Oh! How the celestial heavens must have trembled, how the seraphs must have dropped their heavenly lyres and quivered amidst their gilded clouds, how the pearly gates must have shuddered in startled horror - all due to that calamitous commotion that had befallen the earthly resting place of the venerable Saint Titian of Brescia! For, friends, brethren, let us speak of the tumultuous tale of faith, fumbling and fusion of bricks, cement, corpses and ecclesiastical egos that came to be known as the Holy Relocation! It is a tale that ravages the heart, tickles the rib, and boggles the mind with its maddening means. For if our ecclesial elderlies can build their palatial residences upon the sacred bones of saints, then surely the notion of "rest in peace" packs as much punch as a priest's promise made in a wine cellar! Fifteen strong and steadfast, Saint Titian shone atop the pedestal of episcopal piety, following the notable Vigilius and precursing Paul II. Tradition suggests his reign occurred at the close of the fifth century, believed attested by the ink stains on the fingers of clergymen as they scribbled his name into the annals of ecclesiastical history. But, alas! Woe to the memory of Saint Titian! He was interred in the Church of Saints Cosmas and Damian, a sacred shrine that stood for centuries, providing comfort, love and shelter to the faithful. However, the merciless march of progress, led by Bishop Berard, resulted in the gory demise of this holy institution in 1302. Reduced to rubble, the church was put to the sword of development, all to erect the mundane monstrosity of the Palazzo Broletto on the Piazza Duomo. What followed were centuries of woe draped in the haunting silence of Saint Titian's displaced bones, a hushed hardship that lasted until 1505, when a ray of hope emerged in the form of Bishop Paolo Zane. This man of such austere theological tenor took it upon himself to relocate the saint's relics to a newly built Church of Saints Cosmas and Damian. Yet, in doing so, he employed neither humility nor solemnity. Instead, our brave bishop chose an over-the-top, gaudy marble sarcophagus, towering over the humble chapel, serving as an unmistakable testament to ecclesiastical ego and ungodly grandeur! And so, dear friends, we find ourselves entangled in a confounding conundrum. Is the saint's slumber shattered? Does his divine rest now echo with the clink of cocktail glasses and the raucous laughter of visiting dignitaries at the Bishop's palace? Or does he pose, luxuriously perched atop an altar, forever reminding us of our spiritual leaders' penchant for extravagance? One can only ponder on these grave considerations! Since 1962 and likely till doomsday, Saint Titian shares his literary feast with other Brescian brethren on April 20. An eternal case of 'table for one' turned 'table for too many.' Such is the fate of our dear Saint Titian of Brescia: shuffled, shared, and overshadowed. If this solemn saga does not wring your heart, shake your faith, and yet tickle your funny bone, I challenge whether your humanity still surges within your breast. For here lies the tale so tragic and trippy, so farcical and fatal, that it forever immortalises the Holy Relocation: a true tale of Bishops, Bricks, and the Brouhaha of Saint Titian's Bones!