J is for Jesus

Once again the ringing bells activate the Catholic guilt, but I decide to try a different venue this Sunday.

The local church in San Nicolo is breathtaking and dates back to the 13th century. I had checked the mass times the day before and arrived at 11.25 for the 11.30 mass. The church was completely deserted and I realised with dismay that I must have made a mistake translating the Italian. I started to head home but on the way passed several groups of smartly dressed people who looked as though they were in their Sunday best. I turned back to the church just to make absolutely sure. It turns out that Italians are just as relaxed about their time keeping with God as they are with one another. Even the priest was a fashionable 15 minutes late in making his entrance. One wonders how long an Italian bride keeps her groom waiting for if she has to factor in the congregation and the priest being late.

In order to make up for his late entrance the priest, who was approximately a hundred and fifty years old, proceeded to gallop through the service, barely pausing for breath until the end of the sermon. After this he seemed to slow a little, and on a couple of occasions I wondered whether he was kissing the altar, or resting his forehead for a short nap.

As Sunday is the day of rest, that’s exactly what I did for it’s remainder.

Katy

(J is for Just can’t get enough - Depeche Mode)