There is a particular aspect of Italy that reunited me with my Catholic roots in a way that I would have never imagined.
I’m not talking about the art and architecture, which are inspiring and cast long shadows over every city and settlement.
It wasn’t the close proximity to shrines and relics or even the near occasions of sin. In my case, it was near occasions of death by scooter, bicycle, car, truck, or pushcart. Even a nonna with a broom could take down a pedestrian with the flick of her wrist.
Those constant threats ramped up my praying to a level not seen since report card days.
My Italian language skills are pretty weak but I think “mi scusi signor” loosely translates to “pardon me, sir.” I can’t be sure because I never once heard it spoken.
Maybe it was divine intervention or just dumb luck that I lived to tell the tale.
About the author: I am Stephen Kennedy, an experienced photographer with more than 2500 completed sessions in all 50 US states.