Macerata, Ti Voglio Molto Bene

Tonight I had two authentic Italian experiences I will never forget. I went alone to Good Friday mass. It was a beautiful service. The older woman sitting next to me was extremely amiable. I asked her where I could get a bulletin, and she bothered the people in front of us to take their extra bulletin for me. With the bulletin, I was able to follow along and understand the liturgy because my ability to read Italian is better than my listening comprehension. The bishop and the priests carried out a kind of reenactment of the Passion of Christ. At one point, they took a large crucifix covered in red cloth and processed through the aisles of the church. When they reached the altar, they placed the crucifix there and uncovered Christ’s body. One by one, the priests knelt before it and kissed his body on the cross. When they called the congregation to do the same, I stood behind my pew so that the older woman next to me could get in line. When I motioned for her pass, she shook her head and vigorously encouraged me to join the others, so I nervously went up and kissed his feet. Almost everyone in the congregation took part in the adoration of the cross. It was a very powerful experience, and for the first time since I’ve been Italy, I felt an authentic connection with God.

After mass, I strolled around Macerata for awhile trying to savor every last moment in the Italian town that has become my home. I stopped by Jamie’s apartment and from there we walked to Piazza delle Libertá where the centuries-old procession (Processione del Cristo Morto) through the streets of Macerata was starting. The first thing we saw were four men dressed as Roman soldiers on horses. They led the procession, followed by hundreds of others—priests carrying large gold crosses, staves, and banners, women in head scarfs, children carrying the instruments of the passion (the crown of thorns, the dice used to cast lots, the sword that stabbed him), as well as wooden statues of Mary, and John the Baptist. An ornately decorated gold cart pulled by four men carried the body of Christ, which was covered in a shroud. A marching band played somber funeral procession music and a man chanted various hymns over loud speakers. Everyone in the town gathered to watch and take part in the procession. Many of the shuttered windows of the homes we passed hung red banners outside in memory of Christ’s death. I was moved to tears by the spectacle, partly because of my religious experience, partly because I was witnessing a cultural event practiced by Maceratesi since medieval times, and partly because I was overcome with the idea of leaving Macerata and Italy.

Macerata is what I will miss most about Italy. This past month, I started feeling truly accepted into the community. Italians are more kind and open to me than ever before. I think they appreciate my growing ability to speak Italian. I also think it’s less obvious that I’m a foreigner because I don’t wander around looking lost, begging people for directions in “inglese, per favore!” No, today I walk calmly through the streets of Macerata and I enjoy watching the people chat with each other and go about their daily routines.

I can’t explain how relieving it is to be able to walk into an establishment and express myself precisely in Italian with fewer “um”s and “ah”s. As English-speaking Americans, I think this is something we take for granted everyday. I have a newfound empathy for every foreigner living in the United States who struggles to learn English as a second language. An American guest speaker in my cross-cultural communications class who has lived in Macerata for half of her life explained to us that she even after many years, she is still struck with a huge feeling of relief as soon as she lands in an English-speaking American airport. I can’t wait to experience that feeling for myself, though it will be hard to break the habits of automatically saying “grazie” and “sí” after everything, and “ciao” to everyone when I walk into a business.

Even after traveling to the beautiful, culturally rich cities of Florence, Venice, and Rome, it isn’t long before I’m ready to come back to friendly, familiar Macerata, my home. I’m a sucker for small towns. Macerata will forever stay near my heart.