travel

Orvieto and the Feast of Corpus Christi

January 28, 2013 By Kathy Schiffer 3 Comments

Orvieto atop a butte

The town of Orvieto is an Etruscan city located in the scenic region of Umbria, between Firenze (Florence) and Roma (Rome).

I first visited the medieval town of Orvieto in 2002, and again in 2006. It’s the eucharistic miracle which is preserved there that I want to tell you about today—but first, let me tell you a little about this picturesque little town.

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Getting Up There – Orvieto sits atop a volcanic rock, on a high butte overlooking the plain; and our group rode a funicular, a hillside train, from the valley below. The original funicular, with its water ballast counter-balanced cabin, was replaced in modern times by an automatic line. There is no driver aboard the cabin—just a single operator who manages the computerized system from the upper station.

Troubled History: A City Under Siege – The citizens of medieval Orvieto thought they were safe, up there on that butte. When attacked by other groups, they could fend them off, hurling arrows or axes or rocks over the cliff. What they weren’t prepared for, though, was a long siege. On their fertile butte they could grow corn and other crops, even raise cattle and chickens; but they descended to the valley to get their water.

When many of the town’s citizens died of dehydration following a long siege by the Romans, the people of Orvieto conceived the idea of a deep well. Utilizing a double helix staircase St. Patrick’s Well, as it was named, descended from the upper plain 248 steps to the water level. Families maintained narrower artesian wells, down which they could drop a bucket to retrieve water for drinking, cooking and bathing. In the walls of the deep wells, the Etruscans dug holes which served as dovecotes, encouraging pigeons to nest. At dinnertime, the enterprising Etruscans simply reached into the well, pulled a dove out of the nest—and enjoyed the bird roasted.

Popes In Residence – Orvieto, securely situated and not too far from Rome, was a place of refuge for five popes during the 13^th century: Urban IV, Gregory X, Martin IV, Nicholas IV and Boniface VIII. Orvieto’s Palazzo Soliano, the palace of the popes in that city, contains many well-preserved frescoes from 1290 and earlier.

A Crisis of Faith, and a Miracle – Pope Urban IV was in residence at Orvieto in 1263 when a German priest, Peter of Prague, had a crisis of faith. The priest was devout, but found it difficult to believe in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist. He was en route to Rome and stopped at the Italian city of Bolsena, where he celebrated Mass at the tomb of St. Christina. As he spoke the words of the Consecration, blood began to seep from the consecrated Host and trickle over his hands and onto the altar and the corporal.

Shocked, the priest immediately traveled to nearby Orvieto, where Pope Urban listened to his story. The pope asked that the Host and the bloodstained cloth be brought to him in the cathedral. Pope Urban and a number of cardinals and Church dignitaries greeted the procession and had the relics enshrined in the Cathedral at Orvieto. The stained corporal bearing the spots of blood is still displayed there, in a golden reliquary in the Chapel of the Corporal.

Eucharistic Hymns for the Ages – Pope Urban, deeply affected by this miracle, commissioned St. Thomas Aquinas to compose the Proper for a Mass and an Office honoring the Holy Eucharist as the Body of Christ. The hymns which St. Thomas wrote included the traditional hymns still widely used in Benediction: the Pange Lingua (with its concluding verses, the Tantum Ergo), the Panis Angelicus, and O Salutaris Hostia.

One year after the miracle, in August of 1264, Pope Urban IV introduced Aquinas’ composition and issued a papal bull instituting the feast of Corpus Christi (the Body of Christ).

Filed Under: Eucharist, Faith, History, Italy, Miracles, Music, Real Presence, Saints, Travel Tagged With: Eucharistic Miracle, Funicular, Italy, Miracle of Bolsena, Orvieto, Pope Urban IV, Thomas Aquinas, travel 3 Comments

WHERE THE LOVE OF GOD GOES: The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

November 10, 2012 By Kathy Schiffer 9 Comments

Does anyone know where the love of God goes
When the waves turn the minutes to hours…

–Gordon Lightfoot, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald”

It was circa July 1973, and my husband and I—young, free-wheeling and in love, with more dreams than experience—embarked on a driving trip through upper Michigan. We’d never been much farther north than Lansing at that point. We pitched a tent along the way, getting to know Grayling and Mio, the Au Sable River and the Traverse City wine country, finally turning back when we reached Lake of the Clouds in Michigan’s Porcupine Mountains.

Along the way, we stopped at Sault Ste. Marie, on the St. Mary’s River. Originally called “Sault du Gastogne” by early French fur traders, it was renamed by Jesuit missionary Pere Jacques Marquette in 1633, to honor the Virgin Mary.

The St. Mary’s River is the only water connection between Lake Superior and the Great Lakes; but there is a section of the river known as the St. Mary’s Rapids, where the water falls about 21 feet from the level of Lake Superior to the level of the lower lakes. With ingenuity and persistence, the settlers built a series of locks, called the “Soo Locks,” to bypass the dangerous waters of the river—and in 1855, the steamer Illinois passed through the locks in less than an hour. The four locks in use today permit shipping through the Great Lakes into the waters of Lake Michigan, connecting the American Midwest to the Atlantic Ocean.

Standing there at the Locks in 1973, Jerry and I watched as a freighter passed through the locks, the ship’s crew “manning the rails,” a tradition which showed that they had no evil intent. We snapped 35 mm photos which were later developed into slides.

Only years later did we review the 35mm slides we took that day and realize that the ship we’d seen that day was the mighty and legendary Edmund Fitzgerald, destined for immortality as a “ghost ship.”

On November 10, 1975, just two years after we captured the ship and its crew on film, the Edmund Fitzgerald—en route from Wisconsin to Detroit’s Zug Island—sank in the waters of Lake Superior during a storm. The ship broke in two, its crew of 29 were lost, and Gordon Lightfoot wrote his ode to the ship and its brave crew. Today, 35 years after the loss, Old Mariner’s Church in Detroit still sounds its bells 29 times each day in honor of the sailors who lost their lives in this most famous of Michigan’s many shipwrecks.

Looking at the photographs today, I remember that these men—most in their 40s or 50s, and some as young as 21—were not planning to die that day. They left loving wives, children, parents, and friends, drawn to the depths of the sea and the arms of their Creator. Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord.

Filed Under: Death, Michigan, Nostalgia, Travel Tagged With: Death, Michigan, nostalgia, travel 9 Comments

IN GOD’S IMAGE: The Feast of the Dedication of the Basilica of St. John Lateran in Rome

November 7, 2012 By Kathy Schiffer 1 Comment

Do you not know that you are the temple of God,
and that the Spirit of God dwells in you?
If anyone destroys God’s temple,
God will destroy that person;
for the temple of God, which you are, is holy.

– 1 Corinthians 3:16-17

Interior – Basilica of St. John Lateran

For a tourist in Rome, there is wonder around every corner. Priceless antiquities are everywhere—the Colosseum rises beside the freeway, obelisks jut skyward in shopping malls, and ancient relics sit amid the Vespas in crowded parking garages. Pop into a church along your walk, and you’re likely to see the remains of St. Agnes or a painting by Caravaggio. Even the local McDonald’s is constructed of precious marble.

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The largest and most famous of Rome’s great basilicas is St. Peter’s, which is constructed over the bones of the apostle to whom Jesus gave the Keys of the Kingdom. But St. Peter’s is not the oldest and is not the primary basilica in Rome; that honor is accorded to the Basilica of St. John Lateran, the pope’s own church, the dedication of which is celebrated in the liturgical calendar on November 9. Dating back to the fourth century, St. John Lateran carries the title of “ecumenical mother church,” the mother church of the whole inhabited world.

It’s rare that a liturgical feast turns our eyes to a building, rather than to a holy person. But that’s missing the point: We are challenged to look within the four marbled walls to see what’s really important: the “chair of Peter.”

The Chair of Peter

In Exodus 18:13, Moses sat upon his chair, and the Israelites understood that from that honored throne, he ruled in judgment of his people. In the Scriptures, the authority of the chair was passed on to Joshua. Jesus recognized the authority of the chair, and so conferred upon Peter both His own authority, and the authority of Moses. In St. John Lateran, the locus of the Catholic Faith, the Church proclaims itself to be truly one (that is, united in faith), holy, catholic (or universal), and apostolic (continuing unceasing from the time of the apostles).

The Schiffers in front of the Basilica of St. John Lateran, September 2000

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The second scripture reading in the liturgy for the feast is drawn from St. Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians. It’s about a building—but then again, it’s not. As we celebrate the great feast of the great basilica, we are reminded that like the great basilica, we are temples of God. We are holy, for we are made in the image and likeness of God. Inspired by the Holy Spirit, Paul cautions that God will destroy anyone—hear this, ANYONE—who destroys His temple.