Camaiore: The Church of Suffrage and Works of Mercy reopens after restoration
Photos of the Misericordia of Camaiore and Lido
In Camaiore (Lucca), on April 18th, the works of mercy created by Maestro Lorenzo D'Andrea were presented
The word Mercy, of Latin origin, is the union of two nouns—i miseri and il cuore—that express compassion, the sharing of suffering, and intimate connection with the misery of others. But Mercy is not just a word: it manifests the works aimed at alleviating the suffering of our neighbors, the concrete actions defined in succession in the Gospel of Matthew (chapter 25, vv. 34-40), where Jesus explains that "when the Son of Man comes in his glory," we will be judged by what we have done to support the least of our brothers and sisters, those most in need.
And the famous summary of the Gospel passage just recalled, attributed to Saint John of the Cross—"In the evening of life we will be judged on love"—refers not to the vagueness of some noble sentiment, but to concrete charity, lived daily and offered to support those in conditions of fragility and need. The apostle James, moreover, in his Letter to the Jewish-Christian communities scattered throughout the Greco-Roman world (chapter 2, vv. 24 and 26), prophetically warns that we are justified by works and not by faith alone. "For as the body without the spirit is dead, so also faith without works is dead."
Based on this underlying concern that invites us to be close to those who suffer, the Compagnia della Misericordia was founded in Florence in the mid-13th century by a simple man of the people. Its brothers, dressed in black, carried out charitable works with a visor – the buffa – pulled down over their faces so as not to be recognized during their work.
The hiding of one's face was a sign of the absolute gratuitousness of the works of mercy, directed to everyone, without any social or religious distinction, beyond any possible reward or even a simple sign of gratitude.
The Confraternity of Mercy of Camaiore was founded in 1879, but its roots date back to a Confraternity already operating in 1450. We are therefore faced with a long history of spirituality, which has inspired feelings of solidarity and service rendered for the benefit of the entire community: a history that today finds its chosen home with the reopening, after restoration, of the Church of Suffrage and Mercy, where 14 canvases will be exhibited, depicting the 7 Corporal Works of Mercy and the 7 Spiritual Works of Mercy, painted by the master Lorenzo D'Andrea.
During the Covid-19 epidemic, a time when humanity as a whole experienced the fragility of existence and the weakness of human nature, constantly teetering on the thin line between life and death, D'Andrea drew a striking series of crucifixes, each one representing, in varying forms, the sign of Jesus's ultimate sacrifice, a prelude to Christ's resurrection, his victory over death: almost a symbolic call to rebirth and renewal in our lives, both private and collective, after the extreme trials of suffering and death during the epidemic.
And when, in April 2022, shortly after the start of the war that Russia had waged against Ukraine, over 400 corpses were discovered in a mass grave, following the Russian withdrawal from the city of Bucha, D'Andrea was inwardly driven to paint a large canvas, in which from the mass of bodies and faces gathered in the devastation of the massacre a cry seems to rise, the final cry of humanity wounded and annihilated by the devastation of war.
Lorenzo D'Andrea's painting is an expression of the artist's inner dimension, born from an intimate process that conveys, translated into images, the artist's external sensations. If we observe how suffering and death were represented in past paintings, we perceive the search for formal perfection in the images, even while depicting events rooted in the laceration of violence. In D'Andrea's works, however, the forms, faces, and bodies seem to spring from an internal stirring of the soul, shaken by the accumulation of sensations—harmonious or lacerating, uplifting or destructive—that come from real life.
Even in the representation of the corporal and spiritual Works of Mercy that will remain in the Church of Suffrage, the images arise from an interior substratum, prompted by the reflection of those who daily find themselves living in conditions of misery, deprived of freedom, or tested by illness and affliction, or immersed in cultural poverty, or subjugated by the guilt of sin, but also moved by the example of those who work every day to lift others from affliction.
These are representations in which, although some touches of color are present, chiaroscuro predominates, with the prevalence of white bathing the canvas in light that descends from above, a sign of the strength, both gentle and powerful, of divine teaching, which becomes concrete action, embodied in the action taken on behalf of those who are suffering. But being before the Works of Mercy, visually represented in such a powerful and emotionally engaged version by the artist, urges us a deep reflection on their practical translation in the historical phase we are living in.
The invitation to welcome foreigners (the fourth of the corporal works of mercy), today confronts us with the phenomenon of migration. “Remember that you were a stranger in the land of Egypt.” This is the warning addressed to Israel several times in the Old Testament.
The constant movement of people fleeing difficult or even desperate conditions and seeking a dignified life, with movements that put their lives at risk—the Mediterranean Seabed has become a vast cemetery over time—profoundly challenges us as Christians, especially given the views of some who have championed the fight to welcome migrants.
These are socially challenging phenomena that must be understood, evaluated, and regulated, but also accepted and welcomed if we place evangelical teaching at the foundation of our lives.
As well as among the Spiritual Works of Mercy, the second prompt is “teach the ignorant”, for the personal and social growth of those who find themselves at a cultural disadvantage.
However, we must now recognize that scientific research is only partially funded by public institutions. Much of the highest-level research, in fields ranging from artificial intelligence to robotics, pharmacology, and medicine, is now controlled by large international corporations.
And the concrete results of that research will serve above all to further increase the economic power of those who hold the financial strength to influence the choices that will direct humanity in the coming decades.
These are, just mentioned, situations that can profoundly disturb our collective conscience, but we must be aware of them.
This is why in our time the power of charity—weak, gentle, loving, and meek—embodied in the Works of Mercy can take on a disruptive force against those who think they can build a world in which arrogant, solipsistic freedom, unfettered and unregulated, secured only by the domination of wealth, and therefore far removed from any criterion of social justice and solidarity, is the only valid direction for the future.
Hope, said Saint Augustine, "is a lamp shining in the darkness," lit by indignation at the evil we see in the world and sustained by the courage to change reality. It is with this awareness that we are called to build our lives in the time to come.
Image
- Photos of the Misericordia of Camaiore and Lido
In Camaiore (Lucca), on April 18th, the works of mercy created by Maestro Lorenzo D'Andrea were presented
The word Mercy, of Latin origin, is the union of two nouns—i miseri and il cuore—that express compassion, the sharing of suffering, and intimate connection with the misery of others. But Mercy is not just a word: it manifests the works aimed at alleviating the suffering of our neighbors, the concrete actions defined in succession in the Gospel of Matthew (chapter 25, vv. 34-40), where Jesus explains that "when the Son of Man comes in his glory," we will be judged by what we have done to support the least of our brothers and sisters, those most in need.
And the famous summary of the Gospel passage just recalled, attributed to Saint John of the Cross—"In the evening of life we will be judged on love"—refers not to the vagueness of some noble sentiment, but to concrete charity, lived daily and offered to support those in conditions of fragility and need. The apostle James, moreover, in his Letter to the Jewish-Christian communities scattered throughout the Greco-Roman world (chapter 2, vv. 24 and 26), prophetically warns that we are justified by works and not by faith alone. "For as the body without the spirit is dead, so also faith without works is dead."
Based on this underlying concern that invites us to be close to those who suffer, the Compagnia della Misericordia was founded in Florence in the mid-13th century by a simple man of the people. Its brothers, dressed in black, carried out charitable works with a visor – the buffa – pulled down over their faces so as not to be recognized during their work.
The hiding of one's face was a sign of the absolute gratuitousness of the works of mercy, directed to everyone, without any social or religious distinction, beyond any possible reward or even a simple sign of gratitude.
The Confraternity of Mercy of Camaiore was founded in 1879, but its roots date back to a Confraternity already operating in 1450. We are therefore faced with a long history of spirituality, which has inspired feelings of solidarity and service rendered for the benefit of the entire community: a history that today finds its chosen home with the reopening, after restoration, of the Church of Suffrage and Mercy, where 14 canvases will be exhibited, depicting the 7 Corporal Works of Mercy and the 7 Spiritual Works of Mercy, painted by the master Lorenzo D'Andrea.
During the Covid-19 epidemic, a time when humanity as a whole experienced the fragility of existence and the weakness of human nature, constantly teetering on the thin line between life and death, D'Andrea drew a striking series of crucifixes, each one representing, in varying forms, the sign of Jesus's ultimate sacrifice, a prelude to Christ's resurrection, his victory over death: almost a symbolic call to rebirth and renewal in our lives, both private and collective, after the extreme trials of suffering and death during the epidemic.
And when, in April 2022, shortly after the start of the war that Russia had waged against Ukraine, over 400 corpses were discovered in a mass grave, following the Russian withdrawal from the city of Bucha, D'Andrea was inwardly driven to paint a large canvas, in which from the mass of bodies and faces gathered in the devastation of the massacre a cry seems to rise, the final cry of humanity wounded and annihilated by the devastation of war.
Lorenzo D'Andrea's painting is an expression of the artist's inner dimension, born from an intimate process that conveys, translated into images, the artist's external sensations. If we observe how suffering and death were represented in past paintings, we perceive the search for formal perfection in the images, even while depicting events rooted in the laceration of violence. In D'Andrea's works, however, the forms, faces, and bodies seem to spring from an internal stirring of the soul, shaken by the accumulation of sensations—harmonious or lacerating, uplifting or destructive—that come from real life.
Even in the representation of the corporal and spiritual Works of Mercy that will remain in the Church of Suffrage, the images arise from an interior substratum, prompted by the reflection of those who daily find themselves living in conditions of misery, deprived of freedom, or tested by illness and affliction, or immersed in cultural poverty, or subjugated by the guilt of sin, but also moved by the example of those who work every day to lift others from affliction.
These are representations in which, although some touches of color are present, chiaroscuro predominates, with the prevalence of white bathing the canvas in light that descends from above, a sign of the strength, both gentle and powerful, of divine teaching, which becomes concrete action, embodied in the action taken on behalf of those who are suffering. But being before the Works of Mercy, visually represented in such a powerful and emotionally engaged version by the artist, urges us a deep reflection on their practical translation in the historical phase we are living in.
The invitation to welcome foreigners (the fourth of the corporal works of mercy), today confronts us with the phenomenon of migration. “Remember that you were a stranger in the land of Egypt.” This is the warning addressed to Israel several times in the Old Testament.
The constant movement of people fleeing difficult or even desperate conditions and seeking a dignified life, with movements that put their lives at risk—the Mediterranean Seabed has become a vast cemetery over time—profoundly challenges us as Christians, especially given the views of some who have championed the fight to welcome migrants.
These are socially challenging phenomena that must be understood, evaluated, and regulated, but also accepted and welcomed if we place evangelical teaching at the foundation of our lives.
As well as among the Spiritual Works of Mercy, the second prompt is “teach the ignorant”, for the personal and social growth of those who find themselves at a cultural disadvantage.
However, we must now recognize that scientific research is only partially funded by public institutions. Much of the highest-level research, in fields ranging from artificial intelligence to robotics, pharmacology, and medicine, is now controlled by large international corporations.
And the concrete results of that research will serve above all to further increase the economic power of those who hold the financial strength to influence the choices that will direct humanity in the coming decades.
These are, just mentioned, situations that can profoundly disturb our collective conscience, but we must be aware of them.
This is why in our time the power of charity—weak, gentle, loving, and meek—embodied in the Works of Mercy can take on a disruptive force against those who think they can build a world in which arrogant, solipsistic freedom, unfettered and unregulated, secured only by the domination of wealth, and therefore far removed from any criterion of social justice and solidarity, is the only valid direction for the future.
Hope, said Saint Augustine, "is a lamp shining in the darkness," lit by indignation at the evil we see in the world and sustained by the courage to change reality. It is with this awareness that we are called to build our lives in the time to come.
Image
- Photos of the Misericordia of Camaiore and Lido
Photos of the Misericordia of Camaiore and Lido
