San Miniato al Monte

Sunday was the blessed first day of sleeping in. After dragging our jet lagged bodies around for the last few days, the extra rest we all got on Sunday was wonderful. I really needed it because my body was still on US time and coupled with the noisy street below us falling asleep those first two or three nights was nearly impossible. It’s gotten much better now, though it’s still weird to think about how early it is back at home. I’m writing this at 11pm my time while you are all barely getting ready for dinner. Strange.

Our only plan for the day was a trip to the church of San Miniato al Monte, a church overlooking the city. San Miniato and the adjoining cloister of Benedictine monks are built on the cave of St. Minias. The legend of Minias goes back to a time in ancient Rome when the emperor (I forget his name) was persecuting the Christians all over the empire. This emperor used to set Christians on fire to light the night competitions in the coliseum. It was a dark and difficult time for Christians.

Minias stopped in this cave on his way back to his kingdom when he had a vision from God, and God told him to stay in Florence and spread the word of God. So Minias remained in Florence, living in this cave and preaching the story of Christ. He was a protector of the people of Florence, staying on this hill above the city, and won many converts.

Word of his work reached the emperor in Rome who promptly sent soldiers to Florence to deal with Minias. He refused to cease his preaching so he was put under arrest. They brought him into the coliseum and fed him to the lions, but the lions miraculously did not eat him. So they resorted to a more reliable way of getting rid of him: they had him beheaded in the center of the city (now Piazza della Reppublica). However, that was not the end of the story for Minias. The beheaded Minias picked up his head and walked from the forum to his cave in the hill and there laid himself to rest. His remains disappeared but reappeared in the 13th century in his cave, and it became the site of the church dedicated to his namesake.

I know that was long, but I liked this story. As our professor says, legend is far more important than truth when it comes to these things.

We met for our trip up to the church on Ponte alle Grazie, the bridge south of the Ponte Vecchio. From the bridge we could see San Miniato, a tiny white façade at the top of a hill. When Frank pointed it out, we all thought “That hill? That hill all the way over there? We’re walking there?” Keep in mind this was only our fourth day in Italy—we had not gotten used to all the walking.
However, not only was this walk not too long, it was BEAUTIFUL. We crossed to the side of the river opposite to the Duomo and the city center, and immediately things were calmer. It was much more quiet, more residential, and far less touristy. I felt like I had room to breathe. It was more Tuscan than Florentine. It was a respite. Frank recommended that we go to that side of the river for apperitivo (happy hour) if we want to meet Italians our own age. I’m game. Also, he said that that neighborhood will be a great escape when the tourists hit.

We walked through the calm streets dominated by the rosy colors of the buildings and walked through the old city walls. Along the walls is a long, hilly path that is a great workout and a great view of the city. We continued up the hill and through some more walls. I turned around to check on my friends who were falling behind and I gasped as I caught one of the most beautiful views of Florence I have ever seen. The sun was hitting it just right. The sun painted yellow on the sides of the building. Everything was soft and golden. As we climbed the hill the view of the city became more and more beautiful. When we finally reached the top, it was absolutely breathtaking. If you ever go to Florence the Piazza de Michelangelo has a great view, but this is so much better.

The church was beautiful. The façade was white and green marble with a beautiful mosaic of Christ, St. Francis, and Mary with gold in the background. There was a similar mosaic in the apse of the church. The inside of the church was very dark, but there was still something so beautiful and secure in being in a place so massive, so stable, yet in flux as new people come in and new art is added. I have to admit, though, that at the time I was caught up in how dark and bulky it looked. I think I was disappointed that it did not make me think of heaven. Something in me knew, and is able to know now, that it was certainly beautiful. It was a church that displayed the stability and majesty of God rather than the soaring light of his realm. One is not better than the other.

We spent a lot of time in the sacristy were there was a beautiful fresco series on the life of St. Benedict. We also took a look at the grave of a Cardinal who was brother to the King of Portugal and the Pope. This Cardinal had said, when he saw San Miniato, that he wanted to be buried there when he died. He got his wish a little early thanks to the plague, and his chapel has purple marble, one of the rarest types in the world. It’s only mined in the Sudan.

The most beautiful part of the afternoon was listening to the monks in the crypt singing Gregorian chants. It was the most beautiful thing, listening to these monks singing chants written so long ago. They were at the same time old and fresh. They fit in that church, surrounded by the work and faith of people from centuries ago, singing with new and different voices to an unchanging God.