"So you've seen all the Rome ritual on TV?!" Some of my friends, most of them agnostics and republicans, are amazed when I explain that I'm a ritual junkie and that I never miss the election of the Pope, or any royal wedding or funeral, or coronation.
And last Thursday, although I'm also agnostic and republican, I spent hours glued to the TV screen, following the ritual that—I'm getting older now—I've seen a few times before: the great portal that closes after the"Extra omnes", the black smoke and the white one, the famous"Habemus papam", the shouting in St. Peter's Square, the ringing of bells, the Swiss Guard in their brightly colored costumes, and the rest of it.
I don't feel part of the Catholic Church and, I'll say more, I'm very critical of some of its weaknesses and its anachronisms. I'm very excited by the ringing of church bells in Rome. Traditions connect me with the past—from the white smoke to Christmas or St. John's Eve—and perhaps they also make me believe that, for a moment, the passage of time has miraculously stopped. When I do, I remember the Christmases of my childhood, and all the loved ones who are no longer with us. The linen napkins embroidered by Grandma are much more than clothing scraps.
On the other hand, there are few things that make me happier than seeing a tradition born before my eyes. In the most unexpected way, one summer night we went out to watch the sunset and We opened a bottle to toast, creating the tradition now misleadingly known as "a toast to the sun." On the Christmas Day menu—which can vary from year to year—dates with bacon must always be included as an appetizer, because otherwise, the youngest members of the family say, "it wouldn't be Christmas." At the end-of-holiday party, with friends we spent the summer with decades ago, a certain song—which objectively means nothing—must always be played at some point, causing us all to raise our arms in the air. And in that banal gesture lies the memory of all our summers, and I am fifteen again.
So yes: I like the Vatican's pomp, colorful and solemn, but for me it has a very different meaning than for a practicing Catholic. I cling to the Catholic traditions in which I was raised with the same determination with which I remain faithful to paper books or detest tomato bread dipped with a brush. If there's one thing I like about the Catholic Church, it's its ability to dramatize the power and weight of history, although this surely contributes to perpetuating some of its greatest flaws.
In this civilization that's crumbling in our hands, liturgy and traditions are a lifeblood.
