The head of Jesus rolls down
the stone steps – fast, with a clatter –
to the horror of the crowd1.
It falls in that grotesque, cinematic way,
as if nodding at every step,
miraculously scattering the faithful in the procession.
Its descent has no end,
for Amalfi is a city of stairs.
And no one dares to stop it.
The pious music has fallen silent.
The rest of the body – headless – is frozen still,
as if anticipating the events of the Easter liturgy.
The bishop with the monstrance is frozen too.
And he does not breathe.
It’s like Jerusalem then –
not a single brave soul.
The head is reaching the very last steps far below,
but before it comes to a halt,
a small boy runs up to it.
He catches it deftly in his hands and shouts:
– Got You!
The bishop, clutching the monstrance to his chest,
finally breathes2.
I first saw this procession – without the rolling head of Jesus – on Easter 1999, while on a scholarship in Italy. I was in Amalfi with my friend and his partner; we all burst into laughter the moment I told them what I imagined. We had to leave quickly, to avoid provoking a disastrous reaction from the faithful. I swore I would return there one Easter with my partner – a modest dream I still haven’t fulfilled.
May 7, 2025 in a café on the Thames in London, the first day of the papal conclave in the Vatican.
Photo by Jennifer Bonauer on Unsplash