One of the things about being a seminarian in Rome that has taken a fair bit of getting used to is the regular wearing of clerical attire (ie the black shirt with priestly collar).
While there are varying norms regarding the dress code for seminarians in Australia, most American and Italian seminaries require their more senior students—ie those who have received Candidacy, which is sort of our equivalent of getting engaged—to wear clerics to classes as well as during other official capacities.
As such, most days see me either walking or taking the bus through the heart of Rome dressed in readily identifiable Church attire.
It’s not the wearing of a uniform that I find strange—I did that enough at various jobs in the past—but more the fact that anyone can identify me as a Church representative on sight.
I had some practice at being a semi-public religious figure upon entering the seminary back in Perth, though this was largely with people whom I already knew to some degree.
Now complete strangers on the street have a chance to size me up and make a variety of assumptions about my life and beliefs.
I should note that in my younger days I spent several years away from the Church, during which time I absorbed much of the standard secular critique of religion in general and Catholicism in particular. As I was gradually being drawn back, I chose not to wear my slowly-burgeoning faith on my sleeve, both because it was still a work in progress (as I suppose it always will be), and – to be honest – because I was still somewhat embarrassed by it.
Obviously I’m no longer embarrassed by the faith (though the Church’s human weakness remains ever humbling), but I do remember what it was like to look critically upon it. I guess you could say that I sometimes feel my own past judgements rebounding back on me now.
The reactions we receive here in Rome vary. Many tourists confuse us with priests, and if there is a large group of seminarians in clerics – particularly if we are passing by St Peter’s Square or some other distinctly Catholic landmark – tourists will invariably pull out their cameras for a photo.
Visitors also presume that we all speak English for some reason, which sees us being asked for directions around the city on a daily basis.
Most locals are able to distinguish seminarians from priests (the backpack normally gives us away), though shop assistants generally refer to us as “Padre” just in case. Some Romans will take the occasional pot-shot, whereas others seem genuinely delighted to see young people answering the call. On the whole, however, there are sufficient numbers of religiously-dressed figures roaming around the city that most locals remain unfazed by it all.
As for me, the fact of being an identifiable “Church-person” out in public has an interesting effect on one’s psyche. Obviously you want to give a good representation of the Church, and thus basic courtesy is non-negotiable: opening doors, offering your seat, kindness to beggars, etc.
You’d like to think that you would do all that anyway, but there is an undeniable increase in accountability that comes from visibly representing something beyond yourself – if I am rude in public, that reflects poorly on the Church, and in extreme cases could even lead someone to question their faith.
Of course, I have bad days from time to time just like anyone else, when I would much rather blend into the scenery then stand out.
If someone decides to take a shot at the Church via me on such days the effect is compounded.On the other side, the collar can also prompt gestures of respect (such as salutes from the Swiss Guard) and acts of generosity from complete strangers that could easily go to one’s head if you are not careful.
Indeed, such perils of being a public figure – combined with remnants of clericalism in the collective memory – provide some context for the occasionally heated intra-Church debates about priests’ and sisters’ dress codes in decades past.
I suspect that the key to handling it well is to distinguish between the person and the office. When I remember that the reactions I receive – both the vitriol and the love – are largely about the Church of which I am but a small part, I am less inclined to feel overly inflated or deflated.
The immense respect that some people offer speaks to the dignity of the priestly office (and not me), while the cruel hatred that some people offer likely speaks to their personal baggage with the Church (and not me).
It’s all good practice of course, for at the end of the day I’m convinced that there is an important ministry of witness to be offered by being a public symbol of the faith, particularly back home in Australia where religious garb is seen far less than on the streets of Rome.
As St Paul proclaimed to Timothy: “Never be ashamed of witnessing to the Lord.” (2 Tim 1:8).