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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required How melancholic was the silent Saint Peter's Basilica without a melody played by the bearded deacon, priest of the Camelites who died in sea-washed Licata; there, the Viol was played by Angelic of Jerusalem! For years, it was covered in dust and fallen into oblivion: it missed the Gregorian music sang with sheer enthusiasm! A humble pilgrim expressed his faith in terms of miles: he traveled far in search of spiritual enlightenment... not knowing how close to him was the resurrected Christ! The Parishers with drab faces waited for his return, they missed his soothing music that delighted their smiles: they believed that Jerusalem was a city of little concern! Jerusalem wasn't Rome embellished with marbles and bricks, not churches built with white limestone found in the highlands, those same hills where Jesus preached on the Mount of Olives, and amid Jewish rabbis and Orthodox priests with long sakkos, Angelic blended well and continued his pilgrimage despite dangers... nobody knew his whereabouts that increased their unfounded fears! Finally, a letter was delivered to the archbishop of Rome; Pope Pius II in white choir cassock trembling opened it, and read it to the teary Parishers wishing he had returned home! " I have knelt in front of Christ's sepulcher and prayed, I will remain in Jerusalem and finish what I've started." Profound silence dominated in the Basilica illuminated by sunset!
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