Once again this is not actually written from home, or really in June, when I know I will be very busy and not have leisure in which to think with depth, and try to put it in order. This morning, in Tuscany, feels like a better idea.

I was invited a little while ago to speak at the University of Naples, and couldn’t go because I was ill. They were kind enough to ask me again, hence the beginning of my trip to Italy. Then a friend asked me if I would attend this festival in Tuscany, and since there were only a few days between the two, I stayed in Naples rather than return home for perhaps a day and a half, which would be unnecessarily expensive, and a waste of time. As a result I had several extra days in Naples, which was marvellous.

I think this whole letter should be an essay on gratitude. At times I forget how breathtaking this world is, not just in the sights that are almost beyond belief, but in the endless variety, the inventiveness of man and the glory of God, and perhaps most important, the kindness of others. When we don’t travel, we run the risk of forgetting how generous people can be to strangers, how open and willing to share. The differences are superficial compared with the depth of emotions we have in common.

The first thing that struck me about Naples was the colours of the buildings. Hardly any two are the same: peach, terracotta, rust red, pink, rose, deep gold, soft yellow, pale sand, muted earth shades and colours of the sunset. In the city itself they are mostly four and five storeys high and many of the streets are so narrow cars can barely make it through — one way, of course, but ruler straight, built by the Romans. All I those that I saw were cobbled in various sizes of stones, and flat shoes are the only sensible footwear.

A Dangerous Reminder

Many streets are steep, because Naples is mostly on hills, rising from the sea, with Vesuvius dominating it all. It has a highly distinctive outline — beautiful and dramatic. It is one of the most dangerous, because, unlike Etna and Stromboli, it does not erupt regularly, in a small way (literally letting off steam); it waits for a long time, then blows in a major catastrophe, killing thousands of people.

Perhaps it is not a bad idea to have something so close to remind us that life is precious, and can be altered in a few moments. It should never be taken lightly, misused or above all, wasted. We say casually “there’s always tomorrow” or “what’s your hurry.” No, there is not always tomorrow. One day there won’t be, so don’t let’s waste today.

Don’t let us leave apologies to another time, or thanks. Especially don’t let us leave either repentance or forgiveness. Even if tomorrow does come, and it is not too late, why waste another day?

There will never be enough time for all the good things there are to do, to see, to learn, to make. Thank God for eternity. Or perhaps I had better be more literal, and say “thank the Saviour for eternity.” Without His life and sacrifice, and His death, there could be no eternity for us. But perhaps we need to demonstrate now how we will use the time He has given us?

Neapolitan Beauty

But for the moment, I want to return to the beauty of Naples. It was founded by the Greeks, which I had not known, and the ancient Greek walls are still there in the centre of the city. Then, of course, added to by the Romans, and then by succession of invaders and rulers leaving many kinds of traces in art, architecture and from the Normans, the fair hair and blue eyes of many of the people — Greek, Roman, Spanish, Arab, Norman and Moorish.

There are many palaces, gorgeous to see in the most exquisite proportions of window, arch, courtyard, balconies and balustrades. There are vast, wooden doors, carved intricately, and so wide one could get a coach and horses through them.

Inside are mosaics, murals, pillars with carved capitals, and endless beautiful stairs that seem to climb into the sky. Museums had exhibitions of statuary and glass that go back as far as four thousand years before Christ. It seems they hardly knew how to make a shape that was not beautiful.

All of it is cocooned in bright sky, and sea so blue I could hardly tear my gaze from it. My hostess has a house in Naples with a view of the bay, but also a villa on Capri, and she took me there one free day. There cannot be a more beautiful place on earth. We walked miles up steep steps, narrow, winding lanes, and at every turn was the sea — either the Bay of Naples, or the Bay of Salerno.

There were olives and vines, but so many other flowers were out, everywhere burning colours of bougainvillea, magenta, purple and a brilliant scarlet red I haven’t seen before, also roses, geraniums, hibiscus, magnolia and everywhere jasmine so sweet the perfume seemed to wrap around you. There were orange, lemon and grapefruit trees heavy with fruit, and figs coming.

For all of this hospitality, beauty and marvellous conversation on all manner of subjects, I gave one lecture to about thirty or forty students — who all spoke English so well there was no translation necessary. I was deeply impressed by that.

One of the most beautiful sights was a castle lapped around by the sea, and said to have belonged to the Latin poet Virgil. And of course the Emperor Tiberius had a villa on Capri. So many people came — vastly more recently, both Oscar Wilde and Conan Doyle, just two among thousands. I certainly intend to be one who returns — for the beauty, but also for the friendship and for the vivid, exciting intellectual life, the colours and vitality, and the inspiration to both brain and spirit to treasure every day, and do something with it to add to the glory, the life, the hope in the world.

Travelling Alone

Of course there are lonely moments, but then there can be plenty of those even if you never stir from home. We are all travellers, and in a sense, far from home. To be in an unfamiliar country with a language you understand only parts of, emphasises that sense of being alien, but it also forces you to try to communicate, and to reach out where at home you might not feel such a need.

And if I am alone, maybe everyone else who stops long enough to think about it, even if only for a moment in the night, also is aware of time and space, of travelling to a destination we pray for, but have not yet seen, and know only by faith. I have thought more often lately what God wishes us to be, to do, to work at in that “home” we strive to attain. I have asked people of other faiths, “What does your God wish for you?”, and been amazed how many people have no clear idea.

Yet every parent would say that they wish for their children that they grow up to maturity, learn to think and act for themselves, and do at least as well as their parents have done. I have never met a parent who said “I want them to remain children, unable to think for themselves, or do anything except what I tell them to do. I want them to be afraid of me, to tell me I’m wonderful and wait for my orders before they move.”

The only praise really worth having is that of imitation. “Inherit the family business” is much more like it. And the family business is creating worlds, loving, teaching, helping others to find and follow the same path.

Arezzo Days

I said I was writing this from Tuscany. I went by train from Naples to Florence, a very pleasant journey of three and a half hours. I was met at Florence, and after several hours walking around the city in heat of approximately 92 degrees, we drove out to Arezzo, an old and very beautiful town where I spent two nights, and walked I don’t know how many more miles looking at marvellous architecture and paintings by many people, but most especially Piero della Francesca, Arezzo’s most famous artist.

To give you some idea of true scale of art here — I was told he was “modern.” He died at a considerable age, the same year Columbus landed in America — (1492). The major work we looked at was painted in 1459. I suppose relatively speaking, that is fairly recent. Old would probably be the Etruscans, who were here before the Romans, which makes them earlier than seven centuries before Christ.

The second afternoon I was driven by two charming young men, an art historian and a translator, to the village of San Sepolcro, to see one of the very famous Madonnas, and very lovely she is. The adventure was driving in the Tuscan hills in a tiny little car, (he called it a “mouse”) as we were struck by the most violent thunderstorm I can recall. The roads turned into rivers — the steepest into waterfalls — and thunder crashed all around. Lightning seemed to be everywhere, and the poor little “mouse’s” windscreen was struck by giant hailstones!

In the middle of this the reporter telephoned on the mobile for an interview with the major newspaper in Rome — and could speak no English. We had an interesting discussion through the young translator, well punctuated by the noise of the rain and the crash of thunder.

Then we went to see another exquisite Madonna who has been there for half a millennium, smiling serenely and looking into eternity, while the angels surrounding her look out at us.
I have walked miles, eaten well, and by that I also mean wisely — plenty of fruit and vegetables, good bread and olive oil, and lots of water. But far more than that, I have had my mind fed by excellent conversation, new ideas, profound discussion of many things, and my heart fed by kindness and beauty.

Fed by Faith

It is up to me to see that my spirit is fed by faith in where I am going, where I can go, with the Holy Spirit to guide me, if I will make myself able to listen, and that whether at any given moment I can see it or not, there is a purpose in all things, wiser and more beautiful than I can imagine — if I do my part with a whole heart.

I won’t succeed all the time, but with the grace of God, I will enough to be able to be helped for the pieces I cannot do.

And what is true for me, must be true for all of us, because I am just another part of mankind, as are we all.

Good travelling to all of you, until July.

 

                 

 

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