The Brass Door
My day began with eating cake and drinking espresso with a pitcher of hot milk. On the way to work I found myself in Rome and I knew nothing of the city. Because I always fly by the seat of my pants I bought a Rome travel guide once I landed and learned over breakfast that I could see the Sistine Chapel.
I left the comforts of my hotel and hit the streets with a map and a general idea of which way I needed to head. Along the way I realized that I was a foreigner… a naive one at that and never considered that language might be of an issue. Finally, I crossed a bridge, came around a corner and was amazed by the wide corridor that extended up to the steps of a massive church.
The machine guns and the metal detectors outside surprised me however my excitement dismissed them as I passed through. As I made my way up to the main steps I heard the first piece of English that day. A pretty voice spoke to me and said, “If you speak English I’m about to start a free tour.” I continued past and then stopped. I’m not sure if it was the English or the offer of a free tour that caught my attention. Regardless, I turned around and joined the group.
The first obvious benefit of joining was she introduced me to the proper name of the building; St. Peters Basilica and pointed out that the Sistine Chapel was around the corner. She toured us inside showing us amazing art and dead popes while continually apologizing that we could not see everything because they were preparing for a very special occasion. Just before we left the building she said the Pope was holding a mass that he does once a year and she had two tickets for a couple to attend. I understood why I was pulled to join the group. As we stepped out of the church I stayed as close to her as possible but in the crowd I fell a couple steps behind. When I caught up I watched her hand over two blue tickets to another couple and I cringed! I told her that I wanted to go and she informed me that she was only given two at the beginning of the day. I understood of course, but that was not the answer I wanted. “Where do I go if someone decided they can’t make it and they want to return the ticket?” She responded… “Go to the Swiss Guard at the Brass Door.”
I thanked her and ran around to get back in line to go through the metal detectors again. It didn’t seem too hard. I walked up and down the tourist paths looking for a something brass. When I saw individuals who looked like they could assist I was dismissed with some version of I don’t speak English. Finally on another pass I saw a nun walking up a set of stairs on the other side of a barricade protected by two guards carrying a blue ticket! I looked at the door and sure enough it was brass. The Guards were wearing the Medici colors of purple, gold and red and I realized then putting some history lessons together that these were the Swiss Guards. My next task was to get passed two heavily armed men into an area that only priests and nuns were seem to be allowed to enter.
I’d like to say that I had a plan. I’m not even sure that smiled extra big or batted my eyelashes. I just walked up and spoke English to a man who only seemed to speak Italian. Of course I had a feeling that there must be some words (if not all of them) that secretly he knew. I tried. He rejected me. I tried again and he rejected me again. Then another nun was let to pass holding another blue ticket. I pointed at the ticket and assumed the please, please, please, pray, pray, pray hand gesture… and it worked. He pointed to the top of the stairs and moved the barricade.
When I reached the top and looked into the non-blinking eyes of these men I politely asked if there were any blue tickets to attend the mass with the Pope. The guard closest to me snapped and said NO… like a mother sternly trying to stop a child from sneaking a cookie. The other guard was different. He asked, how many do you need? I responded just one and he went around the door and came back with one in his hand. Victory!
I was so happy and excited that somehow I was able to accomplish this and I felt a little bit like Laura Croft in Tomb Raider. I had sometime to kill so I went over to the Sistine Chapel (now that I knew where it was) and I laid on the reclining benches and studied Michelangelo’s Last Judgment and the Book of Genesis.
When the time had come I returned to the plaza outside St. Peter’s, which had been cleared of tourist and a line of nuns and priests formed from the front door. I was a little nervous at first and joined the line regardless thinking if it is the wrong line I will be moved eventually. As the doors opened we filed in and I was so close to the beginning that I had my pick of spaces to sit. The first noticeable spot was in the first row and about the 5th seat in… however I picked the 5th row from the front and right on the center isle. As the seats filled I was surrounded by people of the cloth and I knew I was in very good company.
The Pope arrived and the crowd stood up and erupted in cheers. I’m pretty sure I just stood there with my mouth gaping open as his hover thrown passed close enough to touch.
The mass was in Italian, Latin and a few other international languages. Eventually someone spoke in English, which after an hour of not understanding anything rang out loud and clear. I will write the exact passage from the book below. What was impressed upon me in the moment was this: “It doesn’t matter how you get on the path… as long as you do.” A few minutes later a number of cardinals stood up with bowls of Corpus Christi and stood at the head of each pew. I knew from shooting weddings that this meant mass and that also meant, non-catholic participation was not suggested.
The furthest person in my row got up and walked down the line and stood in front of me as I watched him or her (I don’t remember now) accept the body of Christ. He / she walked back to their seat and the next person walked in front of me and did the same. I stood and watched at least a dozen people take communion in my ‘personal space’. Ss the line got shorter and shorter I realized it was going to be my turn soon. A battle erupted in my mind. Do I say yes, or do I say no?
A thought came over me like a loud speaker in my mind and said, “It doesn’t matter how you get on the path as long as you do.” By that time it was my turn. I opened my mouth and I took the wafer. That was my first and only day in Rome.
Pope John Paul II died six moths later.
