Sitting in the Cattedrale di San Romolo in Fiesole, I try to discern the precise ways in which it feels different than Mass at home. In one sense, the mere sense of antiquity—the building itself is almost 1,000 years old—coupled with the museum-like décor provides a feeling of tradition and formality that differs from the new churches of home. Yet within these walls, the community and mass itself seem to lack some of the formal elements found in the United States. In a way, Mass here seems to capture the sentiments of the Italian people towards Catholicism. Many researchers have noted the phenomenon of the Italian “secular Catholics,” or those who continue to make faith a part of their identity, but who do not practice a “formal” Catholicism. They point to the decreasing numbers of Italians who actually attend Mass each week despite the fairly constant number of people who identify as Catholic. Religion, while intertwined with politics, education, and family, has become more cultural than anything else.
Although the Italian government disestablished Roman Catholicism as the state religion in 1985, public schools still teach it to all children (except those who formally request an exemption), and crucifixes still adorn state buildings and classrooms, justified as “cultural,” not religious, artifacts. The Church itself exerts a considerable influence on public policy and political parties, especially those of the center- and far-right. Unlike in the United States, where the separation of church and state remains an important tradition, Italy tends to allow the two to converge without much opposition. Yet despite the Church’s power, many Italians have grown disillusioned with the formal doctrine and hierarchy in recent years. While most Italian citizens identify as Catholic, a growing majority also supports divorce, abortion, and gay rights—reflecting a trend seen in the United States towards a social liberalism. While this trend emerged much more slowly in Italy and encountered greater opposition, the current elections reflect increasing support for the left-wing parties, especially among the younger generations. In addition to this trend towards socially liberal policies, many have begun to question the Church hierarchy. As Pope Benedict XVI steps down, rumors of scandal abound, spurred by a growing distrust of the Vatican. Yet despite all of this—despite the protest against doctrine and the questioning of the patriarchy—I have found a group of faithful Catholics in the local church who identify with the ideas of community and togetherness, led by a pastor who preaches a gospel of patience and love during these hard times that try our faith.
During Sunday Mass, I immediately noted the lack of some of the “formal” elements. For instance, there is not an entrance or exit procession; instead, the priest just walks through the back door about five or ten minutes after Mass is scheduled to begin. Rather than use formal altar servers, members of the congregation step in to help the priest. While Mass is being said, the confessional in the back remains open, and people freely excuse themselves to go receive the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Furthermore, people filter in over the course of the Liturgy of the Word, eventually filling the Church despite Mass beginning with only about 20 people in attendance. Finally, my favorite difference is communion; unlike the orderly dismissal of rows I’ve grown accustomed to, when the priest steps up to distribute communion, everyone stands up at once and rushes to the center aisle, forming a mass of people that will eventually all make it to the front. The first time I went to Mass, it completely took me by surprise, but I’ve come to love it as representative of Italian culture. While it appears disorderly and chaotic, it manages to work itself out and allows everyone a chance to say hello to their neighbors as they jostle through the crowd.
