The Sirens of Sorrento

I threw three coins over my shoulder and into Rome's Trevi fountain thirteen years ago. Legend has it that this act guarantees you a return trip. But really, I wanted to come back to Sorrento, a little town three hours south, where my Dad and I visited during a day trip from Rome. In the years following the two hours I spent there, "Sorrento" was always my answer to the what's-your-favorite-place-in-the-world question.

 Its piercing blue waters, powerful cliffs, and taunting Mt. Vesuvius, beckoned me the way the sirens lured sailors to the dangerous rocks below, thousands of years ago, according to Homer. It's said that the only way Ulysses resisted their song was by stuffing his ears with wax and strapping himself to the mast of his ship. The mermaids (half-woman, half-rooster, according to my mistranslated guidebook), were distraught, thinking they had lost their seductive powers and fled the cliffs. And that's why it is inhabitable today. Thank you, brave Ulysses.

But I discovered, this December, that the sirens still haunt those waters. At least they haunt the shopping district downtown. Their song is so lovely and so subtle, you hardly know they're singing. They whisper in your ear words like, "Isn't that a beautiful purse?" "Have you ever seen such a lovely bag?"

I realized I was listening to their pleasant song when I heard them say, "You've always wanted a Burberry scarf." "I have?" "Yes!" As I passed a window display of sunglasses, they reminded me that my eye doctor recently urged me to buy some Italian sunglasses to protect my eyes. Lovely lace dresses, leather gloves and purses, pottery with bright yellow lemons called to me, begging to come live in my kitchen. "We already match your tea pot! We'd fit in so well!" I wanted all this stuff. And lots of it.

This desire for beautiful things took me by surprise. I'm not usually one to get distracted by stuff, at least not expensive clothes or accessories. I knew it was not going to last. Didn't I memorize Matthew 6:19-20 in first grade? "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven..." My temporary distraction with Burberry scarves and leather purses reminded me of a song I'd been listening to recently. 

"All the Pretty Things" by 10th Avenue North

So we're waiting but our eyes are wandering to all this earth holds dear

Look at all the pretty things

That steal my heart away

I can feel I'm fading

'Cause Lord I love so many things

That keep me from Your face

Come and save me 

"How humbling," I thought, "To be so distracted by meaningless stuff that does indeed distract me from God." I basically gave myself a pass, believing the desires for "all the pretty things" would fade the further we drove from Sorrento and her Gucci wearing sirens. And they did. The longings diminished, but they were unexpectedly replaced by a stark realization: There are actually lots of "pretty things" that distract me from God. They're just harder to identify when they aren't labeled "real Italian leather". It's easier to justify distraction when it's called "travel" or "making memories" or "taking pictures of beautiful places". Even that phrase, "taking pictures", suggest a selfish grabbing for more of what I want. The gorgeous sunset isn't enough. I want to capture it and keep it forever.  Twenty-seven times from each and every angle and setting on my camera.

The beauty of what he's made can subtly distract me from him. Not always. At times it causes me to stop and thank him and marvel at his glory. But more often than I'd like to admit, this beauty, and the desire for more of it, makes me forget all about him--the one who made it for me. I take what I want, and leave satisfied, without so much as a thank you. And then I go home, look at all my pictures and sink further into the self-focused search for satisfaction.

Okay, I realize I may be losing you. You may be questioning my self-deprecating rant against photography. That's fair. Because it's not bad to take pictures of pretty things. For me, though, I am realizing that those pretty things can distract me from what's most important to me: my relationship with God. I hope I cracked open my Bible while I was in Sorrento, but I can't remember very clearly. I do remember taking lots of pictures, looking at them each night and deleting some, lamenting the fact that I hadn't brought my second memory card because 1,000 pictures was not enough, I wanted more, more, more!

Neighboring city of Positano.

It's okay to not read my Bible every day. It's not guilt over skipping my quiet time that is prompting my shame. It's the sad truth that "pretty things" sometimes control my life in a way I didn't know I'd given them permission to do. I feel alive and peaceful and fulfilled when I spend time with God. I want that to be my priority. But clearly, it's not. I am distracted by the sirens' song.

CS Lewis writes in The Weight of Glory:

"It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased."

 And I am far too easily distracted.

And a few more pictures of our trip to Sorrento...

Doesn't he look so Italian drinking cappuccino for breakfast?

Visiting a lemon grove.

I found the graffiti so encouraging.

Somehow, Sorrento felt even more charming in the rain.