Parable preacher, one who preaches parables. After concocting this word pair during English class I wrote in my notebook “I am not a parable preacher”- for I say am not learning by the stories people tell me, I am learning by experiencing the life stories I live, the stories I lead as the main character. Yet, although it is my own life and I am the “main character” I learn sometimes by being the audience, an observer into where I stand.
Like today in the piazza San Maggiore of Bologna, Italia. Our professoressa Elizabetta took us back into what the piazza was like centuries ago. All we had to do was stand in the middle of the square and each time our head turned, so did time.
We were recreating with our minds and with the knowledge we were gaining and seeing, the Middle Ages and the Renaissance period of Bologna.
The San Petronio church, whose façade is now in restoration, is constructed with several different materials and stone, I believe at the very bottom it started to be built with marble and then later on when funding ran out, brick was it’s main backbone. Just like the different materials, the entire piazza is imbued with different periods of culture.
San Petronio is not an extremely remarkable saint to many people- but to the people of Bologna he is one of the most remarkable saints. I did not know who he was, nor did I ever hear of him. Although I do not know his entire history, I know a little bit more about his history and the history of Bologna. To many people Bologna may not be an extremely remarkable place- but to me it is extremely remarkable.
I learned the council of Trent took place in Bologna- but that is not even the slightest silver lining as to what makes it spectacular. I was feeling absolutely miserable and had to hold myself from crying, from trembling due to the terrible cold. My fingers went numb and I could no longer- as I was- avidly writing almost every piece of information that professoressa Elizabetta was saying… I started off writing with the most ancient piece in the entire plaza- the towers…and I lost track of history, or more well said.. I lost track of writing it all down like a historian- the cold did not allow me to write, it ferociously froze my fingers.
The second we entered San Petronio’s church I ran to the votive candles and warmed my face and hands- Bologna’s history will not change or go anywhere and I had to take care of my numb body- because it was numbing my mind. I could only think how cold it was. God bless the people who lit those votive candles, I will pray for you.
...I did keep my ears as open as I could and heard…something about the 13th century feudalism houses being destroyed and buildings were built for the government, there are churches for the municipality and churches for the Bishop- San Petronio is for the municipality…something about the Arengo balcony where the representative of Bologna excited the people where the tower was but it was destroyed too…something about the rich Acursio family who had an immense palace- which to me seemed like a museum- this family’s palace had a tower which was usually a symbol of defense, but this family’s tower symbolized only power…the government bought the palace and was there until just last year! Until 2010!...We also saw the Banci- like bank- with just tables for money exchange as there were different currencies in every town of Italy and a lot of students came to Bologna- like me now in 2011. The pope came to Bologna in 1580 and Bologna was the second, right after Rome, to become part of the Roman Church! The pope thought the square was not a proper representation of the new power…I feel as if I’m just blabbing information I learned to today- a leaking sponge.
Now I know when I walk the streets attached to the market, as which most are- as Todd explained to me on my first day in Bologna- the city is like a spin wheel, everything spinning from the center. If everything spins from this Piazza- it is all a beautiful and historically prominent place. I now know the street names are representative of what was sold down them centuries ago- Villa Clavatura- keys were sold. Villa Piaschere- fish.
I’ve been told before that I’m a bird- it was an old lady in the doctors office where I worked this summer. In Verona I was told I was a bird, I forgot the exact name, but nonetheless I was called a bird. I think it was because I was wearing a hairy hat- or maybe because I don’t care to spread my wings and soar to wherever I want to go. I flew to Verona and perched where I wanted too.
Elizabetta pointed out the frescos in the church. Now I spot them out wherever I go… down the Bologna streets on the walls, in churches, on my eyelids when I close my eyes to sleep. The frescos in the church- people couldn’t read but they knew all about the bible because they could see the stories being played. How beautiful, how brilliant.
Yet, as I am eagerly learning in my English class (and really enjoying the first authors wild writings BOCCACCIO!) the printing press made literature more attainable and I think about the first book ever published… Huckleberry Fin! My mother read that book to my sisters and I when we were little as a bedtime story. I think about all the books before Huckleberry Fin, pages and pages long, written by hand. I cannot complain if my hands get cramped by the cold, or even from typing.
I hope my preaching parables, as I realize I am a parable preacher through my printings, are indeed parable preachings.
(And I do learn by parables… whether the Bible on Sundays or even the parables of my families and friends..As I have “the envelope” my family wrote on under my laptop in between the computer and case, so it is with me as I write my own parables)
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