This past summer Miss Patty gave me a book. This gift did not mark any special occasion such as a birthday or anniversary, so it arrived unexpectedly. She had found it at a local bargain shop, thought that I would like it, and then surprised me with it. For two reasons, I liked it very much, and so I was pleased to receive it and add it to my library. First, it concerned a sublime and uplifting subject, and second, it brought back memories of a special event that had taken place during my time aboard the Rigel in the Mediterranean.
The Rigel sailed from Norfolk, Virginia, on Tuesday, May 22, 1979, with me on board as a brand new third mate. She transited the Strait of Gibraltar during the midnight hours of Saturday, June 2, and docked in Malaga, Spain, the following morning. She then spent the summer hauling military cargo around the Mediterranean. A busy ship with a crowded itinerary, the Rigel made many short voyages and visited many ports. Opportunities to go ashore and see the sights abounded, but usually for only brief intervals. Occasionally, an exception arose, and one of these yielded an especially remarkable experience. Over the weekend of June 16 and 17, the ship rested idly at the Stazione Maritima in Napoli. With no work to be done other than basic watch standing, most of the crew seized the opportunity to enjoy a weekend off in sunny Italy. Early on Saturday morning, then, four of us boarded a train at the big Neapolitan station and set out for Rome. On arrival at Roma Termini, we took a taxi to the Hotel Bramante on the Vicolo delle Palline, a quiet side street near the Vatican.
Long acknowledged as one of the premiere cities of the world, Rome was a truly fascinating place. Saturated with centuries of history, magnificent art and architecture, and of course, Christianity, the eternal city offered more to see and do than we could possibly fit into one short weekend. Undaunted, though, we took in as much as we could in the limited time that we had. On Sunday evening, we returned to Roma Termini and took the last train back to Napoli. Monday morning found us all back at work aboard the Rigel.
Of all the artistic treasures in Rome, one marble statue in particular stood out because of its tremendous beauty and simplicity and its unique historical and spiritual significance. This was Michelangelo’s masterpiece, the Pietà. Perhaps the best known and most admired statue in all Christendom, the Pietà caught my attention, drew me into itself, and held me there for a very long time. It stood silent and sublime, radiating spiritualty and witnessing to the atoning sacrifice of the Savior and the eternal truth of the Gospel. A reverent isolation surrounded the statue, which was remarkable in a building otherwise filled with visitors. I thus gazed in quiet solitude at the Pietà and studied it undisturbed from every angle. Even my shipmates had disappeared for a while and left me to experience the Pietà on my own.
And what an experience it was! The Pietà appeared so life-like that I had to remind myself that it was, in fact, marble. Mere words in pedestrian English cannot describe the marble Pietà’s ability to convey human emotion, to speak silently to the human heart, and to testify infallibly of the divine work of salvation for all people. For me, it was simply an ineffable experience that left little to say but so very much to quietly contemplate. Forty-one years afterwards, I found these lines in the book that Miss Patty gave me sufficient to the occasion:
There is so much in the Pietà that if you lived a thousand years and
wrote a thousand books you can never express it. In other words,
there is a divine quality in it. It must have been inspired, because
how could a boy, twenty-four years old, create a work like that?
You can’t imagine how. It was a special grace from God. It is true,
he had to be an artist, but art alone could not have made the Pietà
The Pietà transforms you inwardly. A prayerful spirit comes over
you. It changes people.[1]
This book, a collection of photographs with only limited text, contained striking black-and-white images of the Pietà which were so detailed and life-like that studying them almost became a second visit to the statue. Thus, the inward transformation and change wrought by the Pietà were renewed, resulting in a second epiphany. Beyond acknowledging this, any attempt to express something so supernal in human language would prove meaningless.
And so I returned to my ship, changed and transformed. The Rigel remained busy in Napoli for a week. She loaded and discharged cargo, shifted berths twice, and finally sailed for Souda Bay, Greece, on Saturday, June 23. She returned to Napoli several weeks later, but without the leisure time for a second Roman holiday. A unique opportunity at the time, my weekend in Rome and experience of the Pietà is now a treasured memory, and my new book of Pietà photographs helps me to remember and relive this special occasion.
While I was in Rome, I bought two postcard depictions of the Pietà. These are much better quality than any pictures that I could have taken, but still only a substitute for actually seeing the statue. Nonetheless, I’m happy to share them here:
[1] Charles Rich, quoted in Robert Hupka, Michelangelo Pietà, New York: Crown Publishers, Inc., 1975, p. 80.
Thank you. Much appreciated.
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