First Published: 12/06/2009
As I prepared for my June 2004
pilgrimage to Rome, I wrestled with what to do about a camera. I wanted to be a
pilgrim savoring and relishing spirit enriching experiences, not a tourist
preoccupied with documenting the sights. For one thing, the density of sights
was so intense that even the most avid photo-tourist would have to be
selective. I quickly began to see that my camera could be a kind of icon-eye to
sharpen my acuity for sacramental images, that is the tangible sights that
offered insight into God’s spiritual reality that touched me. I still ended up
with about 150 pictures, some of which undoubtedly are touristy.
Above the stairway leaving the Monastery and Church of St. Benedict in Subiaco is a statue of Benedict with an inscribed blessing for those who visit. I certainly felt the light of God’s blessing as I visited each place on this pilgrimage, which I hope to take with me everywhere I go. Though not a major piece of magnificent sculpture or a central attraction, this became to me an icon of the purpose of my pilgrimage, to purposely bask in Christ’s light.
I was captivated by the smiling expression of Christ in the ceiling mosaic at Santa Croce in Gerusalemme (Church of the Holy Cross) and the ceiling fresco at the Monastery of St. Benedict. I took these as windows to Christ’s smile on me as I yearn to be close to him amid the realities of pastoring a struggling congregation and trying to launch a floundering year old son into adulthood. It spoke to me of Psalm 147:11, “The Lord takes pleasure in those who fear him.” They allow me to adopt for myself the expression Brennan Manning extracts from the apostle John, “I am the one Jesus loves.”
The cross is the most widespread and readily recognized Christian symbol, and crosses and crucifixes were ubiquitous in Rome. Many were highly ornate, and others were elegant in their simplicity. When our guide pointed out the absence of crosses in the catacombs, I was a little surprised, which helped me attend to and appreciate some of their more common symbols: the Good Shepherd, Chi Rho, birds, people at prayer and worship. But I was enthralled by two crosses. One was on the Pascal Candlestick in St. Paul’s Basilica dating from 1186 CE and reputed to be the first known crucifix depicting Jesus on the cross. Its primitive presentation gives me a sense of immediacy, of entering with the sculptor into the suffering of Jesus. The other cross that fascinated me was the one hanging over the altar in the upper church in the Basilica of St. Benedict in Subiaco. Its unusual shape and texture seem to be an extension of the rock walls of the cliffs and caves that remain exposed and unadorned, congruent with St. Benedict’s three years in his stone hermitage. With the symbols of the four evangelists on the four arms of the cross and Christ portrayed in resurrection if not ascension glory, this cross conveys to me the hope of the Gospel. Its earthiness and luminescence fuse the realities of my daily living with hope, not just of ultimate redemption but of flashes of present glory.
All over Rome we saw flags proclaiming “pace” (peace). In one of the churches many hundreds of written prayers were tucked in every crevice and heaped in a deep accumulation around the base of a statue, even post-it-notes stuck to the hem of the statue’s robe. A mother was helping a young girl write a prayer and try to get it on to the statue. One prayer open on the base read in Italian “peace in Iraq.” Pagan grave markers were inscribed “D.M.” (to the gods) but in the catacombs and other Christian burial markers read “IN PACEM” (in peace). I reflected on our yearnings for peace in the world and in the Church, not just between Protestants and Roman Catholics, but among the people of our congregations. The floor grate in the baptistery of St. Lateran which read “CHRISTUS PAX NOSTRA” (Christ our peace) evokes my longings for peace and centers that longing in Christ. Whether that specific casting is that ancient or not, this site goes back to the time of Constantine, the Fourth Century. Turmoil has plagued the world, the Church and the lives of individual Christians through all these centuries, yet this piece blends my prayers for peace with those of these generations of Christians, and it centers me in Christ so I can be at peace within, even when surrounded by turbulence.
Above the stairway leaving the Monastery and Church of St. Benedict in Subiaco is a statue of Benedict with an inscribed blessing for those who visit. I certainly felt the light of God’s blessing as I visited each place on this pilgrimage, which I hope to take with me everywhere I go. Though not a major piece of magnificent sculpture or a central attraction, this became to me an icon of the purpose of my pilgrimage, to purposely bask in Christ’s light.
I was captivated by the smiling expression of Christ in the ceiling mosaic at Santa Croce in Gerusalemme (Church of the Holy Cross) and the ceiling fresco at the Monastery of St. Benedict. I took these as windows to Christ’s smile on me as I yearn to be close to him amid the realities of pastoring a struggling congregation and trying to launch a floundering year old son into adulthood. It spoke to me of Psalm 147:11, “The Lord takes pleasure in those who fear him.” They allow me to adopt for myself the expression Brennan Manning extracts from the apostle John, “I am the one Jesus loves.”
The cross is the most widespread and readily recognized Christian symbol, and crosses and crucifixes were ubiquitous in Rome. Many were highly ornate, and others were elegant in their simplicity. When our guide pointed out the absence of crosses in the catacombs, I was a little surprised, which helped me attend to and appreciate some of their more common symbols: the Good Shepherd, Chi Rho, birds, people at prayer and worship. But I was enthralled by two crosses. One was on the Pascal Candlestick in St. Paul’s Basilica dating from 1186 CE and reputed to be the first known crucifix depicting Jesus on the cross. Its primitive presentation gives me a sense of immediacy, of entering with the sculptor into the suffering of Jesus. The other cross that fascinated me was the one hanging over the altar in the upper church in the Basilica of St. Benedict in Subiaco. Its unusual shape and texture seem to be an extension of the rock walls of the cliffs and caves that remain exposed and unadorned, congruent with St. Benedict’s three years in his stone hermitage. With the symbols of the four evangelists on the four arms of the cross and Christ portrayed in resurrection if not ascension glory, this cross conveys to me the hope of the Gospel. Its earthiness and luminescence fuse the realities of my daily living with hope, not just of ultimate redemption but of flashes of present glory.
All over Rome we saw flags proclaiming “pace” (peace). In one of the churches many hundreds of written prayers were tucked in every crevice and heaped in a deep accumulation around the base of a statue, even post-it-notes stuck to the hem of the statue’s robe. A mother was helping a young girl write a prayer and try to get it on to the statue. One prayer open on the base read in Italian “peace in Iraq.” Pagan grave markers were inscribed “D.M.” (to the gods) but in the catacombs and other Christian burial markers read “IN PACEM” (in peace). I reflected on our yearnings for peace in the world and in the Church, not just between Protestants and Roman Catholics, but among the people of our congregations. The floor grate in the baptistery of St. Lateran which read “CHRISTUS PAX NOSTRA” (Christ our peace) evokes my longings for peace and centers that longing in Christ. Whether that specific casting is that ancient or not, this site goes back to the time of Constantine, the Fourth Century. Turmoil has plagued the world, the Church and the lives of individual Christians through all these centuries, yet this piece blends my prayers for peace with those of these generations of Christians, and it centers me in Christ so I can be at peace within, even when surrounded by turbulence.
