On Sunday morning I sang with my choir in St Peter's (RC) Cathedral as part of the Titanic commemoration. In fact the newly commissioned Requiem for the Lost Souls of the Titanic, with its 4 choirs, 2 brass ensembles and mezzo-soprano soloist, came together remarkably well, though I suspect some regular worshippers were bemused. The 2-hour service ended with a packed congregation singing Nearer my God to Thee - a remarkable occurence. Inspite of my difficulty with the whole Titanic hullaballoo, I found myself drawn into it and even moved.
Then there was an early (3.00am) start to Monday, as I drove down to Dublin for the 7.10 flight to Rome. A bus took me directly from the airport to within a few minutes' walk from the Methodist centre by the Ponte S Angelo in time for lunch with Ken and Marion Howcroft. In the afternoon I visited the Anglican centre, occupying part of a vast renaissance palazzo near the pantheon, an oasis (if that is the right word) of englishness, with its library, chapel and drawing room. Later, I went round the Castel S Angelo (admission free as it's 'culture week' in Rome). Built by the emperor Hadrian as a mausoleum, it became a fortified palace for popes, with a corridor leading to the Vatican. My main interest was that it is the setting for the final act of Tosca with the heroine hurling herself from the high terrace at the climax. The views across Rome are stunning.
Then yesterday my major achievement was to get one of the ticket machines at Termini station to work - a personal first! The train to Assisi was full, and from the conversations I overheard had a high proportion of theologians on board. We passed through the Umbrian countryside, still green at this time of year, with its ancient towns perched on hilltops and beneath them rows of those plants that have been such a blessing to humanity: olives and grape-vines.
We are staying in Domus Pacem a (Franciscan-run, of course) hotel/conference centre next to Santa Maria degli Angeli. This enormous Baroque basilica has within it the much older Porziuncola - the tiny chapel restored by St Francis as a young man and the place where he died, laid (on his instruction) naked on the bare earth. The Porziuncola is a great centre of pilgrimage but during our opening service I couldn't help wondering what the combination meant. Was the enormous, triumphalist, basilica symbolising the fact that Francis' simplicity and charismatic goodness had been captured and tamed by the institution, or was it saying that somehow the reforming movement Francis started had succeeded in infecting the whole Church?
The conference is international and ecumenical - though perhaps with a majority of Catholics. In a weak moment, and to save Edgehill some money, I agreed to share a room. My room-mate (who I have met once before) turned out to be a young Romanian Orthodox priest who's an expert on Maximus the Confessor. The room is very small and the shower is only just big enough for me to squeeze in.
This evening we were in the old town of Assisi, but more of that tomorrow.
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