Santa Maria

“Travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living.” – Miriam Beard

As I pass through the two gates that lead into the oldest part of Vitochiano, I feel as if I’m being whispered a great secret. Santa Maria, one of the village’s patron saints, guards the first outside gate built in the 1500s for the expanding residents. Straight ahead lies the second gate built in the 13th century with a clock tower now above it that thrusts into the air. A statue of Mary is embedded behind glass under the clock as if she’s rising to the Heavens in prayer over her dear people. These south gates are the only way into Vitorchiano since it’s built on a grey peperino rock peninsula surrounded by a green gorge.

Passing medieval stone houses with doors shaped like entrances to Etruscan tombs I notice cheery red geraniums and verdant plant life overflowing from windows and stair-steps. The village’s main pathway winds in a circle with narrow passages jutting off to overlooks of the gorge. What strikes me is that in the heart of this fortified village is the church devoted to Mary. All life surrounds the church here.

Within three days of my time in Vitorchiano, I have witnessed two religious processions. One devoted to St. Amanzio, whose bones lie for all to see in the church just inside the first city gates, and another procession in honor of Santa Maria. Upon seeing these processions, I felt as if I was peeking into a time where lost traditions, sacred symbols, and devote people were hiding. I was astonished to see intricate flower designs in the village square before St. Amanzio’s procession. The heads of yellow margarits and pedals sunlit pink mums created the circle of a symbolic shield. The procession started at the head of the first gate and followed a path of flower petals down to the square. The band played a dirge as a solemn group followed. First were the men carrying three crucifixes in a row on their backs, then priest carrying a statue of St. Amanzio, with a group of little angels and older children in white behind him, then two lines of adults followed. I was enchanted to witness such an old tradition of religious ceremony.

The next evening another procession shuffled by in the same order, but this time four men carried a statue of Mary at least five feet high on a platform. In the darkness, the adults carried candles with various colors of tissued paper surrounding the glow. This time I decided to follow. As an outsider, I trailed at the end of the line snapping images with my camera that I knew could never truly communicate the feeling of awe and reverence I felt at the moment. The priest sang songs and said prayers in Mary’s honor and the band played an occasional tune. Even though I could not understand the language, I recognized the rhythm of the prayers and the melodies of songs. This made me feel connected to this place and these people. We shared a special language that united us through God’s presence. As we paraded through the small village I noticed a few residents with their heads hanging out windows, too old to walk in the procession now, but could see in their eyes a reflection of their youth from the days they carried on the tradition from centuries before. I also noticed for the first time, the pictures of Mary throughout the village with little ledges with flowers and candles underneath. Although a procession such as this is one I have never seen before, I thought it was a quintessential example of this community’s religious views. After walking through the village’s inner city streets, the group flowed out of the inner gate, through the square and further on to the outer gate. At first I thought we would proceed inside the church, but to my surprise, we continued outside of the city walls. I felt like the procession was out of place among the modern parking lot, vehicles, and police presence. It felt as if the tradition had been exposed or tarnished somehow by letting the world outside the gates see it. The image that has stayed fixed in my mind is of Mary’s statue being carried under the bright lights of a gas station sign. The dazzling white, red, and yellow sign clashed with Mary’s soft blue dress and veil of white...

I'm still working on this....sorry for the abrupt stop, but I need to figure out how I want to finish this.