The church where I stopped for Mass is S. Andrea della Fratte, Shrine of the Miraculous Medal, run by the Minims of St. Francis de Paul. This is the church where, in front of an image of Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal (who had appeared to St. Catherine Laboure' in France 12 years prior), Alphonse Ratisbonne famously in 1842 "knelt down a Jew and rose a Christian," the first miracle. It was also at this small side chapel where St. Maximilian Kolbe celebrated his first Mass. And it is at this side altar where the Minims say daily Mass eight times a day. They open the doors of the church in time for Office of Readings and Morning prayer at 6:30 with the community, and I often sneak in at the end for their first Mass at 7am. The priest who usually celebrates this particular Mass will close the gate in the communion rail as he passes. He then begins the Mass ad orientem, after telling us the intention, by chanting "In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti," and then continues, speaking in Italian. He chants the "Kyrie." He reads the reading and psalm. Before proclaiming the Gospel, he bows to the tabernacle for the "Munda cor meum." He chants various parts of the Mass in Latin. Since Easter, he has started using Latin for the Consecration, as well. He genuflects before the elevation. He distributes Holy Communion to his kneeling faithful at the communion rail. Sometimes, though, he is not there when I come, and I miss him. On those occasions, the priests who concelebrate in his stead wear Gothic chasubles, rather than the Roman pianeta. They leave the sanctuary gate open, and wait for someone from the congregation to come in to act as lector. They read from a little book funny sorts of intercessions with their own response. They call for the Sign of Peace. And the one distributing Holy Communion leaves the sanctuary to offer the Body of Christ (without paten) to the faithful forming a single line just before him.But, yesterday, the priest I like so much was there, and I was happy to see him. I left, as usual, just as the 7:30 Mass was beginning with the procession of the usually 2 concelebrants. And I continued down the street to a little bar where I like to stop for breakfast. There, Andrea remembers what I order, and pulls out the saucer for my cappuccino (which is much cheaper than tea, and takes less time), as I walk in the door. Then he gives me my cornetto to go with it. When I finish, I head out, and am school just in time for Exposition and my appointment with Christ in the monstrance.
While I am in the Blessed Sacrament chapel, next door, one of the Dominicans celebrates a Mass in English for the students. One of my classmates at the Mass had already arranged to meet me afterwards to study, as the end of Mass generally coincides with the end of my time in the chapel. So, we had breakfast at the Angelicum bar, and then went to our customary table to study metaphysical theology for a bit. While we were there, as happens, other students walked by, and a few stopped by to chat in passing. Some days, this leads to us studying almost nothing at all, but Friday we got in a good hour or so of study with nearly an hour of chatting, too, before I left.
While I was at home for lunch, I was cooking up more than just a tuna sandwich. I was thinking of a big band concert that night, and how I would get there and back, and whom I could convince to go with me. The Japanese lady downstairs sounded interested, but she had already made plans to watch a live comedy show.
Anyway, back at school, I met up with a classmate to help her finish her application for a scholarship, which she had to turn in that afternoon. Then we went to our afternoon classes. At the beginning of one of these classes, the French professor made a few announcements, including one about Pope Benedict's birthday, and one about St. Benedict Joseph Labre. This 18th century French saint spent the last 6 years of his short life on the streets of Rome, practicing extreme penance and mortifications. He collapsed at the end of his life on the steps of S. Maria dei Monti, and was carried to a nearby home where he died as a result of his penitential lifestyle, 16 April 1783, at the age of 35. For one day a year, the room where he died (now a chapel) is open to the public, and our professor wanted us to take advantage of that and go make a pilgrimage there after class. The church and house are just around the corner from school, and so we should just make it before they closed, even though our classes run into the evening. So, a group of us went to the church, and from there, with the help of the parish priest and a miscellaneous friar on the street, found the house with the chapel. Here is the place in the chapel where he died:
This is in the actual chapel, and in this statue, he looks toward the altar and tabernacle. In the next room is the bed where they placed him, and some artifacts. Really, he left nothing behind, for the only clothes he had were on his back, and whatever he came across more than he needed, he gave away. However, besides the bed in the side room, one may also see his leather pouch, his metal container for his documents, a jam jar from which he had eaten, and a relic from his annual pilgrimage to Loreto--a square from Our Lady's veil attached to a certificate from the Holy House.From there, we went back to the church (which was staying open particularly late in his honor) to pray before his tomb.
And then we went across the street for supper at a Chinese restaurant. There I discovered where Angelicum students are to be found after school. As we walked in, we passed by one of my classmates with a friend sitting at the only occupied table. As we walked out again, we passed by another classmate with friends sitting at one of two occupied tables. And then we headed to a nearby gelateria for important stuff to finish our pilgrimage.So, every day is an adventure. I did not go to the big band concert I had contemplated attending, but I had a full day, and could certainly not have asked for anything more.
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