As I write this email, I am on a train hurtling down the track headed to Florence. I am making the trek that The Poet Dante always longed to make. He longed for Florence to call him back, to renounce its trumped up charges against him, and to recognize him as its son. Dante never made the trip. He died in exile always longing for Florence…never going home. Tonight, our hotel will be about 300 meters from the Baptistery of St. John the Baptist (who is the patron saint of Florence—or the second patron after Florentine Christians dumped the god Mars for the fiery forerunner of Christ). That building was Dante’s final aim. Florentines took their great poets to the Baptistery of St. John the Baptist (Florentines maintain that the Baptistery was built on the foundation of the ancient temple of Mars) and there crowned them with a simple laurel wreath. They were recognizing that the Holy Spirit who is symbolically given in baptism was working through and in the poet that they crowned. Dante is often pictured wearing the laurel crown. He never received it, however. He died far from home, rejected by his community, longing for their recognition, and never receiving it. They, now, of course, embrace him fully. They crown him daily. Too late say I.
Anyway, the Florence that I am headed toward is a Florence that Dante dreaded. In it, and in the very things I am interested in seeing, Dante saw the corruption of wealth and power which would steal virtue from Florentines. In the century after his death Florence was flooded with wealth and adorned with beauty. We will see if this beauty is skin deep or deeper. Today, all that The Poet has feared has come true. We saw this in our walk with John Skillen around Orvieto last night. As we looked over the cliff into the beautiful (words cannot express) Umbrian countryside. We saw the great inversion of forces (the great deception) of the modern world. It works something like this. People become self-centered concentrating only on their pleasure. While keeping the form of the community intact for a time, they abandon the roots of community life—faith and family. The Italian birth rate is very low. The population is dwindling. The town is surrounded by beautiful small farms—olive trees and grape arbors abound. They have been handed down from time immemorial. Today, however, the children do not want to follow in the footsteps of their father’s fruitful small town existence. They long to trade in their time for money to be spent on pleasure in the city. (Who can blame them! Their parents thrown off fruitful family life and sustaining faith. The obvious implication is that these things are not worth having. Why should we be shocked that they do not want them!) Interestingly, however, the tail is chasing the dog. They want to amass money—like successful Americans. Oddly, some of the farms in the valley are now being bought and refurbished by wealthy Americans longing to rediscover the roots of life, culture and community from which the Italian children long to escape. Watching it sort of makes my stomach turn. It seems worse than America—not because it is different—but because the history that they are throwing away is older. Classical Christian education seeks to help children love and value both place and history. It gives them—we pray—love for embeddedness and rootedness, a love for Christ, for family, for church and for community. The Life of our civilization is on the line as we wage this war. It is a house to house battle. We must not underestimate the force pulling against us.
On a more personal note, today is our 15th wedding anniversary. I am blessed. I have my own Beatrice—not as heavenly vision, but as a real earthly blessing. I will take my Beatrice to Florence today. I am blessed.
