Vespers at Caravita

Some of you will remember the little English-speaking Catholic congregation we have been attending here. I blogged about it during our Easter trip this spring. The congregation has two main ministries: working with refugees (Jesuit Refugee Services has offices in the basement) and ecumenical work, especially between the Roman Catholic and Anglican churches. To celebrate the 50th anniversary of the Anglican Center in Rome, the Archbishop of Canterbury came to town with the Canterbury Cathedral choir. One of the commemorative events was held last night (October 6) at Caravita.

There were over 50 bishops from around the world (half of them Catholic, half Anglican, all male) and choirboys in purple gowns with ruffled collars and cuffs. Many fancy liturgical robes and hats. Lots of holy smoke. 

The space, an oratory, has a lovely intimate grandeur with marvelous acoustics (a teenage Mozart once performed an organ recital here). 

The singing was astonishingly lovely and moving.  

The Vatican’s Secretary of State (Cardinal Pietro Parolin) presided, along with the Archbishop of Canterbury (His Grace Justin Welby). One does not expect Protestants to outdo here, but the Archbishop had beautiful robes and a brilliant, sparkling miter. His ruffled cuff moved slowly and his ring sparkled beautifully as he read his homily from an iPad he had solemnly carried to the ambo.

Photo does not capture how sparkly the Archbishop's miter was (in front)

...or how sparkly his ring was ... 

It was a swirl of emotion for me. At first, it all reminded me of childhood and my mother’s love of the tradition and certainty of established order. That was comforting and moving in its familiarity. At almost the same time, though, I felt the great weight (and not in a good way) of this place, Rome, which has required and insisted on conformity for so long; dominated by churches, churches, churches; and crawling with nuns and priests and brothers and monks; and littered with street corner Madonnas and popular religiosity of every kind. It made me nostalgic for the slightly-persecuted-feeling of religion back at home, where you felt like one’s faith was a choice, refreshed and virtuous. It got worse, later, when the men and young boys of the choir did Swayne's Magnificat,  with its strange, somewhat discordant and bird-like “ah” “ah” “ah” “ahs.” The Catholics were swinging the incense around the altar and cross, and I had this uncomfortable feeling of being in a scene from a Dan Brown novel! Hard to reconcile it all, but I think that is Rome for you …

It helped to have a superb dinner afterwards at nearby Il Forchetta: Roast lamb for Brad and tagliotini neri with seafood for me, plus salad and chicory and an amazing pistachio tiramisú! I guess we couldn’t get enough sacred music, though, because after dinner we went to Sant'Ignazio, a hugely more grand church right next door to Caravita, for a public concert by the choir. 

The space dwarfed them physically but they filled it with their voices. After a time, again, I felt weighed down by it all and started to imagine the statues all around coming alive later that night when the church was closed and empty; the virgins with their flowing gowns and the apostles with their stern faces, all the saints climbing down from their altars and the cherubs flying down from the pediments and letting go of their garlands, transformed into the real, soft, leafy kind. And just lounging around recalling the beauty of the music and the liveness of a church full of people.