Forte Belvedere

Up in the Altopiano there are forts everywhere, remnants from WWI. From a distance you may mistake a fort for another old castle, both stoic buildings with high walls of stone. But the forts are built into the mountain, because what is more stable or secure during war than a mountain?

Belvedere means “beautiful view,” and this fort is rightly named so. I was left breathless looking out over the valley and mountain range, covered in trees and little villages farther up mountains than makes any sense to build them. Like really, who lives way up there? And how did they get the materials there to build such a gorgeous town?

The vantage point from the mountain tops served a purpose: to hold and defend the front line and see enemies before they arrived. There was a system of forts along the peaks, and they used a flashing light system to communicate with each other instantly. Literally brilliant.

Everything at Belvedere was beautiful in the sunshine from the outside. But then we went in and put our jackets on. It was more than the chilly stone passageways inside the roof of the mountain’s belly that chilled me to the bone; it was the echos of soldiers, their memories of war. The Belvedere is like a museum, each room labeled and full with information and artifacts from what happened there.

As I reverently walked from the kitchen to the looks-outs to the infirmary, I thought of the boots that walked these floors. Italian boys, some of them my age, living in the First World War. For them it wasn’t a fascinating or educational experience. For them it was real life. It was gunfire, cannons, wounds, long days of waiting in the elements, hunger and filth. I thought of Italian boys, the Austrian boys, the German boys, the British boys and American boys. All of them just boys with mothers who loved them. The ones who lost their lives, the ones who survived but never forgot. The brutality of the trenches, the chill of the mountain forts, and the beautiful view they had from way up here.

I’m no historian, but I can appreciate history. I am grateful for the past sacrifices made to preserve the peace I enjoy today. Yet sometimes I forget that history is happening right now. Just because Ukraine doesn’t make the front page of the paper every day anymore doesn’t mean that people aren’t still suffering. I’m no politician, but I know that it’s a complex world we live in. The best thing I know how to do is pray for them, and pray for this broken world where war is ever-present. I don’t know what it’s like to be a refugee today, or a soldier during WWI. Jesus does know. That’s why He came here. And that’s why we need Him.

The view I caught from Belvedere was more than a gorgeous panorama of the landscape. It opened my eyes and reminded me of life and death, war and peace, suffering and healing- and how Jesus is in all of it. I need Jesus when days are good and I need Him in days of hardship. He is the only thing that makes sense to me, the only Way this world makes sense. He gives my vision meaning, purpose and hope.