Freeland, Whidbey Island, Washington

Rome

Rome – center of the universe in the time of Paul. When all else fails, when you needed something done – Go To Rome.

When Paul appealed to the Emperor for judgment in his legal case – a right of any Roman citizen – the irony is that he might have been released by Festus – the local governor of the region. Instead, Festus had not choice but to suspend his case and ship him off to the capital.

And so Paul was shipped out from Caesarea Maritima – the greatest seaport in the Eastern Mediterranean and seat of Roman judicial authority – and, as his letters record, began his eventful voyage to the imperial capital.

The Rome that Paul found was the largest city in the world – and the most sophisticated. He would have found wide, paved streets; beautiful, marbled buildings; and sophisticated engineering. Aqueducts many miles long delivered ample spring water to almost every home, and Rome had a sewer system to match.

The city itself sprawled over many square miles and had a population of over a million.

A visit to Rome for anyone who grew up elsewhere in the Empire would have inspired awe in any thinking person.

A visit to Rome today cannot have the same effect. Outside of the ancient remains Rome is an average European city. A decidedly hot, noisy, very busy European city.

Nevertheless the ruins are impressive.

The Coliseum in particular – with much of that giant stadium still in place – is amazing. Even today, 2000 years later, modern stadium builders use the same engineering techniques that were used to build this beautiful edifice.

Our visit included many of the ruins. By this stage in our trip it was becoming harder to be impressed with what we found – after all, we had seen so many sets of ruins and some of them mighty important to our common faith.

What is in Christian Rome that’s not a ruin is, of course, the Vatican. The Vatican museum has some of the most remarkable Christian artifacts I have ever seen – and there is a great deal more not on display: many times the space in the museum itself. The First Century sarcophagi are particularly impressive, with exquisite carving on all sides reflecting the prominent themes of the era. Later sarcophagi – after the Empire became Christian – reflect more obviously Christian themes – the Last Supper, the Good Shepherd, and Resurrection.

Last time I saw the Sistine Chapel it was being renovated: the walls and ceiling were all shaded a dark brown color, and it wasn’t easy to make out the figures. The difference today is like day and night – or, rather, night and day. The colors are vibrant and the overall impression is breath-taking.

St. Peter’s Basilica is also quite remarkable – a massive church unlike any other I have seen. It is certainly large enough to contain another cathedral inside only its nave and still have plenty of room to spare.

For all of its impressive stature the Vatican did little for me in connecting me with our common Christian past. It was certainly hard to find the Rome that Paul found – except from models and prints claiming to recreate the Rome he found.

And, more importantly, it was hard to get a sense of the Christian community who shared his terminal fate in the first great persecution of 67 A.D.

More recent tradition has claimed that during times of persecution the Christians hid in the catacombs beneath the Roman suburbs. Archaeologists now say that this is extremely unlikely. The catacombs were dug out of soft volcanic rock that turned to a cement-like consistency when exposed to air. Only enough spaces were dug to meet the immediately foreseeable need – and it wasn’t hard to foresee what those would be. The Empire kept good records, and knew what the death rate should be.

Today we know that decomposing bodies produce noxious gases, and – at the very least – extremely unpleasant smells. When someone was buried the family spent no more than a few minutes underground, having completed funerary rites in spaces away from the catacombs, either just below or on the surface.

They did so because it would not have been possible to spend any more than a few minutes down below ground.

But the tradition – like so many – holds something of the truth. Those Christians who managed to escape the round-ups (and there were precious few) almost certainly escaped to the caves that honeycombed the hills surrounding Rome: there is an ancient memory of those temporary, subterranean lodgings.

And, too, the memories of the caves would linger because of the significance of all the other caves in Christian history: the cave of Jesus’ birth, the cave of Gethsemane, the ‘cave’ of Jesus’ burial, the caves of the Capodocian Christian community, all prepared later Christians to think “caves” when the stories of escape from persecution were recounted.

Our visit to the catacombs was, nevertheless, fascinating. Once the Romans stopped using catacombs for burial – somewhere in the fifth century – they eventually became places where Christians could, indeed, meet. This time, though, this time they used the catacombs not for fear of Roman persecution but to escape the wrath of the invading barbarians.

The ghosts of the early Christians haunt modern Rome. They are always there, in the background, hiding behind the monuments that an institutionalized Church threw up in the hope of remembering them, but instead, only managed to obscure these ordinary, everyday people of faith.

It is for those early Christians that I visited Rome – and I believe I did not go away empty-handed.

Blessings to all.

Nigel and Rachel

Many more pictures of Rome are here.

Assisi

Assisi – home of St. Francis and also St. Claire.

A place whose name evokes visions of a man committed to peace and to a respect for and cherishing of all creation.

Assisi sits on the southern slopes of a steep hill rising from fertile soil of east-central Italy. We arrived by train down in the valley – and that after dark – so we were treated to a great light show – all of the main churches in the old town above us were illuminated into the night, and there are many of them!

The whole of Assisi is steeped in Francis and Francis-lore.

The story of Francis is a familiar one. Trying to “fit in” he did the things other young men of his age did – drank, caroused, and, finally, went off to join the crusades, outfitted as a knight by his wealthy merchant father.

And he returned disillusioned.

Not long thereafter he was wandering the lower slopes of the hill when he came across an abandoned, ruined church. Struggling to understand what he should do with the rest of his life he went inside and prayed in front of the ancient cross.

Much to his surprise, the cross spoke back: “rebuild my Church” he heard it say.

So he sold his armor and anything else he could find to finance the rebuilding of the church: San Damiano.

His father was not amused. His son was not following the accepted path laid out for the children of the wealthy. So Francis’ father attempted to ‘bring him to his senses’ by having him brought before the city council where he demanded repayment of the money Francis had “squandered.”

Francis understood only too well what was going on. And so, in the presence of all the town people, standing in front of the Governor’s house on Assisi’s central square, he removed all his clothes, returned them to his father, and proclaimed himself free of any future familial responsibilities.

There followed the small church down in the valley, and his meeting with Claire, to whom he bequeathed San Damiano for her convent.

Papal recognition of his Order followed.

And the rest of the story is, as they say, history!

Trying to find Francis in modern Assisi is – despite the grand buildings (or perhaps because of them) – a difficult and challenging enterprise.

I found myself wondering what he might think of the giant, sumptuous buildings built in his honor. My suspicion is that Francis is constantly spinning in his grave (below the high altar at the Basilica of St. Francis) at the thought of this particular “edifice” complex!

Most strikingly out of place is the great church of Santa Maria delgi Angeli, down in the ‘flat lands’ below Assisi. This building is as big as St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, and challenges the National Cathedral in Washington for size. Its sole purpose is to provide a giant ‘mausoleum’ – a mausoleum over Francis’ and his companions’ original chapel. The chapel sits at the cross-aisles of this greater edifice and is utterly dwarfed by it.

And everywhere we went there were souvenir shops, offering crosses, icons, and all sorts of religious paraphernalia.

I suspect Francis would be very angry about the money spent on souvenirs, or used to create the giant buildings while, outside on the monumental front steps of Santa Maria Delgi Angeli, a lonely beggar sat dejectedly, hoping for some small relief from the passers-by – who, on the whole, just ignored him.

I felt most close to Francis walking down the steep hill from Assisi to San Damiano, and then toiling back up again. The birds were singing, there was (thank God!) a gentle breeze, and the hedge-rows were adorned with glorious golds and yellows. It was easy to imagine how he came to write his ‘canticle of creation’ when making this particular pilgrimage.

And, too, to realize with some guilt that I was most likely to encounter him not even in San Damiano, but in the face of a solitary beggar, exiled to the steps of a grand monumental church built in his honor – and in which he would have felt decidedly uncomfortable.

Pictures of Venice are here.

Continue reading Nigel's journal with his entries from Turkey

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