Reaching for gold

No, not Olympic gold, but something far greater: caelestis auro, heavenly gold, that is, martyrdom. It hardly seems necessary to say it because of so much common knowledge concerning the history of Rome, but perhaps it is because of the knowledge being so common as to be taken for granted that it must be repeated--the very stones of the city streets of Rome cry out of the Christian blood that was spilled there, blood that would water in the seed of the One True Faith.

The stories are too many and the scope is too large to treat adequately here, but one saint stood out in our short time in Rome, St Cecilia. We caught little glimpses of St Cecilia in several churches, but tucked into the Trastevere section of Rome, behind large classical gates, stood the Church of St Cecilia. The first church was built upon the ruins of Cecilia's home, and the excavations can be viewed in the church crypt area. The church has been renovated and added on to many times through the centuries, and in 822, St Cecilia's incorrupt remains were translated from the catacombs to the church. During excavations in 1599, her remains were again exhumed, and the saint was once more found to be incorrupt. The sculptor Stephano Maderno witnessed the exhumation and attested to the veracity on a marble plaque set in the floor of the church. More importantly, he sculpted St Cecilia as he saw her, axe marks on her neck, her face turned toward the ground.

And so, upon entering this church, the first thing to greet the eye is the great high altar, with the depiction of this virgin and martyr installed beneath it.





Another depiction of St Cecilia is found in a series of frescoes on her life in the Church of St Louis of France. These frescoes illustrate different events in her life, and the scene of her martyrdom struck me especially. There were people surrounding the saint, mainly looking to be sympathetic, some with clasped hands, some with hands outstretched as through distraught. But what was the demeanor of Cecilia in her last moments? She gazes heavenward, for she sees an angel bearing the palm of martyrdom and the crown of everlasting life descending to her. If there were loved ones in the small crowd around her, she did not see them. She only saw eternity, her eternity, coming to greet her. Well done, thou good and faithful servant.

It puts in mind the great Caravaggio's painting of the martyrdom of St Matthew, also found in the Church of St Louis of France. There are much better photos than mine; there was scaffolding blocking much of our view and the angle is bad. However, there is Matthew, and his murderer stands above him, gripping the saint's hand in his. Did he think that St Matthew's outstretched hand would try to deflect the blows forthcoming? Did he think the saint would fight him?

No, poor benighted fool. St Matthew isn't fighting you. He isn't struggling against you. Let his hand go, release it! Let him reach, as he so longs to do, for the palm that the angel shows him. There is the prize! And there is where the apostle's eyes are fixed. His murderer matters not to him now, not when he has the privilege of dying for his Lord, Who died for him. The end is near, it is here! Oh, let me embrace it, he seems to say.

The strange thing, to our thoroughly secularized modern sensibilities, is that retracing the paths of the great martyrs is not a sad venture. No one rejoices in the torture, but the martyrs stood firm in their faith, refusing to renounce Christ or sacrifice to the pagan gods. And their great sacrifice inspires us today, even amidst the ever-growing cacophony of this dissipated world. They inspire us to learn what they knew; they inspire us to love as they loved, and they inspire us to stand as they did. It isn't easy to inspire us; we are jaded, and super-saturated with love of the world and its trappings. We are very nearly blind and deaf to the spiritual. Perhaps the great art of the Church is more for us than we could have imagined, if we can only stop, listen and see.

Of all the churches in the city and of the world

"Most Holy Lateran Church, of all the churches in the City and the world, the mother and head": so reads the relief plaque on the front wall of the Archbasilica of St John Lateran. The Archbasilica of the Most Holy Savior and Saints John the Baptist and the Evangelist in the Lateran is the full name of this seat of the Pope as Bishop of Rome, the Pope's cathedral.


This was our first church to see in Rome, and one could almost pity the rest of them for having then such a hard act to follow, so to speak. She stands seemingly alone, majestic and imposing, among the bustle of cars and people surrounding her, bidding the pilgrim to enter.

A statue of Emperor Constantine I greets us as we enter; it was he who gifted the Lateran Palace to the pope as the Basilica of the Savior. Between several fires, an earthquake, and a visit by the avaricious Vandals, the church/archbasilica has been rebuilt more than once during the centuries. What stands now is a mainly baroque and richly beautiful edifice.

There is a great deal to be seen within these enormous walls--chapels, frescoes, statuary, paintings--but the Hall of the Apostles composing the nave will not take second place. The faithful eleven, plus St Paul, line the nave, each in its own niche. The statues are massive, the works of several Roman sculptors of the early 1700s. Gazing up at these much beloved first followers of Christ reminds one of the cost of following. Here is St Simon with the saw that killed him; there is St Andrew tenderly embracing the cross he would be nailed upon; there is St Bartholomew with the knife that flayed him, holding out his own skin as if to ask us, "What will you do, if you are ordered to be silent? Will you dare deny Him?"

The last two statues face each other across the nave just before the transept opens out: Sts Peter and Paul. How fitting it is for them to be placed here before the high altar; St Peter the first pope, who witnessed the institution of the Holy Eucharist and received from his Savior's hand, and St Paul, who wrote so eloquently about the manner in which it transpired. Both apostles have their right arms raised as if preaching. St Peter's brow is furrowed, he looks gaunt. The keys he clutches beside him are no doubt a heavy burden, but he will "feed My sheep" to the end. St Paul lightly balances the sword that will decapitate him between his two fingers; for him "to die is gain".

The high altar is now before us, as if the apostles had been ushering us here all along, and with good reason. Enclosed in stone and marble is the wooden altar upon which it is believed that St Peter celebrated Holy Mass while he was in Rome. And look up, up, above the Gothic baldacchino; there in golden reliquaries are the relics of Sts Peter and Paul. This basilica is truly a school of martyrdom. Listen, my soul, and learn.

The apse, shimmering in gold, is a wealth of Catholic patrimony. Pope Leo XIII's expansion of the apse was crowned with the tender handling and reapplication of precious mosaics, some dating from at least the fifth century. Above it all the Savior looks down from heaven, surrounded by representatives of the nine choirs of angels. Below Our Lord's gaze stands the papal throne, the symbolism of which could not be clearer.

 Out the huge doors and into the street, the Scala Sancta beckon, also part of the Lateran. These are the marble stairs, encased in wooden ones, upon which our Lord ascended when He was brought before Pontius Pilate. St Helena, mother of Constantine I and a devout Christian, located the stairs and brought them to Rome. To think that after His cruel scourging, our bleeding, suffering Lord climbed these stairs, perhaps even staining them with His Precious Blood! What a holy place indeed this is! And how beneficent is our holy Mother the Church, to provide an indulgence connected to the prayerful ascent of these steps, under the usual conditions. One can only climb them on his knees; who could wish to do otherwise? Looming in front of the pilgrim is a representation of our crucified Lord. We see it before our eyes as we climb; He saw it clearer still in His divine foreknowledge, and did not falter as He climbed. Thanks be to God!

One does not go lightly back out into the Roman sunshine. We know we must leave, but the Faith is so palpable here, the "evidence of things that appear not". Please God, we will bring it with us today, and always.

For a virtual tour of St John Lateran, see http://www.vatican.va/various/basiliche/san_giovanni/vr_tour/index-en.html