Santa Lucia

Don Donato pulled us away from the golden Madonna and led us towards the back of the church. He stopped in front of a large statue standing regally in one niche, high above a small altar devoted to this particular saint, Santa Lucia Vergine e Martire. Saint Lucy is the patron saint of the blind and those with eye problems, and is often depicted holding a plate with two eyes on it.

Santa Lucia

(On the far bottom left, you can just see Don Donato anxiously looking on)

Don Donato asked Andrea to climb onto the altar, remove the crosses and candlesticks, and open the glass door that encased Santa Lucia. Carefully, Andrea picked up these sacred articles, reverently kissing a large cross before setting it aside. At the monsignor’s instruction, he gingerly tugged on the door, swinging it fully open so we could see several other items resting inside next to the saint’s feet.

Careful! Don't fall!

Gasping, we read the engraving now clearly visible on the statue’s base: A devozione di Perrotta Maria Ved. Del Pozzo 1966. That was Tony’s grandmother, Maria Perrotta, widower of his grandfather Del Pozzo.  There was also a faded photograph depicting a girl in glasses. So this is what the old woman in front of the church had been trying to tell us.

His grandmother had made a substantial offering to Santa Lucia as a plea for help. As we gazed up at the saint, Tony filled us in. He remembered hearing that his grandmother had suffered from eye troubles throughout her life. Now it all made sense.

Saint Lucy, Rock Star

Tony inspects the long-ago offerings of his grandmother to Santa Lucia

Gingerly, Tony took his turn climbing up onto the altar, coming face to face not only with Santa Lucia, but with the ghost of his grandmother’s past.

Another memorable moment for the Del Pozzo family

The Golden Madonna

Don Donato led us to the main altar where the Madonna of Tony’s weathered postcard held court over the masses. Here she was in all her glory: the santissima (very saintly) Madonna del Carmine.

And beneath her, slightly hidden behind massive gleaming candlesticks, was the plaque that announced to the parishioners every day that a member of the Del Pozzo family had made her glory possible.

Don Donato instructed Andrea to stand upon the altar (we winced, hoping nothing would topple) and move the candlesticks so that we would have an unobstructed view of the plaque. Cameras clicked and whirred, then we stood silent, just staring at it.

A poignant homecoming for Chris, Tony, and Nichole Del Pozzo

The church was anything but modest. Generous donations from both local parishioners and distant benefactors have provided for an extensive modernization of the infrastructure.  (Later, Don Donato marched us down to the basement to proudly show off the new air conditioning and heating system.) Additionally, donated dollars have not only repaired structural damage caused by earthquakes, but have created a splendorous interior.

Leaning our heads way back, we followed Don Donato’s unwavering finger directing our gaze upwards as he patiently explained the symbolism of the elaborate frescoed murals and architectural detail slathered over every inch of ceiling.

No, Sharon isn't napping on a pew. She's snapping a photo of the ceiling.

Don Donato then led us around the interior perimeter of the church, into each and every nave, telling us the names and stories of the wooden saints that stood in the niches. It didn’t seem to matter that he only spoke Italian. Somehow we understood most everything he described.

And then we came to another surprise.

Don Donato De Mattia

While we milled around in front of the great green door of the church, a few locals approached us curiously. We asked where we might find the Monsignor of the church.

Tony had written to the Monsignor (in English) a few months before our arrival to ask if we could pay a visit to him and the church. The Monsignor had responded (also in English, which is curious since he doesn’t speak a word of it), expressing his delight at our impending visit.

The woman in the center had something to tell us,
but not until later did I understand what it was.

We gathered in the small courtyard while someone went to fetch him. While we waited, an old woman approached us. She must have heard the Del Pozzo’s were in town because she was desperately try to explain something in rapid-fire Italian about Tony’s grandmother, Maria Perrotta, and some connection between her and something inside the church. I couldn’t quite understand.

But when we heard people crowding around us exclaim, “AH! Del Pozzo!” that meaning was unmistakable. It was emotional even for me to watch the faces of Tony, Nichole, and Chris as they experienced a true home-coming.

“That was the moment I really felt like I was in Italy,” Nichole said later. “We finally made it to the place we had always dreamed of seeing…the place where our grandfather and our roots are from.”

Chris stood still, vividly imagining his grandfather as a little boy standing in front of this very same church after mass. Having had the experience myself of returning to the town of origin of my own grandparents, and standing inside the very church in which my great-grandparents had been married, I understood this powerful emotion.

Don Donato greets Tony, now the padrone of the Del Pozzo family

A few moments later, Don Donato de Mattia, “Don Donato,” as the locals called him, arrived. I had imagined a tall, somewhat stern, stand-offish man. He was not. Short, roundish, with smiling eyes and warm hands, he bustled up to our small group and greeted everyone with a kiss, Italian-style. I smiled as I watched Tony kiss his hand, a gesture of honor and respect.

After making Nichole’s acquaintance, the monsignor affectionately took her arm and began speaking animatedly to her in Italian. When her apologies that she understood no Italian did not deter his discourse, she simply responded to him with polite uh-huh’s.

Don Donato was delighted we had come. He unlocked the massive front door to the church and herded us inside. Andrea was right with us, participating equally in this poignant moment. Excited, but hushed, we followed the Don down the center aisle towards the front altar.

Don Donato takes my arm and steers us forward

What we saw next left us speechless

La Chiesa Santa Maria del Carmine

The church we were seeking was not just any church. Tony’s father, grandparents, and several aunts and uncles had emigrated from Montoro Inferiore decades ago. But when they still lived here, as for many of the other families in the town, the Chiesa Santa Maria del Carmine had been the Del Pozzo’s spiritual beacon. Over the years it has been the recipient of donations made by its departed Del Pozzo daughters and sons who left this area for better opportunities.

Growing up, Tony heard these and other stories about the relationship between his family and this left-behind place of worship. He still possesses an aging postcard his father had kept all these years depicting an enormous statue of Virgin Mary draped in a glittering gown and clutching a doll-like baby Jesus. A large golden crown atop her head, she towers over the main altar of the chiesa like the Queen of Heaven. A plaque just below her feet is engraved with the words: A devozione di Pietro Antonio Del Pozzo e Famiglia — 1957.

Tony’s great uncle, Pietro Antonio Del Pozzo, had donated the ornamented marble altar surrounding the saintly Madonna, as well as her gilded crown. In short, Pietro had been a devotional rock star, revered for his generosity and commemorated for it to this day.

Now, years later, members of this same Del Pozzo family were coming home, not only to see the town of their origins, but to reconnect a circle that had been broken so long ago.

Nichole, Tony, and Chris Del Pozzo
in front of the church of their ancestors

The impeccably painted facade of the church belies its history. No one can pinpoint exactly when the church was erected, but its first written records date from 1511. Repeatedly damaged or destroyed by war or earthquakes over the centuries, it has been repaired and rebuilt numerous times.

Andrea and Tony check out the church's pleasing architecture

The most recent disaster occurred in 1980 when a horrific earthquake hit the town, severely damaging the church, killing 20 townspeople, and destroying several other buildings.

The Terremoto dell’Irpinia (Irpinia Earthquake) did not affect just this town. The tremor, which registered 6.89 on the Richter Scale, struck on a Sunday night as thousands crowded into their local churches for evening mass. Overall, it killed 2,914, injured more than 10,000, and left 300,000 homeless. The towns in the Province of Avellino were the hardest hit. Montoro Inferiore is a part of that province.

Decorative paving stones in front of the church

But like I said, today you would never know the “Del Pozzo Church” had suffered such disasters. The architecture is in pristine shape. The outside is painted a pleasing pale yellow contrasted with gleaming white around the windows and doors. A small campanile (bell tower) reaches toward heaven at the side of the church.  We couldn’t wait to go inside.

Waiting for Don Donato to arrive
and show us around

Montoro Inferiore

As we rolled through the streets of  Montoro Inferiore searching for La Chiesa Santa Maria del Carmine, we admired the relaxed ambiance of the town.

Not all the streets were deserted quite to this extent, but it was quiet.

I love these crusty walls

A quiet, picturesque corner

Posters plastered on a board announce upcoming events. That cherry festival looks like fun!

The residents seemed unhurried, content to go about their business at their own leisurely pace.

Even the dogs were mellow.

A little girl and her mamma watched us from their window

Then came down for a closer look

She greeted us shyly

A couple of more turns, and then we found it. This was the reason we had left our Shangri-la in Praiano and ventured up to this town in the first place. There it was, sitting at the side of the road facing Bar Planet: La Chiesa Santa Maria del Carmine.