Giovanni’s Letter
Fra Giovanni Giocondo (c.1435–1515). Letter to to Countess Allagia Aldobrandeschi on Christmas Eve, 1513. Fra Giovanni was a Franciscan Friar and a Renaissance pioneer, accomplished as an architect, engineer, antiquary, archaeologist, and classical scholar. Artwork by Juliette Pierce Kent.
The first time I read Friar Giovanni’s letter I was fourteen years old and his warmth and enthusiasm captivated my heart. My childhood self had sensed magic and mystery in the world, but I’d never heard it described in such a way: as containing hidden splendors and guiding angels.
Like a lantern glowing in a forest at night, his letter invited me into its cheerful circumference, enlivening my mind with curiosity and hope. A few short years later I embarked on my own life: college, travel, marriage, university, more travel; and years and years of searching for truth: the meaning of life and the universe.
I read hundreds of books, and traveled down many a road to nowhere. But during all that time, Friar Giovanni’s letter swept along with me, in the currents of my endless searching, until one day it floated down and landed once again in my hands, filling me with the same unexpected joy.
Giovanni Giocondo was born in Verona, in 1433. He was a Franciscan priest, archaeologist, architect, and artist. He also wrote sermons and letters. In his famous letter to Countess Allagia, written on Christmas Eve 1513, he urged her to Take Heaven!
His words, so filled with jubilation, made me wonder: how can we take heaven? He says that some imagined future paradise cannot arrive, unless we find rest there now. But, how? Each moment vanishes, a flash of lightening; and the world falls back into darkness, obscuring our way.
And how can it be that the ugly, or heavy, or hard merely covers over radiance, if we only had the eyes to see? Suffering overwhelms the world. The shroud is densely woven. Yet sometimes I can sense a deeper truth in the paradox: the chasm, between what we long for and what we suffer, has meaning. An angel’s hand is there.
But more often life feels like a puzzle, the pieces scattered everywhere. Or like a maze with no map. Fast-flies the arrow of time, while we fashion our hopes and our beloved designs.
A labyrinth is a symbol of journey, of pilgrimage, meant to be walked reflectively. Can life be recast this way? A voyage to a center that we do not fix ourselves, nor find by our own reckoning? Who holds the center? Who leads us?
In the Flammarion Woodcut, a man has made his way to the edge of known reality and has pressed his head through the veil. He peers out at an infinity of stars and other worlds: splendor and radiance surround our earthly cocoon.
Do we live on such a threshold? I believe we know it, deep in our mortal bones. Friar Giovanni tells us: Take courage! Even our joys hold diviner gifts.
Images:
Eastman Johnson, The Girl I Left Behind Me, ca. 1872; Smithsonian American Art Museum, Open Access; Public Domain; additional artwork and collage by Juliette Pierce Kent.
Portrait of Giovanni Giocondo (CC0); Wikipedia Public Domain; artwork by Juliette Pierce Kent.
Original wood engraving (n.d.); artist unknown; originally published in Camille Flammarion’s 1888 book on meteorology; additional artwork by Juliette Pierce Kent.
