Even though the Museum has been open for only half an hour, the line up outside is 150 deep. Our pre purchased passes (so worthy of a high five here!) has us around the corner and through the doors before sweat begins to bead and roll down my back.
Inside, the Museum is crawling, at a snails pace, with groups and individuals like ourselves anxious to get our turn inside the famous Sistine Chapel. First though, we are shepherded through many halls ornately decorated from floor to ceiling with paintings, gold thread infused tapestries bigger than my living room and row upon row of marble columns thicker than my house.
By the time we reach the Chapel, I feel queasy. Sick to my stomach that so much has been crammed into this place. I am not a Catholic, but I consider those who are and consider it a shame that millions of them will never enter this place and see these beautiful creations.
When I enter into the Holy place I hear the shushin hiss of security. Silence cannot be achieved let alone maintained. I see many surreptitiously taking photographs and videos. Some are caught and asked to stop but many others grin as they paplm their smart phones and snap away as though being disrespectful in this of all places makes them really super intelligent.
I watch the people more than I look at the paintings for by now my appreciation for the art has been diminished by the sheer volume of it. I would liken it to walking into a hoarders home and not knowing where to rest your eyes because there is so much vying for their attention. There is a small group of seven or eight priests who I enjoy watching as they wander taking in the surroundings. There are also a handful of security guards weaving through the crowd.
I gradually drift to the back of the room then turn toward the altar and contemplate the magnitude of the space. I think of Michelangelo reading the Bible and working diligently until his paintings were complete. I think of the Pope entering this space. I think of the babies baptized and people of all faiths who walk through the doors and manage to remember the Holy part embodied by the space.
I bow my head, thankful that the paintings, whispers and whirring cameras fall away and I am again alone with myself and my creator. I take a moment to breathe and to remember who I am and whose I am before returning my attention to the physical world around me. After 45-minutes or so we exit the Chapel and move into the adjourning room. Like the others, it is massive, adourned with paintings and lined with glass cases which hold gold and silver dust collectors. Who on earth has to keep all of those cases and all of that stuff clean?
As I take in my surroundings, I notice a Priest sitting and reading in the corner to my left. Before him is a desk and two chairs as well as a sign which reads "Art and Faith, A Priest for you." I watch a hundred or more people stream past him and on through the room. Though many stop to crowd around the lady beside him who is selling DVD's of the Chapel, not one looks twice at the robed figure. He is bypassed as everyone rushes on, feeding their gluttonous need to electronically capture the material smorgasbord before them.
Still watching, I cross to the other side of the room before backtracking and sitting opposite him at the desk. I am surprised, really that I made it back across the floor and to him, but also not surprised. I have no desire to talk about art and I explain this as we begin chatting.
What I want is simple and two pronged: to acknowledge him and to continue infusing this journey of mine with spirituality, wherever I may be and with whomever has the ability to keep me moving in that direction.
Non-Catholicism declared, we go on to enjoy a 25-minute conversatioin which makes him late for prayers in the Chapel. After rising, shaking his hand and gaining permission to take this photo, I am able to walk away and through the numerous ensuing rooms of "valuables" knowing that I took the time to find and speak to the most valuable treasure of all - a human being.
