If there is one thing I’m going to bring back from this year abroad (besides a raging addiction to gourmet coffee), it’s learning not to judge a book by its cover. Or rather, don’t judge a church by its steeple, and the same concept applies to gelaterias, pasticcerias, restaurants, and just about everything else.
I’m prone to judge, overlooking the modestly sized chapels for the colossal duomos. It was in Loano when I became aware of the graveness of my error. Spurred on by my host mother, I wandered into the oldest part of the city, where I came upon a petit chapel about the size of my bedroom back home. Highly skeptical of its being worth my time (so many churches, so little time!) I stepped out of the brisk night and into the modest proportions of the church. It sported only three rows of two pews, a small baptismal font, and a small but handsomely carved alter. Two ornate crucifixes hung from the opposing side walls, decorated with an array of iron flowers in pastel colors that brought the sea to mind. The whole church seemed to glow with the hues of the ocean. It was beautiful. The church bells began to ring, vibrating the entirety of the chapel and me along with it. It sounded as if the church’s very heart was beating.
The story behind this church was there had once been an old sea fairing man who was caught in a terrible storm. As the waves buffeted his boat back and forth he began to pray, promising God that if he survived, he would make a cross and carry it up the hill to Loano, and build a church. He survived, and true to his word, constructed the beautiful chapel with his own two hands, and decorating it with his cross, now adorned with artfully crafted metallic flowers.
What would I have missed out on had I not decided to explore the little church? From that point on, I’ve been determined to enter every church, not matter how shabby or small.
And it’s been amazing.
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