On Easter Sunday, The Sweetie and I drove to the small Sicilian town of Scicli, about an hour’s drive into the countryside west of Siracusa. We were going to see the ancient procession that annually celebrates Christ’s resurrection. Our guide was Rita Sipala, a very enthusiastic woman we met on our last trip who specializes in eco-tours (firstname.lastname@example.org).
It was raining the Italian equivalent of cats and dogs–gatti e cani. The large crowd, covered by a colorful, undulating sea of umbrellas, gathered along the pedestrian road that lead to the church.
Most of the women were wearing jeans or pants, but expressed their Easter Sunday fashion with new high heels, despite the persistent rain.
The men, on the other hand, expressed their stylishness with designer eyeglasses and shaved or spikey hair.
Around noon, the moment came when about thirty strong, swarthy men were to carry the huge statue of the risen Christ out of the church. The crowd was expectant. It was still pouring hard.
Then, just as the Christ figure emerged from the church, it stopped raining and the sun came out. The crowd went crazy. The men marched the Christ statue down and then back up the street, the crowd parting as they made their way.
The Christ figure looked lean but peaceful and radiant. Once he was safely back in the Church, it began pouring again.
I don’t much believe in miracles, but now I have some understanding about why many people do.