Last night, as an extension of our anniversary celebration, Scott and I went back down to the North End to go to the 88th annual Feast of St. Anthony, in what is most definitely a Little Italy, although I'm not sure if that is what they call it....This is reportedly the biggest festival of the summer in the North End, anyway.
Being that I have seen three major US cities' Little Italies, (not to mention Italy itself), I think I can credibly say that this is the most authentic one. It was full of Bakeries, Cafes, Trattorias, Ristorantes and Pasterias. The shops sell cannolis, cappuccinos, stromboli, ravioli, biscotti, gelato...you name it, and all run by 100% Italianos. They even weigh up the food, instead of having a set price for like items.
But back to St. Anthony. I couldn't help but get the overwhelming feeling of being in the middle of paganism, even if the participants were completely ignorant to it. They actually held a parade that processed down Endicott Street for ten hours, carrying a statue of St. Anthony. "Starting on Friday night, the Statue of St. Anthony of Padova is taken from his permanent Chapel at 201 Endicott Street and escorted by marching bands to a temporary chapel where it remains under guard for 29 hours before it is paraded back to its permanent home."
While it blesses the festival with its presence, people are free to go up to it, light a candle and pin a dollar bill to the statue's streamers. I truly felt a little out of place, since my purpose was not to venerate a dead man, but to get some awesome food. It reminded me of the Children of Israel who lifted up a golden cafe and threw a drunken celebration in the streets. How absurd. How human. This is what we do. We dance for rain, we self-mutilate for the gods, we chant and meditate, we jump up and down with thousands of other people in an arena over a pig-skin ball, we watch a flickering box for hours on end to gain quasi experiences...all because we innately long to be connected. We are born to worship something; it's in our nature.
While it blesses the festival with its presence, people are free to go up to it, light a candle and pin a dollar bill to the statue's streamers. I truly felt a little out of place, since my purpose was not to venerate a dead man, but to get some awesome food. It reminded me of the Children of Israel who lifted up a golden cafe and threw a drunken celebration in the streets. How absurd. How human. This is what we do. We dance for rain, we self-mutilate for the gods, we chant and meditate, we jump up and down with thousands of other people in an arena over a pig-skin ball, we watch a flickering box for hours on end to gain quasi experiences...all because we innately long to be connected. We are born to worship something; it's in our nature.
1 comment:
Jayme, How blind we can be. I'm so glad you were able to step back and see this for what it was. And this convicted me too....for I know I have idols....I set them down and pick them up again. How great and merciful is our God.
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