Time in the Chapel

May you all continue the journey with your spirits strengthened by the grace of the Lord Jesus the Anointed One. Philippians 4: 23 The Voice

Captivating art lined walls, ceilings, floors and stood around the rooms and halls of the Vatican Museum. Intricate mosaics and arresting paintings made me want to stop and meditate on each one. Towering statues dwarfed me. I felt small in the grandeur and magnitude of the rooms and halls of the opulent museum.

Our guide’s voice related endless facts and prodded our group to move on. We walked through room after room and down immense halls. The passageway for the Pope seemed like one in a castle. After a too short tour, we arrived at the Sistine Chapel.

Because of long lines on our previous visit to the Vatican, Alan and I were disappointed that we could not get into the Sistine Chapel. I looked forward to seeing the famous ceiling where Michelangelo finished his work on November 1, 1512. 

Before we entered, instructions came. No talking. No pictures. Meet the group outside at the specified time. 

Down the steps, I went into the dim room. Crowds huddled in the center. Heads pointed upward. Though mostly quiet, the mass of people distracted me. Simple wooden benches lined the sides. 

Silently, I slipped into an empty spot. From there I could gaze at the magnificent ceiling paintings which overwhelmed me. What genius from a young sculptor who said he wasn’t a painter. He never wanted to do it but was finally persuaded. What a gift he gave to the world, in spite of, his reluctance. 

As I tried to meditate among the throngs, memories of Alan filled me. Tears flowed. I cried for him not seeing the Sistine Chapel and for my visit without him. I longed for him to be with me on the trip. Alan never saw the chapel from my perspective but perhaps his view is even more glorious. 

Though surrounded by people, no one seemed to notice my tears. Would my entire trip be filled with tears? Would I feel so alone at every stop? 

Sunlight dried my tears when I stepped outside. Our group entered St. Peter’s Basilica. Roped off areas ushered the masses like cattle into specific sections. Because of pickpockets, we had been warned to protect our belongings. I held tightly to my small backpack which seemed strange to do in a church. 

When Alan and I visited a few years ago, we moved freely in the magnificent cathedral. We had time to fully experience its beauty and reverence and spend time in front of Michelangelo,s Pieta. This time I couldn’t even get close to the famous sculpture. Nor were we allowed close to the beautiful altar.  

No tears came in the noisy, congested building. I was ready to leave the confusion. 

Outside the humongous doors, sunshine blazed. Colorfully dressed Swiss guards posed for endless photos. Hundreds of chairs waited to be filled for weekly sessions with the Pope. 

My momentary sadness disappeared. Happy memories of Alan, mom, and dad joined me. Each one had been to many places on my trip. I knew there would be difficult times but was confident there would be no lingering despair. My trip would be one of learning, growing, remembering, and healing. Like Michelangelo, I will probably be asked to do things that I really don’t want to do but will try to follow God’s guidance. 

Almighty Father, thank you for the amazing creativity you have given your people. Help us to use our gifts. Thank you for the memories of loved ones. Amen