Posted by rita on Saturday, May 20, 2017 in 2017 Blog post.

Post with pictures: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1DNxAuDqsa9WZXQZgtrur5x7ARb7XwvWuvjx_fbj1jbI/edit?usp=sharing

When I decided to apply to this particular Maymester in Sicily, I did so not only because of the location’s cultural and historical significance in the Mediterranean, but also, more largely, because of Italy’s religious importance for Catholics. As a Catholic, ever since I was a little girl completing my religious education, I dreamed of someday visiting Italy. I didn’t know where Italy was (or of its sweet gelato) just yet, but I knew that Italy was where the pope lived in Vatican City, where the “Last Supper” was painted upon the walls of Sistine Chapel, where I could possibly fortify my religious understanding of Catholicism and its teachings. I fell even more in love with Italy, when I took art history courses, and spent hours and hours and hours memorizing Italian canvases and sculptures and frescos. This memorization, though rote, made me so happy. So much of the art we were studying had religious subtexts and made critical analysis more personal, more difficult, and more fulfilling for me. And so, when I learned I was coming on this Maymester in Cefalù, I just couldn’t wait to see for myself how religion and art would come together in my experience visiting the large cathedral in town, the Cathedral-Basilica of Cefalù.

My understanding of Mediterranean culture and history was not great before coming on this Maymester, so from the beginning, I was surprised with the cultural differences I noticed during my church attendance in Cefalù. These differences weren’t only present between the Cathedral-Basilica of Cefalù and my home parish of St. John Neumann Catholic Church, but also between the cathedral and all of the famous churches I had studied thus far and their architectural styles and interior design.

The size of the cathedral in Cefalù is immense to behold, especially after you learn that Cefalù is a town of only 14,000 people and essentially closes after October of every year until summertime because it operates mainly during tourist season. Before first attending mass, I imagined a cathedral overcapacity, with every pew filled. This is often the case at my small parish back home and even at the cathedral I attend in Nashville. To prepare for this, the girls and I left our villa very early for mass. We were so surprised to find just a few other people in the cathedral. There were some tourists taking pictures of the stained glass and even fewer people seated in the large church. This didn’t change much, as it got closer to mass time. And so, the small mass began and even though it was given in Italian, the ceremonial motions were still the same, as should be true of Catholic mass everywhere. I could tell when the Gospel was being read and the homily given, when the Lord’s Prayer was recited, when prayers were shared. The language was different, of course, but thematically there was no difference between the mass at the cathedral and when I attend mass back home.

What I noticed to be significantly different was, of course, the size of the cathedral and moreover, the design. My church back home is of a much more modest size, reflective of the Catholic population of my town of Mint Hill. The cathedral here doesn’t appear to have that same population to size discernment. Furthermore, the design of the church here is very different from the more traditional design of my church back home. From the outside, the church is already different. The church bears no cross as a symbol of Christianity on its outside, but even more specially, the high towers on either side of the church’s building are different from each other. We learned in class that these towers are different because of the Arabic influence in Sicily during the building of the church. The distinctive design continues into the inside, where the church features abstract stained glass windows (in contrast to the pretty, easily understandable stained glass I am used to seeing) and feels large and empty. The church is just as massive as it appears on the outside in the inside. The pews look feeble in comparison to the greatness of the church. The ceiling looks miles and miles high and the gray walls don’t allow for much color to enter the building. Interestingly, in class we learned that this cathedral is unique because it has many different architectural styles influencing its appearance, as work was done on the cathedrals on and off until as recently as the 1980s (that explains the abstract stained glass windows). The church was very different from my own church back home, but it was also very different from what I imagined an Italian church to look like. It wasn’t ornate or beautiful or gilded, but rather simple, bleak, and large.

In terms of cultural similarities and differences, I would conclude that the cathedral in Cefalù is more similar in heart and different in exterior, to my home parish. By that, I mean that the ethos of what is learned in church here is the same as what I would learn back home. What is different is the physical church I am sitting in. And ultimately, what’s most important is the ethos and not the building it is delivered in. I am no longer the little girl enchanted by decorative magnificence I once was and while beauty still impresses me, I know that what matters most is the content of what is taught in this sacred places. The Cathedral-Basilica of Cefalù reminded me of this simple fact and now, as I look forward to visiting Rome, I will hold on to this wisdom.