About halfway there, a kind old Italian man in a Fiat stopped and offered to take me the rest of the way to Seggiano, even though it was only about ten more minutes away. He did not speak English and I do not speak Italian, but we were able to communicate well enough and laugh with each other. He took me all the way to the top of the mountain, and insisted upon buying me un caffe, or an espresso. He told me that Mass was not for another two hours, at 11am. So I spent the time exploring the village on a quiet Sunday.
The church, Chiesa di San Bartolomeo, was open and just beautiful. Very simple, but old and sturdy and quite profound. Last week I was at the Basilica in Rome, this Sunday a small town church in Tuscany; and each is perfect, so beautiful in its very own way.
The priest was fun and jovial, and quietly reverent; he had a head of salt and pepper hair, and played with and teased the kids in the choir. The acolytes came in first, laughing and joking with each other and the Padre, and they lit the candles. The children’s choir, complete with piano, guitar and bongo practiced as the ever present little elderly ladies dressed in their fur coats shuffled in. Bells tolled, the people stood, and Mass began.
A simple and lovely morning
The priest was fun and jovial, and quietly reverent; he had a head of salt and pepper hair, and played with and teased the kids in the choir. The acolytes came in first, laughing and joking with each other and the Padre, and they lit the candles. The children’s choir, complete with piano, guitar and bongo practiced as the ever present little elderly ladies dressed in their fur coats shuffled in. Bells tolled, the people stood, and Mass began.
A simple and lovely morning
Allie, I also found the smaller churches to be so much more profound than the huge ones...The intimicy, the art, the architecture, the utter simplicity. How blessed you were to attend a mass when the childrens choir was singing...the voices of angels...
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