Orvieto

Today we're set to arrive in Orvieto, Italy. I'm studying with a group from Fuller Theological Seminary, and we're staying in a convent. As it happens, this their annual trip has fallen during the observance of the Feast of Corpus Christi. (More about that tomorrow.)

Visitors must climb to get to Orvieto. It sits on a high, volcanic-rock butte that requires the services of a funicular, a hillside train, from the valley.

Orvieto has a fascinating history. Its citizens in Medieval times, like those of ancient Sardis, thought they were safe, perched up there on high. If enemies tried to attack, the people had the advantage of gravity. Toss a few arrows or boulders, and—end of scuffle. Orvietans could even endure long sieges, as corn and cattle alike would grow up there. But what they lacked was water. They had to descend to get that. So the Romans tried to slay them with death-by-dehydration. But the clever people of Orvieto dug a well 248 steps deep.

The city was also a refuge for fleeing popes during the 13th century. Driving there from Rome takes about 90 minutes, so imagine how long it would have taken on horseback or foot. Consequently, the city has a “palace of the popes,” which contains many early frescoes.

The cathedral is designed to affirm embodied life, and the relic inside affirms the body of our Lord.