Things of Religion and Joe Montana

It seemed like something a Godchild would do. If I were a Godparent, I would have appreciated a rosary from Vatican City, the capital of the state of Catholicism. I wandered up and down the aisles of the three-story gift shop and searched through the many display cases, trying to find a moderately priced rosary that did not look moderately priced. The searched ended when I spotted a soft blue rosary that struck me as beautiful and as within my price range.

As I handed over my credit card, which was an event I had become very accustomed to in Europe due to the inconvenience of foreign currencies, I tried to build up anticipation of the events that awaited me. Looking back, I was totally oblivious to the fact that after this day I would forever be different. I, along with the group of twenty or so students and four chaperones I was with on this month-long sprint through Europe, was minutes from starting a tour of the Sistine Chapel. I had been told that Michelangelo's painting on the ceiling of this old chapel was one of the most awe inspiring sights one could behold. Being from the state of Kansas, which has not one artifact of worldly historical value aside from the largest ball of twine, I was eager to behold the great work of art.

I was given back my credit card and a little wrapped package with foreign letters imprinted on the wrapping paper. I stuffed credit card into my pocket and the package into my backpack, and sprinted to meet up with the group. We all gathered around a lady that was going to take up the task of guiding us through the walking tour.

Throughout the trip, which included seven countries, I had been on countless tours and had countless guides. Some were doing the job simply for the paycheck, while others did it because they were truly interested. Needless to say, the later was preferable, and that is just what I had gotten. This lady glowed with passion for her job. She was as knowledgeable as anyone could be. Together, her passion and knowledge were inspiring and made us all want to learn about Michelangelo's masterpiece.

The tour started in a large square. Along the edges of the square were several diagrams of the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. The tour groups would gather around a diagram and the guide would go over the history and significance of the painting in great detail. We were waiting for one of those diagrams to become available.
Standing there, my attention was grabbed by a large stone sphere in the very center of the square. The sphere was about seven feet in diameter and it sat on a square, stone platform. Every so often the sphere would start to rotate. I thought that it was pretty clever so I tried to show it to some fellow group members.

Numerous times, I tapped a person on the shoulder and told them to look at the rotating sphere. Numerous times, the instant the person would turn to look, the sphere would stop moving and they would assume that I was either joking or I had eaten one too many of the free chocolate crucifixes that were available in the gift shop. This was kind of funny the first couple of times, but after the fourth time it became very annoying. The stupid sphere was making a fool out of me, which is something I needed absolutely no help with. I finally, gave up and stopped looking.

Soon after, a diagram became vacant and our group followed the guide over to it. It was at that time that I first realized the degree of her knowledge and passion. She gave us a lecture on that diagram that would move anyone. The way in which she displayed the Chapel almost inspired me to find a ceiling and lay on my back for years painting. By the end, tears had welled up in the guide's eyes, as well as in the eyes of nearly all the group members. I was so moved that I wanted to get in to the Chapel as soon as possible. I wanted to share in her romance with the art and the religion of the Chapel.

To get to the Sistine Chapel, we had to first go through a very long hallway filled with beautiful tapestries and other works of art. My group got in line to enter the hallway. As we stood in line, I looked over towards the cursed sphere and my thoughts of hatred for it were dampened by what I saw next. Standing twenty feet from me was a very tall and muscular man. He was with his wife, who was stunningly gorgeous, and his two kids. The man looked so familiar, but I could not put a name to the face. Then it came to me. It was the great NFL quarterback Joe Montana.

I was frozen. There before me was the former league and Super Bowl MVP. I tried to show some of the unaware group members. I told them that Joe Montana was twenty feet away, but I think they all remembered the rotating sphere incident and had had enough of my jokes. I had learned my lesson with the stupid stone sphere. I was not going to waste my time convincing people. I reached for my camera and started to take the picture that would be my proof. Just before I clicked the button, Joe, who had used the exceptional peripheral vision that won him so many football games to spot out the teenager with the camera, raised some books in front of his face and politely said that he was on vacation with his family and did not want to be bothered.

I panicked. I was not going to have any proof. The group was now walking into the hallway to the Sistine Chapel. Time was running out. I had to act fast. I started telling everyone within earshot that Joe Montana was here. My plan worked. Everyone flocked over to Joe just as I stepped in to the hallway. So much for Joe's nice family vacation. I felt kind of bad, but would it really have killed him to let me take a picture?

I was so awe struck. I had just saw Joe Montana. Joe would always remember me as the kid who ruined his vacation. I pictured him on Jay Leno telling the story and referring to me as a stupid brat. It was so cool. These great thoughts of Montana were interrupted by our guide showing us grand tapestries that took years to make. They were beautiful, but after you had seen three you had seen them all. And besides, I had more important things to think about. Things like possibly running into Joe in the Chapel.

We marched our way towards the entrance of the chapel listing to the guide go on and on about the tapestries. We finally arrived at the entrance and I remembered that I was really excited to see the Chapel. I started remembering that I was going to be inspired and spiritually moved. I tried to listen to the guide for my final pre-inspiration instructions.

We were told three final things. First, to truly behold the spectacular masterpiece, the guide recommended that we walk all the way to the other end of the chapel without looking up. Then when we had gotten to the other end, we were to turn around and look up. This is where I imagined the awe came in. Second, we were not to talk over a whisper if at all. Third, much like a Joe Montana family vacation, pictures were strictly prohibited. The effect of taking pictures hurt the ceiling. Over time the taking of pictures could severely damage Michelangelo's work. There was already a piece of the ceiling that had fallen and had to be replaced.

I had the rules. I had the anticipation. I was ready to go. We walked in to the Chapel. The feeling that embodied me was, and is, to this day indescribable. The whole place had a hushed silence. All you could hear were whispers. There was a feeling that covered me like a blanket. A feeling like the importance of this place far exceeded my meager understanding. There seemed to be a feeling of rich history. Even the air felt as if it was from an era of past greatness.

I walked through the sea of quiet people trying hard not to look up. I saw the faces of all the tourists that were looking up and they looked amazed. After what seemed like years of walking, I made to the opposite end. I turned around slowly and looked up. I instantly understood my guide's passion. I understood her tears. I, too, was then touched. The ceiling stretched before me was not just a painting; it was a symbol of faith. From the depictions of the book of Genesis painted directly above me to the grim painting of Hell located above the entrance across the Chapel, I could not force myself to look away. I did not want the feeling to end.

It did end though. I heard the click of a camera next to me. I looked over my shoulder and saw a man taking a picture. I suddenly became aware of all the other people. Many of them were taking pictures, trying to sneak one in for the family photo album. I became both enraged and sorrowful. How could they? They knew pictures were not allowed. There were signs saying so in countless languages. Did they not know that they were destroying one the most beautiful works of art in the world? I wanted to rip the film out of each of the cameras to teach them a lesson. Frustrated, I looked back up at the ceiling for the last time before leaving. I was moved once more and I saw the piece that had fallen and been repaired. It was unthinkable that someone could look up and see that spot of imperfection in the gorgeous ceiling and still take pictures that were damaging it even more. My heart sunk. It was just not fair.

I walked out of the Sistine Chapel differently than I walked in. I had new perspectives on the importance of history and of objects of beauty. I had a new perspective on the ignorance of people. I had new ideas of faith and religion. I knew better the power of experience. There are a few experiences that can change your view of yourself and the person you want to become.

I fished in my bag and found the rosary I had bought earlier. I unwrapped the package and held the soft blue beads in my hands. I looked at it and wondered if I would ever return to this place. I wondered if I would ever feel that awe-inspiring feeling again. I wondered how long the people of the world would be able to come and be inspired. I wondered what Joe Montana thought of the Sistine Chapel.