A Church and a Cyclist

Two stories to share today, one of personal and the other of historical interest. First, a view from my window:

In the top left of the picture, a short distance away, is the dome of the Chiesa Nuova, or New Church, built over the childhood home of Saint Francis. I've posted about it before, showing photos of interior columns with frescoes that were painted over during a remodeling a few centuries ago, before being uncovered in the past year. The church is modest in size, despite the high domed ceiling.
On weekday mornings there is a 7:30 a.m. Mass, which is not held at the main altar. Instead, congregants pass through a low, narrow door into a small room with thirteen large, intricately carved, connected in a u-shape, wooden seats that, frankly, one might expect to see cardinals sitting in. That is where the congregants sit. There is one other bench, that could seat three, plus one chair for the priest, and a small table-like altar.
At about 7:25 a.m. I was in the back of the darkened main part of the church when a nun entered and walked past toward the narrow door. She turned and motioned for me to follow her for Mass, and we entered the little room and took places on two of the very imposing wooden seats. Altogether about nine people were there, including the priest and altar server. When the aforementioned nun stepped forward to do one of the readings, I finally recognized her. (Keep in mind, with thousands of nuns living and visiting in and around Assisi, rather than standing out in a crowd, often they are the crowd)
It was nice to experience Mass in an old, sacred and close setting. Afterwards, when Sister Alessandra (from Saint Anthony's in Assisi) came out the main door of the church, she remembered me as well, and extended an invitation to visit their convent.
I've searched online for a picture of the room where the Mass was held, to no avail. Perhaps that's how it is meant to be.
The second story involves events of about seventy years ago, during World War II, when Assisi secretly harbored many Jews during the German occupation. Some were hidden in convents, others in homes, and numerous people risked their lives to assist in this dangerous mission of mercy. Among them was a fellow named Gino Bartali, a well-known Italian cyclist who had won both the Tour de France and the Giro d'Italia. Because of his notoriety, the Germans generally left him alone as he cycled over the hills of Tuscany and Umbria, unaware that he was smuggling forged documents in his bicycle frame, documents needed to assist escaping Jewish refugees. He would ride with his name clearly spelled out on his shirt. He even hid a Jewish family in his cellar, thereby saving their lives. One time he pulled a wagon as he cycled toward the Swiss Alps, telling authorities it was part of his training, while failing to mention a hidden compartment and his mission of helping refugees escape. On another occasion he explained his efforts to his son in a few simple words, "One does these things and then that's that."
It's good to remember Gino Bartali and those like him, for their caring, courage and goodness.

Ciao.