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.