The Sistine Chapel: The Paintings Are Just A Decoration, The Papal Conclave Is Just A Tradition

    (I avoided the long queue by reserving online)

I have been walking around the labyrinth of time and history for hours now and yet, these huge statues of Roman and Greek gods, and other fascinating works of art only capture my attention for only a few moments. The statue of Apollo of the Belvedere, believed to be about 1,800 years old and sculpted from one huge, solid marble, hardly made me stop to admire its colossal significance to the art world that even led Napoleon Bonaparte to loot it, and while the Gallery of Maps, with its 120-meter long curved ceiling full of frescoes, was very fascinating, considering Ignazio Danti, the cartographer, did not have Google maps to refer to in 1580.

(Triumphant Perseus holding Medusa's head 

carved by Antonio Canova in 1801)

(Gallery of Maps)

I’m inside the Musei Vaticani or the Vatican Museums in Rome, Italy, where I am tracing a path lined with the priceless acquisitions of the past papacies that have been put together on display since 1506, fifteen years before Ferdinand Magellan set foot in the Philippines. But of the 70,000 paintings, sculptures and archeological artifacts owned by the Vatican, only 20,000 are lining that path in several captivating rooms, and of all those rooms, there is one that no visitor would ever want to miss: the Sistine Chapel.

 (Refreshments for sale before going 

into the Sistine Chapel)

After walking for two hours through the prescribed route when visiting the Vatican Museums, I stopped by Bar Caffetteria Sistina to rest my legs and fill my tummy with a sandwich before I finally stepped into the most awaited part of the tour. Whoever thought of the idea to put up a small refreshments corner before one enters the Sistine Chapel should have been canonized. As the whole stretch of the Vatican Museums is 7.5 kilometers long, a weary tourist deserves a rest before entering the holiest, the most fascinating, and the most beautiful part of the tour. I, therefore, prepared myself by munching a ham sandwich and downing it with bottled iced tea at the Bar Caffetteria Sistina.

                  (Be quiet and no cameras)

After I nourished my body, it was time to nourish my soul. I then followed the path and climbed the steps that lead up to the chapel while a sign greeted and reminded me ‘to be quiet’ and ‘no cameras’ before the main door. But when I stepped into the hall, the chapel was crowded and dim as the daylight from the high side windows provided the only illumination, but one does not need bright lights to be entranced by one’s current whereabouts. And the only loud sound heard is from the Italian guard who is dressed spiffily and shouting “Silenzio!” every now and then, although his command is always drowned by the humming whispers from his international visitors.

I stopped to absorb the moment I walked in and then breathed in the atmosphere mixed with history and the most fascinating of artworks in the world. I realized, since the papal conclave has been held in this room since 1492, the molecules of the air the past popes and the cardinals who elected them had breathed in and out must have lingered around for the past 500 years and might have ended up in my asthmatic lungs. I felt cured already!

Renamed after Pope Sixtus IV, who had it restored in 1480, the Sistine Chapel, has been transformed from a private place of worship, and with the vision of Pope Julius II and the talent of Michelangelo Buonarotti, its ceiling became into the most looked up to in the world. On any given day, about 20,000 tourists enter the Sistine Chapel and crane their necks towards the heavens to admire and be fascinated by the frescoes more than 68 feet above them. Now, I became one of them.

Not wanting to stand for the entirety of my visit, I found a vacant space on a bench on the right side of the altar. This was after all a chapel, so I planned to pray. And as I went through the decades of the Holy Rosary, I trained my eyes around the overwhelming frescoes on the walls depicting stories from the Bible as painted by the greatest of Renaissance painters like Botticelli, Perugino and Ghirlandaio, and those especially above me that were created by Michelangelo himself. Most important, I wondered how old was the bench that was providing me temporary comfort and which pope had sat on the same spot before.

I could only imagine and let my mind wander what it was like inside the Chapel during a conclave. But I just had to remind myself that I was blessed and lucky to be in the same room where popes were being elected for centuries. And for this very special experience, I was a grateful Catholic.

(The Creation of Adam - photo from Musei Vaticani)

Although it was easy to get lost in this dizzying amount of art, tradition, and history of the Sistine Chapel, I always reminded myself that this was a place of prayer where holy men have gathered, prayed for guidance, and professed their faith right under the painting of The Creation of Adam where God creates man, and right in front of The Last Judgment where He judges all of us. Those paintings are just decorations, created by men for others. The papal conclave is just a tradition where cardinals elect Saint Peter’s successor. What is most important is to always remind ourselves that in places of worship, the most priceless or the most expensive altars of great churches, or in this case, the most famous chapel of all, should not divert our attention to what matters the most: our faith, our Christian values, and the salvation of one’s soul.

According to Pope Francis, prayer is the key to bring us closer to God, and while all the doors of the Vatican Museum require 2,797 keys to open, then, I only need one.

#sistinechapel #vaticancity #museivaticani #conclave #popefrancis #popebenedict #catholic #vaticanmuseums

#ResilientGuimaras : Bangon, Guimarasnon!

(The map of Guimaras Island)

One week ago, on August 3, 2019, at noon, two motorized wooden boats (called bangka, locally) capsized in the Iloilo Strait, located in the middle region of the Philippines, amidst bad weather and bad decisions. They came from Iloilo City's Ortiz Wharf en route to Jordan town in Guimaras Island, a boat ride that would normally take 15 minutes. A few hours later, another one capsized. And even before dusk that day, families and friends were already frantically pounding the authorities and online media outlets for the names of the survivors of the tragedy. Days later, an official list of those who survived and those who did not was released along with collective blame and anger from the public and the families. 

I have crossed the same strait from Iloilo City several times these past years on our way to enjoy the attractions of Guimaras Island, an island that boasts of beautiful beaches, historic attractions, and the best mangoes in the world. And having cousins who live there makes the trip even more worth it, although we were initially worried if any of them took the tragic trip; a message from them confirming they were all safe appeased our worried thoughts. 

(We rode this same bangka on our way 

to Guimaras Island from Iloilo City)

But this tragedy has again brought dark clouds over the island, dampening the spirit of its people because, not only were the family and friends who lost a loved were the ones affected, a lot of Guimarasnon also were by the stoppage of the boat trips to and from Iloilo City.

Guimarasnon students who study in Iloilo, Guimarasnon workers and office people who are employed in Iloilo, Guimarasnon vendors who sell their products (like baye-baye made of corn that I once bought from Iloilo Public Market!) in Iloilo, and Guimarasnon businesspeople who source their food supplies and other goods from Panay Island have all been affected because the most popular link between the islands was cut off. 

(The giant cross on top of Bala-an Bukid or 

Sacred Mountain can be seen from Iloilo 

City and when crossing the Iloilo Strait.)

According to history, a Portuguese mariner, who survived the trip and the slaughter of Ferdinand Magellan and his Spanish and Portuguese soldiers by Lapu-Lapu and his warriors in Mactan Island in 1521, lent his hometown's name to an island they passed by en route back to Spain. His hometown in Portugal was Guimaraes, and because it has been 498 years since that day he saw the island up close, one would think there would have been more modern ways to cross to the bigger Panay Island than just by riding a wooden bangka that could have been dwarfed by any of Magellan's ships built 500 years ago.

This tragedy is again a wake-up call for the island's government officials and politicians who should have put the need for safer and more modern modes of transport between the islands, although, sadly, it is always the case. It usually takes a sinking of a boat, the losing of lives, or another accident to put a spotlight on the infrastructure needs of the island. 

(I visited the beautiful Guimaras Island during the Manggahan Festival that is held every May)

Since last weekend, the sun hasn't set on Guimaras Island, and Negrosanons and Ilonggos share in the pain.💓 But with the prayers of the Filipinos, the people of Guimaras Island shall rise back up again.🙏


Stay strong, Guimarasnon! ⛪

Bangon, Guimarasnon! 👪

The Bosconian Brotherhood: Founded by a Saint, Strengthened by Salesian Teachings

I took the express train from the Roma Termini Station in Rome at ten in the morning and arrived at Turin’s Porta Nuova Station about five hours later. Without any tourist map and without anything to eat, I navigated the side streets on foot trying to find my hotel in Turin by locating a busy street named Corso Stati Uniti from memory. I finally found my accommodation after wandering for about 20 minutes but, more important, I also found a sandwich in my bag! I was being watched over! (The prosciutto sandwich was given to me my friend Margarita as 'baon' on my train ride from Rome to Turin, and I forgot all about it.😃) 

(The highlighted portion with brighter colors is the Don Bosco compound in Turin with the Basilica of Mary Help of Christians and the school next to it. This area in Turin is called 'Don Bosco Valdocco'.)

The next morning, armed with a map from the hotel this time, I hopped into a city bus and got off at a bus stop that was about 800 meters from the destination of my dreams. And after walking for minutes, I arrived at Don Bosco Valdocco, the area in Turin where the Basilica of Mary Help of Christians, the church the Virgin herself asked Saint John Bosco to build in her honor, and the Don Bosco school that the saint himself put up are located. After saying a prayer of thanksgiving at the Basilica, I walked around the school and found myself near the Chapel of Saint Francis of Sales where I saw school kids and their teachers started to gather. Realizing that there would be a noontime mass at the chapel, I joined them inside and claimed a seat right behind the group of the young Bosconians. But before the mass, I approached one female teacher and quietly asked, “Señora, es la Misa en Italiano?” She answered, “¡Si!”

         (Don Bosco pointed me to his cafeteria)

Of course, I knew the mass was going to be in Italian; I just had to make sure that there wasn’t really any divine intervention to make the school suddenly arrange for an English mass because of the presence of a visiting Bosconian from Asia whose Italian proficiency was limited to asking directions and ordering pizza. After the mass, I wandered further inside the school following the corner signs and found its cafeteria where, because it was noon, a lot of teachers and students were eating. For me, this wasn’t just a school cafeteria; it was an Italian restaurant! And after ordering (in my survival Italian) and paying for my pizza and pasta, I took a seat at an empty table, said a prayer, took a photo of my food, and wondered whether Saint John Bosco or Saint Dominic Savio had the same food choices more than a century ago when they dined at this cafeteria.

       (The Don Bosco school's cafeteria in 

Turin serves pasta and pizza! 

I can eat here every day!)

         (It was already around 1PM but the cafeteria
            was still full of students and teachers)

But what initially seemed to be a solitary visit to the Don Bosco motherhouse became a group tour as I met at the cafeteria Michele (pronounced mee-ke-le), another visiting Bosconian from the eastern side of Italy. Just like me, Michele felt at home walking around the school and having his lunch there. He even stayed at the dormitory run by the congregation. And even though our respective Don Bosco schools were continents apart, Michele, from Ravenna in the Emilia-Romagna Region in Italy, and I, from Victorias found on one of the Philippine islands, the brotherhood we shared as Bosconians turned us from strangers and into good friends.

(Photographs of the cafeteria of during a special occasion. Notice the white table cloths with set cutlery and Italian wine.)

As Michele had already visited Camarette di Don Bosco, a museum that housed the saint’s personal belongings, including his funeral carriage, I went alone. The museum is in an old building where the saint lived until his death on January 31, 1888. And standing alone inside his bedroom where he spent his last days, I meditated upon this saint’s life who dreamt of spreading the teachings, based on the philosophy of Saint Francis of Sales, to the shores beyond those of Italy. In that bare, small room with a simple bed, I felt that this must have been the place where the saint received most of the divine guidance for his work as well as dreams in his sleep that were messages of encouragement and enlightenment from the Virgin herself. Right next to his bedroom was a small altar where he also said mass. How blessed and fortunate were his students who were able to hear those masses celebrated by a saint!🙏

                                 (Saint John Bosco's bedroom)

          (His private altar next to his bedroom)

And as I was meandering alone through the building - from his bedroom to his altar, and through corners displaying his personal things in this place where this saint prayed, lived and died, I wondered whether the eerie feeling I was experiencing was normal, or was there some presence that accompanied me on this quiet mid-afternoon as I traced this saint’s life through his old portraits and history? Or perhaps, it was just overwhelming for one Bosconian who had spent his formative years learning his teachings through books, prayers, sports and the practice of Christian values, and who was now face to face with the saint’s life.

(Don Bosco's portraits)

                   (Don Bosco's cassock and canes)

Other than Don Bosco’s personal memorabilia, the museum displays photographs and paintings of Saint Maria Mazarello, a nun who helped set up the female branch of the Salesian family that nurtured, educated and guided young girls, and that of Mama Margherita, Don Bosco’s mother who helped him give shelter to the poor and abandoned boys of Turin. While I graduated from my Don Bosco school in Victorias decades ago and haven’t seen these portraits in a long time, memories of my school days, where no time was wasted and hands were never left idle during their waking hours, returned. Even during lunchtime at school, there was also some sports activities one can enjoy.

       (The yard at the Don Bosco school in Turin)

Giovanni Melchiorre Bosco born on August 16, 1815, and died at 72 on January 31, 1888, the date that is now celebrated as his feast day. He was canonized in 1934. And 138 years since his death, his teachings, work, and devotion to Mary, the Help of Christians, are still being continued by the Salesians of Don Bosco consisting of 14, 614 bishops, priests, brothers, novices, and seminarians in 133 countries and 1,915 Don Bosco houses.

(The different flags of a few countries where Don Bosco schools are found. I asked the museum secretary why there was no Philippine flag on display; she said they changed the flags every now and then because it couldn't accommodate all countries. They needed 133 flag poles if they wanted to display all.😄)

Walking with Michele around the walls of the Don Bosco motherhouse in Turin, Italy, breathing the atmosphere of Salesian teachings and the spirit of Bosconian brotherhood, I realized I might never know how many lives have been changed by the saint’s work and teachings. After all, the Salesian family's motto is "Da mihi animas, caetera tolle" (Give me souls, take away the rest). But it doesn't really matter as I am grateful and blessed that one of those souls is mine.  🙏

                         

"Qui con voi mi trovo bene;

è proprio la mia vita stare con voi"

"Here with you I am happy;

it is my life to be with you."

#bosconian #donbosco #saint #donboscovaldocco #maryhelpofchristians #turn #italy #italia #saintdominicsavio #marymazarello #salesians