7:30 Thursday morning, Rome slept well. Twelve Franciscan Nuns chant prayers of praise in the Basilica of St Cecilia. The priest strolls into the Church unharried by the lateness of his entry. The nuns’ refrain maintains the solemnity of the moment while the priest robes himself in vestments made for the occasion. It’s a metaphor for the broader Church. Women do the work. Ordained men assume the status. Important liturgical acts cannot happen without the priest. His maleness provides him with superior qualifications to perform on such occasions. Meanwhile the shrillness of the nuns’ vocal range doesn’t detract from their commitment to this morning of prayer. However, age does things to the human voice. Encouragingly their placement on the sanctuary is progress from their youth when this was solely the priest’s domain. Reluctant signs of incremental progress.
The basilica is not one of the major churches in Rome but is a substantial space. A congregation of several hundred would fill the church. This morning the ‘congregation’ numbers one. A lone figure in the pews is somewhat conspicuous, one would have thought. There might have been an invitation to join those gathered on the sanctuary. The theology of the Eucharist is about participation. Didn’t Jesus invite all to his table? The priest and the nuns must have overlooked that email. I assumed a certain invisibility.
As the liturgy unfolds, my distant presence continues as a lone observer rather than participant. I contemplate the moment of communion. Do I assert my baptismal card carrying right by entering the inner sanctum by presenting myself to receive the host? Or do I wait for an invitation? I decide to wait to see what happens. Nothing happens. My status as observer rather than participant is reinforced. Invisible!
Go in peace! is the final refrain from the priest. It’s hard to argue with that sentiment. Under the circumstances it is ironic that ‘we’ can be on about peace but forget about relationship. The priest departs more hurriedly than his entry. The nuns process down the main aisle as they have done for decades. My eyes gaze at them. Their eyes are downcast. They exit through a side door to the convent. Their morning has begun with a certain spiritual inflexion that is hard to understand the relevance of in this day and age. The rest of their day may be filled with engagement with various causes facing humanity, but it began with total disengagement.
I sit for a moment to contemplate the experience, such as it is. Basilicas have rather large and imposing doors. The main door behind me groans. A nun is locking it. My appearance startles her. Her ‘arrivederci’ is the only acknowledgement I have had in the last hour. My visibility has been miraculously restored. Into the adjoining piazza and the priest is cycling furiously into the distance. Perhaps scurrying to visit a sick person at home? Or a pastoral visit to a homeless person’s shelter? Or running late for a Parish Council meeting? One can only hope that how to become a welcoming community is on their agenda. Wickedly I surmise that he is more likely to be running late for breakfast at a nearby café.
Basilica St Cecilia will re-open later in the morning for tourists to admire the art and understand the history of this place. Sadly, it is as a museum piece that the institutional Church now has most relevance.