I keep telling myself to not be sad that it's over but to be happy it happened.
And boy, did it happen.
There were 13 of us colleagues who traveled to Rome on pilgrimage. Plus two Sisters and a priest who has served as shepherd of our leadership group since December 2011. It was the most natural thing in the world to tour the religious Church sites in Rome with this group (and without our spouses). We became family. We became Church.
Last week at this time, I was walking up the stairs at St. Peter's, to the top of the cupola. Last Monday was intense and it covered everything I saw the first time in Rome as a college student. We started with an in-depth tour of the Coliseum, then the Imperial Forum, then a picturesque lunch at Piazza Novona (complete with caprese salad, excellent red wine, gelato, and an accordian player). After lunch, with our tour guide, cut to the front of the line at St. Peter's and toured the Vatican museum (and Sistine Chapel). Part of the deal with the pilgrimage was that we attended daily mass. Which, given our surroundings, wasn't exactly a sacrifice. The Vatican museum tour concluded at 3:45pm and we had an hour to blow before mass at 5:00 in St. Peter's basilica (the chapel of the Chair). Ambitiously, a few of us thought we could hike the 525 stairs to the top of the cupola and return before mass (even though we stood in line until about 4:15).
The first 300 or so steps are pretty routine. But once you get into the upper part of the dome, the stairs wind to the side and are dangerously steep. Braving them in my sandals, we reached the top around 4:45 pm. After taking a couple million-dollar-shots at the outstretched arms of St. Peter's, we ran back down the stairs, arriving in the main church at 4:58! The Sisters, glancing at us across the chapel, silently laughed at our tired, out of breath, sweaty presence. Yes, we made it to mass. It was in Latin. But I sat in that pew at St. Peter's, struck by the sheer universal existence of the mass. Even though I do not understand Latin, I knew the points of the mass and could follow along in English. The same mass we celebrate in Indianapolis or Chicago occurs at the Vatican, too.
Those thoughts kept occuring throughout the week. So many experiences were wonderful and truly life-changing. We landed in Rome at about 9:30 am Sunday morning. By 11:30, we were at our hotel (two blocks from St. Peter's...you exit the hotel, look left, and the radiant dome of St. Peter's awaited us...beautiful). By noon, I was standing in the crowd in St. Peter's Square receiving the Angelus blessing from Pope Francis.
I didn't waste any time getting to St. Peter's and the Pope. Pope Francis reminds me of my deceased grandpa.
We ate like kinds and queens; after small breakfasts, we relished 4-5 course lunches and dinners each day (By some miracle, I only gained .8 pounds). Rich antipasto of Italian proscuitto and panchetta, basil and mozzarella, pasta carbonara and veal. Each person was "budgeted" a bottle of wine at each meal. While the alcohol content of Italian wine is lower than in the States, it was strange to drink so much wine. And have it condoned by the Sisters (who readily joined in. I had no idea how popular and refreshing cold, white Italian wine is at lunch. Can I have cold white wine for lunch every day?)
On Tuesday, we started the day with a private mass in one of the cypt chapels at St. Peter's Basilica. I was asked to serve as lector for that mass. Despite my lengthy bucket lists, I never even thought of wishing I could serve as lector at St. Peter's. I HATE reading at mass. And yet, the reading was about the first Christians at Antioch and we *felt* like neophyte Christians in a new world. The week's readings matched our collective experience perfectly.
After mass and breakfast, we toured San Clemente church and San Sebastián catacombs, interrupted by two meetings at the Vatican with Roman Curia. One of the meetings consisted of a set of Cardinals informing us about the upcoming priorities in healthcare. The other meeting involved US telling the Cardinals how things were in America. They wanted to know the state of Catholic healthcare in America and we were the ones to inform them. How crazy is that? I had another out-of-body experience thinking, "Am I really in the presence of Cardinals representing the Roman Curia? How in the WORLD did I get here?!"
That thought kept hitting me. How in the world did I get here? Why me? Why me?
On Wednesday, we had an audience with Pope Francis and even though we were a few of the 100,000 crowd, he passed within about 7 feet of us. I could see his mannerisms and facial expressions. That man is revolutionizing the Church. Before the audience started, the atmosphere was electric. It felt like a U2 concert or Notre Dame football game, with everyone in collective waiting for his presence. He did not disappoint! The homily for the day was about the gift of Fortitude (through the Holy Spirit) which fit us all perfectly. The only way to survive in Catholic healthcare is through and with fortitude. The Pope's homily gave us two days' of dinner fodder as we digested that message. With a rare two hours off that afternoon, three of us trekked back to Piazza Novona for some Lambrusco and Spirit-filled conversation. Everyone had that same reaction: "why me? Why am I here and how am I supposed to lead Catholic healthcare into its next phase?"
On Thursday, we bussed to Assisi to connect with St. Francis. After seeing the basilica, the church of St. Clare, the tomb of St. Francis, and real San Damiano cross, I *felt* Franciscan. The San Damiano cross hangs in all of our conference rooms, offices, and patient rooms. But it hit me to my core when I saw the *real* San Damiano cross in Assisi. I felt as though St. Francis was there, receiving his call and vocation in the present. We celebrated mass at the tomb of St. Francis, an experience that started me with its simplicity and powerful commissioning. It was Franciscan "Ground Zero," akin to visiting Ireland's Aran Islands if you like Irish music. Or Germany's battlefields to better grasp the World War II battles. There was no place on earth more Franciscan than Assisi. The placed breathed Francis. And I needed more. I recently received my first job offer of a CEO position. In a non-Catholic, non-Franciscan organization. I declined without even thinking twice. My job/vocation in Catholic healthcare will never be easy. Nor will it always be joyful. But it WILL be meaningful. Each day bears more meaning than a huge paycheck could garner. Nope, not interested.
It was in Assisi that I caught one of the head Sisters for a few moments on the side. I asked if Jack and I could accompany the Sisters on the 2015 pilgrimage to Assisi (you spend 9 days in Assisi). She enthusiastically agreed. Then she asked if Jack and me had ever discerned becoming Third Order Franciscans. I didn't even know women could become Third Order but I promised her we'd discuss it and the associated discernment process. That type of a decision takes years (decades?) but a trip to Assisi with Jack could shed some clarity on that invitation.
After a 1.5 hour traffic jam in Rome, we arrived back at our hotel at 9 pm. Four of us braved the Roman dinner scene to find the neighborhood's best pizza. After antipasto of pesto calamari and swordfish carpaccio, we shared two pizzas: pancetta and shrimp/arugala/corn. Bacon pizza? Seafood pizza? Does life get any better? We felt especially proud that we found this pizzaria by speaking to the locals; every other meal was organized by the knowing eyes of a Roman tour guide. Heck, we even had a "nighttime guide" who ushered us around the Roman night scene. Which consisted (mostly) of limoncello and gelato. How much trouble could we truly get into when all we wanted was Rome's best gelato?
On Friday, we visited the Holy Steps and St. John Lateran. I knew very little of St. John Lateran...one day, about 10 years ago, I went to weekday mass because I felt helpless and sad in my life. It just happened to be the feast of St. John Lateran Basilica. I had to look it up - there's a feast day dedicated to a basilica?? But yes, the time at the Basilica itself was magical. We celebrated mass in a side chapel and afterwards, received a "reconfirmation" of our service to Catholic healthcare in the US. I couldn't help but cry...while the masses at St. Peter's were wonderful and bridged the universalness of the Church, this one spoke to ME. I can't put a finger on it yet but I was commissioned. The sense of vocation was placed squarely, heavily upon my shoulders. To say no is to deny God's will for my life. That point came across very clearly...that Catholic healthcare really is my vocation. I've felt smatterings of it before, where I sort of guessed I was destined to serve in Catholic healthcare, but never had I sensed such a certainty to it. It's as though my entire education and professional existence led me to that exact moment.
I couldn't stop the tears. I'm SO not a cryer and cry (on average) about once a year. And that's usually because I have to lay off hard workers or just cannot fathom the blessings granted to Jack and I in this life. But this time, I cried out of realization. Out of fear. Out of a dedication to service. How can I say no to such a defined, deliberate calling? I'd never sensed my vocation so clearly. It wasn't even a question. The weight of my calling again settled heavy on my shoulders....I knew I'd never have an easy job. But my job will be meaningful - as meaningful as it gets.
St. John Lateran broke us all in some way or another. So much so that our priestly shepherd varied from the set lunch agenda and took us out for Rome's best pizza. Seriously. If I thought Thursday's pizza was stellar, Friday's was in a class by itself. Porchini mushroom pizza with fresh basil? With crust so thin it was more like Indian naan...oh man...I cannot even describe that pizza. I'm not sure why America even bothers with pizza. And Domino's? Um, no. The only pizza we have will now be homemade. That is our only prayer of somewhat capturing the magic deliciousness of that pizza.
We went to "Last supper" that evening, knowing we were all flying back to our respective homes and families the next day. A melt-in-your-mouth veal in marsala sauce with potato flan, followed by a magical tirimisu and Italian custard topped with dark chocolate raspberry. It was as much a gastronomic pilgrimage as it was a religious experience. We sort of thought we should be having bread and water but thought maybe the Sisters wanted to feed us spiritually and physically.
Did I mention I only gained .8 pounds? No idea how that happened!
But the experience was one that I will be forced to unpack for the coming months and even years. It's one of those experiences whose gravity you realize a few months into your "regular" life, when some great insight crystallizes before your eyes. I'm still too exhausted and sick to reflect with much efficacy (I brought home a nice European cold. It's not MERS. I checked the symptoms). But know that, in my daily life at the hospital, this experience will ground me in the most Franciscan of healthcare service. I will look to Francis when I struggle or find myself lost in operational or strategic decisions.
Most of the world asks, "What would Jesus do?" I find myself asking "What would Francis do?"
I'm not sure what Francis would do. But I'm willing to learn and integrate it into my life.
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