ordained seven new priests, but this year I will ordain none. And next year there will be just one.” It's difficult to know if many people go to Mass because the churches have essentially been converted into museums. (This is the case in the historic city center.) When I was studying in the 1990s, there was no fee to enter any church in Florence. Shortly after I left, the cathedral began requesting a four-lire “donation” (the equivalent of $2). Then the Basilica of Santa Croce began “requesting” it, then San Marco, San Lorenzo, Santa Maria Novella, and so on. In a short time, all the historic churches began to charge money to get in. Today, it’s no longer a donation, it’s a museum ticket fee. And it’s not cheap. Adult entrances to Santa Croce are now €8 ($8.70). To bring my family to the Franciscan church in Florence costs me €32 ($40). I understand the reasoning behind these decisions. I recall being at Easter Mass in 1996 in Florence’s cathedral. The cardinal was doing his best to celebrate Mass despite the ruckus of the hordes of tourists in the back of the church. These were the days when volunteers were on hand to try to control the disrespectful tourists. No amount of shushing would quieten them. Entrance fees were the solution to hire the personnel to deal with the crowds. So we went from there to here. The birthplace of the great religious artists and writers of centuries ago is now a religious wilderness. The seminaries and churches are emptied and have been converted into museums. While ruminating on these things, and while strolling along Via dei Calzaiuoli – the road from the cathedral to the city hall square – Katia and I stopped at the church of Orsanmichele. Originally a granary, the powerful craft and trade guilds of Florence converted it into a well-endowed church in the fourteenth century. We attempted to enter and were willing to pay the four-euro fee, however, according to the gentleman behind the booth, it was closed and would not reopen until the following week. As we walked out, we noticed a smaller, more non-descript church immediately on the other side of Via dei Calzaiuoli. The door was open, and we entered. I was surprised to discover a monstrance resting on the main altar with a Host displayed. There was Eucharistic Adoration. Katia and I immediately knelt down and devoted ourselves to prayer. The small church was conducive to prayer, as there were only a handful of people inside. In that moment, all the hubbub of the shopping and noise on the street outside disappeared. I felt the consolation and loving presence of our humble Lord. It was so refreshing.
I thought of St. Francis and his devotion to the Eucharist: “O sublime humility! O humble sublimity! That the Lord of the whole universe, God and the Son of God, should humble himself like this and hide under the form of a little bread, for our salvation.” (Letter to the General Chapter) I thought of Scripture: “Who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God something to be grasped. Rather, he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, coming in human likeness” (Galatians 4:6-7). This is the Christ referred to during this time of Advent: “In times past, God spoke in partial and various ways to our ancestors through the prophets; in these last days, he spoke to us through a son, whom he made heir of all things and through whom he created the universe” (Hebrews 1:1-2). Suddenly, the meaning of Advent came alive to me. The message of John the Baptist from the wilderness has always been difficult to hear – perhaps today more than ever. There are so many competing voices. But the voice is always present. Often the voice is quiet, hidden. This is because God wants our will. He never imposes his will; rather, he wishes for our cooperation. But he is always there calling. And this Advent, his message is: “Come, Make straight the way of the Lord!
4 Comments
Charlene Briggs
12/20/2022 08:56:32 am
Thank you for sharing your thoughts and experiences of your conversion and on-going journey into Catholism
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linda adams
12/20/2022 10:38:11 am
Thank you Bret for sharing your heart!....this Advent, have become aware of my life appearing to becoming less, ie friends passing, activities lessening, yet the Lord continues to speak and this Season I hear His Word: BE still and Know that I am God. The Best Place to be is in the Sacred Heart of Jesus.
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Melody Taninies, OFS
12/20/2022 12:18:46 pm
Dear Bret,
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Debbie Coor
12/27/2022 12:47:18 am
May God bless you and your beautiful family!
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Bret ThomanCatholic. Franciscan. Married. Father. Pilgrim guide. Writer. Translator. Pilot. Aspiring sailor. Archives
April 2024
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