Visiting Assisi (Italy)
with Savvy Mom Ruth Paget
The
homes in Assisi are built with rose- and white-colored stone. Breezes rushed up the streets.
We
took a tour of the Franciscan Basilica.
First, we went to the lower church, which is where Saint Francis (1181 –
1226) is buried. The lower church’s dark
interior made me associate everything there with death.
Mass
was in session and black-clad nuns sang all the responses in Latin. Saint Francis is buried under the altar
downstairs, which is why there is a constant prayer vigil around his grave. Saints’ remains have been stolen and set up
as pilgrimage sites elsewhere. (Venice’s San Marco and Santiago de Compostella
or Saint James in Spain, for example.)
The
upper church with its sunlight streaming in made me feel happy. The frescoes here depict the life of Saint
Francis and are also attributed to Giotto, but American art historians dispute
this claim.
One
of the paintings shows Saint Francis holding up a church, which alluded to his
holding up a corrupt church that chose to co-opt him rather than excommunicate
him. Saint Francis understood that a
hideously poor society endangered nobles and the Church alike. Saint Francis knew how to alleviate some of
the suffering of the poor.
After
visiting the Basilica, we walked through the streets of Assisi. Fewer Vespas charged around her, which
allowed you to hear birds chirping. People
spoke softly here even in the tourist shops.
I
ate bread and cheese for lunch and a fizzy water. I was still on “wedding-photo diet” on my own
budget even though we ate well with my college roommate’s family.
The
next church we visited was the church of Santa Clara. Santa Clara was the friend of Saint Francis.
We
were the only tourists in this church.
In a small chapel off to the side is the robe of Saint Francis and a
dress and overcoat worn by Santa Clara.
As
we were standing by the grate looking at the Saint Francis’s belongings, a
Saint Clare nun appeared behind the grate and spoke to us in Italian. She gave us Saint Francis prayer cards, which
I taped into my travel journal later.
The
nun had a transparent black veil over her face and was completely covered, so
that no part of her body could be seen except for her hands.
We
went downstairs to the crypt where Santa Clara’s tomb was under the main altar
here, too. Her remains were moved and
can only be viewed from the small window in front of us.
While
we were there, a group of black clad nuns came in and pulled a red drape across
the window and sang. Their voices made
the hairs on my arms stand up.
When
they finished their song, we left very happy with our visit.
By
Ruth Paget, author of Eating Soup with Chopsticks and Marrying France
Click here for: Ruth Paget's Amazon Books
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