Religion

It is hardly surprising that Italians are so totally immersed in religion. They are the tore of a body of half a billion Catholics scattered around the world who look to Rome as the heart of the church and to the pope as the living successor of St. Peter. In addition, the artistic obsession throughout the ages with the suffering of Christ has touched the very membranes and tissues of the Italian Catholic, so much so that you will see the strained look of medieval religious portraits reflected in millions of worshippers in the country's churches.

Conspicuous along the country laves, city streets and on the facades of houses are the small shrines with portraits of the Madonna and child. Seldom without bunches of fresh flowers, their presence is overpowering. To the faithful they represent a comforting omnipresence of the holy spirit.

The crucifix is just as ubiquitous, hanging in the most unlikely of places: in an unkempt Genoa harbor office of a motorboat pilot; in a downtown Ancona barber shop; within the rickety wooden kiosk of a vendor of lottery tickets in Reggio Calabria, and in untold numbers of alberghi and trattorie.

You will find that it doesn't need a Sunday to bring out the outward manifestations of Catholic Italy. Of course, this is the day when momma, papa and bambini don their Sunday best and leave the churches with an almost luminous look of purity when it is all over. But for many a worker the weekdays begin with mass, whether within the Chapel of the Holy Shroud in Turin or high up in the rocky southern mountains, kneeling in the village church of Pazzano.

Cynical travelers who dismiss it all after observing blanched faces and countless genuflections should visit the Basilica del Santo in Padua for a reappraisal of opinions. Inside is the tomb of St. Anthony, the 13th century miracle‑worker. The tomb's cloth covering is pinned with photographs and news. payer clippings reporting accidents in which drivers and passengers had "miraculous" escapes. You will see the survivors, and others tome to pray for miracles, oblivious to everything around them as they touch, kiss and caress the tomb.

Death, far from triggering anxiety, actually enhances the devotions of the devout, more so if there is a corpse available. It is not uncommon for churches to display the putrescent bodies of saints enclosed ire glass caskets below the high altars. Saint Rosa lies in such a case in the Church of Santa Rosa, Viterbo, and although her face is leathery brown and shrunken, and her fingers claw out of her gray dress, she is adored by young and old alike who tome to worship before her. St. Clare is similarly grotesque inside the church named after her at Assisi. But you must walk to Rome's fashionable Via Veneto for the ultimate in the macabre. Here, inside the Franciscan Church of the Capuchins, are the skeletal remains of some 4000 friars who died between the 16th and 19^th centuries. Piled high on one another like a scene from a death camp, their limbs have also been used to "decorate" the six chapels in geometric watt designs. The church brothers maintain that "this sepulchral decay speaks eloquently about the drama of life and invites visitors to meditate and pray !"

Relics brought back from the Holy Land and Constantinople by the Crusaders are among the most cherished possessions of the churches. They also provide lucrative income as tourists must pay to enter the treasuries. St. Marks, Venice, draws millions who queue to see the bone fragments of Saints Matthew and Bartholomew enclosed in glass and gold cases. Likewise, in the Cathedral of Monza is the jewel‑studded Iron Crown of the Lombard kings‑so‑called because the iron band is said to have been forged from a nail taken from Christ’s cross. Time has bestowed on the relies its own brand of authenticity.

Death is yet one more pretext for the living to evince an outpouring of religions feeling. Graveyards and sepulchral vaults are monumental in size, and time and money far from inhibit the commissioning of lavish statues of the Madonna for the tombs. In many an Italian town your concierge or local tourist bureau official will inquire whether you have yet been to see the cemetery.

The passing of a universally‑accepted "good man" sees a flood of folk‑art. Thus, one finds in many shops, homes and offices the portrait of Pope John XXIII painted on cheap china plates.

Inevitably, the all‑pervasive religions inheritance expresses itself in the annual folklore ceremonies enacted through the length and breadth of Italy (see chapter on Festa Calendar). The Feast of St. Nicholas at Bari is a good example, beginning with a parade through the city on the eve of the feast and culminating at sea when the faithful tome in boats to pray before the saints statue.

While there are no signs that Italians are any less firm in their belief in their faith, inroads have nevertheless been made into the power of the church hierarchy. The 1974 referendum on whether to prolong the law allowing divorces was overwhelmingly approved, despite pre‑referendum calls from the church fathers to abolish divorce.

Anyone who witnessed the campaign, in which the Communist party lent all its considerable power to those favoring divorce, will have realized that the majority of Italians were voicing disapproval of blind commitment to the hierarchy, rather than striking at the religion of Catholicism. The defacement of the approaches to St. Peter's Church, with painted slogans in favor of divorce, was but a sign of the passions invoked. A more telling indicator of the gradual withdrawal of the secular from religions control is the long‑accepted sale throughout Italy of pornographic literature.