Guest column by Fr. James Morin,
Vice Chancellor of the Diocese of Lincoln, Dean of Men, Formation Advisor,
and Instructor of Theology and Classical Languages at St. Gregory the Great Seminary in Seward
Flannery O’Connor once remarked, “When in Rome, do as you done in Milledgeville.”
Milledgeville was the small rural town in central Georgia where O’Connor spent most of her life, and one can easily imagine how different the habits and customs of such a place would have been from those of the eternal city. This difference, of course, is the point of her characteristically ironic twist on the old adage. When in Rome, she seems to be saying, do not cease to be yourself, do not forget who you are, do not look down on or become ungrateful for the place you came from.
Of course, the classic version of the proverb (when in Rome, do as the Romans do) also contains wisdom. The origin of the saying is a letter of St. Ambrose in which he encourages St. Augustine to fast on the same days as the Romans do when he finds himself in Rome, even if his normal custom is to fast on different days. When we find ourselves in new or unfamiliar circumstances, it is courteous – and sometimes even socially necessary – to adapt to the language, customs, and traditions which govern the life of those around us. The payoff of such adaptation is not merely the social harmony it promotes. Living in a foreign place according to foreign customs can counteract excessively narrow or provincial ways of thinking, broadening one’s understanding of the world and one’s place in it.
Having spent nine of the last 12 years actually living in Rome, both versions of the old saying ring true. Like many priests and seminarians from all over the world, I was sent to Rome to study. In my case, after finishing the general theology requirements, Bishop Conley asked me to pursue a degree in Patristics (the study of the history and writings of bishops and theologians who lived in the first six or seven centuries of Christianity) and later a degree in Canon Law (the system of rules and procedures by which the Church governs the life of her members). After spending 26 years of my life in school, I’m glad to be moving home to begin a real job.
Although my academic endeavors were instructive and will hopefully be of service to our diocese, experiencing the breadth of the Universal Church in Rome was just as enriching. This was especially the case during the three years in which I lived in a house filled with 30 other young priests who came from all over the world. Although the food and the language of the house were both Italian (doing as the Romans do), our life was in some sense a real microcosm of the Church. The resident priests came from vastly different social, economic, cultural, ethnic, and linguistic backgrounds, and I learned a lot about how the Church lives and functions in various parts of the world. The European priests taught me about the struggles of a shrinking Church with a large institutional footprint, while the Africans spoke about the positive and problematic aspects of managing a rapidly growing Church. A few of the priests came from places where Christianity was persecuted in ways an American can only imagine. And almost everyone seemed to be interested in soccer, which they mistakenly called “football.” While the diversity of experience was quite interesting, I was perhaps most struck by the way in which our Catholic faith was able to powerfully unite and integrate differences – without destroying them – into a common way of seeing the world.
Now that my studies are over, Bishop Conley has called me home and assigned me to be a formator and teacher at St. Gregory the Great Seminary in Seward. People have often asked me what I will miss about Rome, now that I am moving home to Nebraska. I will certainly miss the beautiful architecture, the food (…and wine), and the many people who have been good friends along the way. But perhaps what I will miss about the city itself is the strange juxtaposition between beauty and filth, grandeur and decay, saints and sinners. Rome, like the Church, seems to capture the entire spectrum of humanity – the good and the bad, the highest and lowest, diversity in unity – all at once, in a glance.
Perhaps an image best captures what I mean. I was once standing on an old bridge crossing the Tiber River, looking toward Michaelangelo’s cupola of St. Peter’s as the sun was setting – the eternal city in all its glory. Suddenly a car swerved onto the sidewalk near where I was standing. An Italian woman on her cell phone parked the car and got out, talking animatedly on her cell phone the whole time. She went to the back of her car, opened the trunk and pulled out a bag of trash. She walked to the edge of the bridge and launched the trash into the river. Then, still talking on the phone, got back into her car and drove away into the sunset, St. Peter’s still standing peacefully in the background. I am not sure what she threw away or why she threw it in the river, but this strange event stands in my head as the icon of the city of Rome. The Church calling us to noble adventure of sanctity, and a woman (sort of) taking out the trash.
I am grateful for my time in Rome, but even after several years of living there and doing my best to do as the Romans do, I am and always will be an American, a Nebraskan, a kid from Lincoln who prefers real football to a sport that can end 0-0 after 90 minutes. I’m grateful to be back home, to return to serve the diocese in which my faith was born and nourished, and to get back to ‘doing as I done in Milledgeville.’
