End of an Era

Our homilist this morning noted that this was the last of our Masses in the Station Churches this year, as Lent draws to a close. Tomorrow we have the morning Chrism Mass at Saint Peter's, and then the Triduum starts in the evening with the Mass of the Lord's Supper at Saint John Lateran's.

Our final station church is one already familiar to us from our forty day trek. One of the four major basilicas of Rome, Saint Mary Major's is also happily the closest to my residence. The clouds were illuminated brilliantly as we hiked up to the church, whose piazza was already well populated by pigeons when we arrived.

Having returned from Aviano the day before, I had been away for Monday and Tuesday's Station Masses. Mary Major already showed signs of preparation for the Triduum, with chairs set up through the nave, and the massive Easter Candle resting in the sacristy.




The diameter of this candle is about six inches--the length over six feet.





















Resting in the sacristy, the massive Easter Candle.







A rare occurrence: a mosaic on the outside of a church. This is over the main entrance of the basilica:



















Below is the ceiling of the Baptist Church:













Wait, not the Baptist Church; the Baptistry inside the church.





And finally, just to give a different perspective than our earlier visits, the nave of the basilica as seen through the baldechino of the main altar:

Circular Discussion

Perhaps you’ve heard of the Coliseum. It’s round. The Pantheon? Also round. Tasty donuts you may have given up for Lent? Round as well.

It’s no wonder today’s station church follows in rotundity. Its model of circularhood though is nothing local: it’s meant to imitate the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem—the place where Jesus’ tomb is.

Santo Stefano Rotondo (Rotondo, rotund, round, get it? Get it?) is almost identical to the Jerusalem church in circumference and diameter—which, when you’re talking about circles, if you’ve matched the one, you’ve pretty much matched the other . . .

Originally dedicated to the very first martyr of the Church, the deacon Stephen, another Stephen came along, King Stefan of Hungary of the 11th century, and they figured he was a good person to dedicate the church to as well. And maybe if you’re hung(a)ry you’re harder to turn away un-church-dedicated.

Anyways, Santo Stefano Rotondo does a pretty good job of giving the martyrs their due, as the full circumference of the church is covered in frescoes giving illustration to the way the martyrs headed homeward. Unfortunately I have no photos that really give these 16^th century frescoes their due. Drop in some time to see them for yourself, I guess.

Photo of frescoes not given their due.

Speaking of, it's hard to give any of this church its due in photos, because this roundness is hard to capture in a camera lens . . .

If after all this circumnavigation you feel like you're draggin' a little, here's a little dragon . . .

And finally: You may have bats in your belfry, but in Rome they apparently have grass, as witnessed on my post-Mass-post-cappuccino trek through the Forum.

Hard to Beat

Rome has a lot of martyrs. That’s been dawning on me.

The city of Ravenna has just one. We commemorate him today--Sant’Apollinare.

He probably should have known better: he hung out with those twelve guys whose leader had been killed, and they sure didn’t seem to have better prospects. Apparently, being born in Antioch, he got to know Saint Peter when he was in town, and then Peter sent him off to be bishop of Ravenna.

Ravenna apparently was the school of hard knocks, since they apparently didn’t take to Christians well. Beaten up three times and run out of town, he kept coming back. Finally, after Emperor Vespasian decided to just up and out banish Christians, Appolinaris was beaten again and left for dead. Left for dead isn’t good enough when it comes to guys like these—he was still alive, though he finally did die from the mauling he had gotten.

Here are some closeups of the apse--you can't quite make them out in the photo above.































Here's Peter ordaining Apollinaris.






And then of course, up above you have the crew that just hangs out.


























'Hanging out' being a technical term for angelic being.





Cappuccino seeking post-Mass brought us past this little construction.












What was the name of this place?

Bridging the Gap

San Marcello ranks right up there with Santa Maria in Via Lata in distance. Right across the street from yesterday's church, it was technically even closer, since it was on our side of the street. Yay for . . . closeification.

Pope Saint Marcellus I didn't quite make it to 'In Hoc Signo Vinces' (In this sign, conquer). That came three years after his death in 312, when Constantine heard those words in a dream with the image of a Chi Rho (Christ's initials) or cross, being told to paint the sign on his soldiers' shields. The timing for Constantine was significant, because he was on the banks of the Tiber with a bridge in front of him today called Milvio--the Milvian Bridge. Constantine had been up in England (Britain) hanging out in Eboracum (York), when his dad Constantius had died. His dad had been with him up in Britain fighting those troublesome Picts (You could say they pickt their battles . . . ), but his dad also happened to be the emperor. As in, guy in charge of the Western World.

Maybe there's something in the air in York (There sure is in New York, but we call that pollution . . . ). Constantius' troops thought it was a good call to nominate Constantine emperor number next. The guy who had some say in that sort of thing, Galerius, gave it the thumbs up, or more technically, sent Constantine a 'purple vestment' (Lent, anyone?) recognizing C as the E of the West.

Fine and dandy, except emperors tended to do their emperorizing from the little hamlet called Rome, and another guy named Maxentius who happened to be localized in that locality decided to start up the emperor gig when he heard Constantius had died.

Cue Milvian Bridge.

Constantine recognized the whole Rome thing and so headed south from Pict-sburgh, coincidentally with 100,000 guys they call Roman soldiers.

Maxentius, besides having the nifty things they call walls around his city, also had a hundred thousand men or more besides, so he was in good shape.

Then Constantine has his In Hoc dream, and Maxentius simultaneously decides to forget about the protective value of walls, and marches across that aforementioned Milvian Bridge.

Big battle.

Constantine's Chi Rho guys were able to push Maxentius' guys back, who discover that a river behind you is problematic for continued backing up.

Maxentius meanwhile discovers it's hard to swim with armor on, so that last retreat becomes the end of his emperoring.

That was October 28, 312. Maxentius had been running Rome since 306, when Constantius had died.

Thus the problem for Pope Saint Marcellus I, of today's station church. He had set up a church on today's site, in the home of Lucina. Maxentius showed his opinion of the matter by making the church a stable, and the elderly Marcellus stable boy. To old to be horsing around, Marcellus died there in 309. It would be after Constantine's victory that Christianity would no longer be harassed by the emperors and Co.









Today's church seems quite stable, though no longer a stable.



At no extra charge, we provide this complementary photo from our jaunt after Mass to get coffee:





















The column of Marcus Aurelius. They call 'im Marcus Aurelius.

Flood of Information

I should be worried. Regarding today’s station church in its early years, the NAC guide states that ‘continuous flooding by the Tiber made the foundations unsafe’. Said church is one block from my residence.

I like the foundations on my home being safe. It’s Biblical to have solid foundations. ‘Continuous flooding’ is a term that looms larger after the recent rain we’ve been getting. Residents of tree houses and tall towerlike structures may find me soon inquiring about rental rates.

The one block away thing did earn bonus points this morning, hikewise. Santa Maria in Via Lata already had major extra bonus points in ancient attributions: Saint Paul (as in, “I wrote half the New Testament”) is said to have lived here for two years (in imprisonment, so maybe tea and crumpets weren't always served) and to have written the part of the New Testament called Hebrews while here (seems he missed coffee while in prison, so thought of what he would do when free . . . ‘he brews’). Just to round out the whole New Testament thing, Saint John the Evangelist and Saint Luke are also said to have to spent time here.

I need to start doing my Biblical study over there. Maybe there’s still some residual insight.

Dig This

Our hosts today at San Crisogono were the Trinitarians, whose emblem is shown at left. Founded to free slaves captured by the Turks, their full name is Order of the Most Holy Trinity for the Ransom of Captives. Saint Chrysogonus, named in the First Eucharistic Prayer, ended as a captive--that generally being your state as a martyr right before you go from being captured to dead. Not much is known about him, with the possibility being mentioned that he was killed in Northern Italy around 304.

The year, not the time of day.



The beautiful church in the Trastevere district has extensive ruins beneath the present day structure, which makes it exactly identical to every single other building in Rome, except that these remains are extensively excavated.











Not the underground ruins.




Being extensively excavated, they also seem to be generally closed, except for cool days like today, when the door to the crypt was opened and we could wander extensively.










Frescoes from the original church.





The extensive excavations are in some part large because the original structure was quite extensive. It may have been the original house of Chrysogonus, who as a military officer would have had money to sink into a larger home ('sink', underground now, get it? San Chrosogono himself must be laughing at that one).



















Here you see a saint curing someone with a skin ailment--or a bad case of the spots.





Also underground were cool things like tombs:










Note the winged lion to the right.




a.k.a. sarcophogi















And skulls.





























I don't know if I mentioned how extensive the subterranean passages were. Here is a photo of a portion of the extensive dig.

Jolly Old Saint Nicholas

It may not be Christmas in July, but we got close today in March, hiking in a splendid sunlit morning to the church of the guy celebrated widely on December 6th and patron saint of U.S. Postal workers, or at least one of their biggest addressees.

One of the notable elements of Saint Nick's church (San Nicola in Carcere) is after having walked past half a gazillion ruined temples (give or take) to get to it, it turns out it's built on top of another two or three. An additional notable element is the distinct lack of reindeer.











Inside.



I wish you could have been here, though, because the ceiling, one of the many splendid ones in Rome, is a deep blue that brillianted in the morning sunlight.













The photo doesn't begin to do it justice.

And still no reindeer.





After three days of rain, the sky was washed clean and the morning pristine as we went for a cappuccino after Mass.










Not the Collosseum, but the Theater (Theatre, if you're British--but these were Romans) of Marcellus.




Looking west from above Piazza Venezia down the Via del Teatro Marcello towards the Tiber:
















Looking at some trees and the sky and some domes and stuff:

Always Happy

That's one rendition from the Latin of the names of our two saints, Perpetua and Felicity, celebrating their feast day today. Another possibility might be 'continuously lucky' (as in perpetually felicitous), but it doesn't quite have the same tone.

Our station church today was San Eusebio, which translated from the Latin means Saint Eusebius. Remarkably, compared to our other martyrs, he dies later, in 357. Constantine made Christianity legal in 313. Who killed Eusebius?

Yesterday we saw the church where preparations for the Nicene Council were made--the council which formulated the statement of faith held by all Catholics. Holding to that statement, Saint Eusebius reveals, remains continually hazardous. In his case he lived when the popular thing was a revision of Christianity called Arianism, and unfortunately for Eusebius, the emperor of the Empire, called Constantinius, went over to this up and coming movement. Constantinius therefore wasn't a big fan of what Nicea had formulated, and since Eusebius was, Constantinius condemned him to death by starvation.

Speaking of being very hungry, everything's bigger in Texas, so it's appropriate that San Eusebio is now the titular church of new cardinal Daniel DiNardo of Galveston-Houston, who first visited his new home away from home February 20th.

Our church just after the station Mass:


























Today was our third morning with rain.











A gritty morning.




San Eusebio is located between Rome's main train station, Termini, and the basilica of Maria Maggiore, which we passed on our trail.










We were at Mary Major's on February 13th.

Tour of the City

St. Martin is more appropriately associated with campaigns, being the patron saint of soldiers and a Roman military man himself, than with tours and tour guides, but our morning trek brought us to his church San Martino ai Monti (not sponsored, in addition, by the Canadian Mounted Police).


















The sacristy before Mass.







This church was the site of the preparatory meetings for the Council of Nicea, where the Universal Church reaffirmed her belief in being Nice at all times.

Actually, Nicea had very little to do with being Nice, as those present were much more intent on professing the faith of the Church in a clear and succinct way. In addition to the preparatory work being held here, the Creed was first publicly proclaimed in Rome from this site.










The seven rings in front of the altar perhaps indicate that the Olympics were also held here . . .



The Carmelites have cared for the church since the 1650's, so Elijah figures prominently in the artwork. As we draw closer to the end of Lent, Elijah's uncompromising to the faith of Israel, in contrast to the popular and well followed beliefs of his time, give context to what Jesus chose in fidelity to His Father, and what we are called to remain faithful to as we preserve the faith handed down from the beginning.









The ceiling as seen from the crypt.

Get Out of Town

My feet weren't too big for my bed this morning, but raindrops certainly were falling on my head. The rain could be seen as appropriate, since we had our longest trek of Lent today--taking us outside the old city walls.

St. Paul's Outside the Walls is one of the four major basilicas of Rome, with John Lateran, Mary Major, and St. Peter's. When Paul was beheaded, Lucina claimed his body and buried it in her family's tomb in the countryside. Rome has since grown sufficiently to swallow the basilica and conveniently place it on the metro line, which I did utilize on the return trip this morning.

The mosaic in the apse, dating to about 1220, is one of the oldest portions of the current basilica. Constantine originally built a basilica here in AD 324, replacing the oratory that then existed. Fires and invaders ('the usual' in Rome) kept remodeling the basilica, until today's church was built in the 1800's on a classical Roman model.









The Gloria, prayed in the liturgy still, is found on the scrolls of the apostles.




Our hosts were the Benedictine monks who care for the basilica.























This presider's chair, about 16 feet tall, was not used today.




Christ is the light from heaven, and lighting the Easter candle feels quite celestial as well, as this candlestick is 18 feet tall.

















Intricately carved, it dates to about 1170.








Holy water is handy to keep around, as it freaks demons out. That's why the little guy here is grabbing some to sprinkle:


















I've been to Saint Paul's many times, but I saw something today I had not witnessed before. Being there so early in the morning, the entire church was momentarily empty.















The rain kept the skies gray outdoors; additionally, facade on the front of the basilica kept the vista a bit bleak.



















For cheerier, sunnier photos, click back to October 2nd.




For those looking for another tidbit of history, here's a comment from the NAC site: "Traditionally the Title of the basilica was bestowed upon the reigning King of England with the designation 'Proto-Canon.' Regrettably, this Title is now vacant."

Finally, having nothing to do with the basilica, the walk home brought us past this common site in Rome:

Bring Me My Chariot

Venerable indeed were the celebrant and assistants at today's Station Mass. The men of the Venerable English College were the hosts today at San Lorenzo in Damaso, near their school. Venerable in America usually just means old, and while the seminarians and priests were of standard age, their school dates back half a millennium, being founded in 1579 when it was impossible to have a Catholic seminary in the homeland; Queen Elizabeth happily obliged them, executing as many of the priestly graduates as she could hunt down.

You may have been waiting with bated breath for the next church dedicated to Saint Lawrence, and today we come to our third and final parish dedicated to the deacon. We must have been pretty eager ourselves, because when we showed up, the doors out front were still locked.







The church is at the core of the Cancelleria, this palace dating to the 1400's. The doors in the center lead into the church.





Those wanting their history a little more venerable, or aged, will be fascinated by this quote from the NAC: "During a restoration after a fire in 1944, inscriptions were found indicating that this was the ancient site of the barracks of the Green Company of Charioteers, thus explaining another ancient name for the church, "San Lorenzo in Prasino" since prasinus, as you probably know, means "leek green" in Latin" . . .






















And as usual, you have to watch out for flying skeletons . . .

Light in the

Do you like Saint Lawrence? The Romans do.

This is the second of three churches dedicated to the early deacon in our station church sequence. Called San Lorenzo in Lucina, it also commemorates Roman aristocrat Lucina who built the original oratory to house martyrs' remains.

This church ranks on the Lorenzo cool-o-meter because the griddle he was roasted to death on is kept in a chapel to the right of the entrance. It also has a chapel by and sculpture by Bernini, also to the right, a little further down.









Neither the griddle nor Bernini's chapel can be seen in this non-related photo, picturing the main body of the church.



Do you like the Normans? The Normans didn't like St. Lawrence. Or at least, Robert Guiscard, 11th century Norman visitor (a.k.a. invader) came through and demolished the 5th and 4th century church. So today's church had to be rebuilt by Pope Paschal II at the beginning of the 12th century, and then Pope Saint Pius V contributed to it in the 17th (century, not inning).

A Funny Thing Happened at the Forum

The Roman Forum, being very old, and well known, has been thoroughly researched, and has many resources expounding upon its oldness and why it's well known. This blog is not one of those resources. I know that the Forum is very old, that it is very well known, and that Romans built it, so it is known as the Roman Forum (and at the height of their power, you wouldn't want to be against 'em).

Additionally I can surmise that Emperor Vespasian, when he built his Templum Alma Urbis in the 70's in the Roman Forum, probably hadn't the slightest awareness that his building would be absconded with and made into a church for two medical doctors.

Cosmas and Damian were not his contemporaries, living in the late 200's, and were also very unlike this Emperor of the Known World in that they were known as the 'silverless', applying their skill often without charge--that lack of silver being one of the prime motivators to not follow their example today, silver still being highly valued, and compassion significantly less so.

Having responded to the Physician of Souls in caring for others ("Freely you have received, freely give" Matthew 10:8), Cosmas and Damian reflect Christ's mission still underway in the Church, recognized as a hospital for souls, restoring ill and hurting hearts needing healing and care.

The interior mosaic is a much deeper and richer blue than shown in this photo--I wish you could see it with your own eyes. Pope Felix IV ('happy' in Latin, 'fourth' in Latin) had the happy idea of reformatting the temple as a church, making it the first appropriation thusly in the Forum (note use of the word 'thusly'). His mosaic (well, it probably wasn't Felix IV clambering about on the scaffolding--but you know what I mean) is one of the finest in Rome, meaning also one of the most frequently copied. Next to Jesus returning on the clouds are Peter and Paul, and Cosmas and Damian, with Theodore and Felix IV doing the church presentation. Only Jesus has a halo in this image, so we don't have one of those awkward, 'why do Theodore and Felix only get blue squares?' moments. The crew is standing before the river Jordan (note text: 'Jordani' which means 'Jordan'), symbol of the cleansing waters leading into paradise--the whole crowd of sheep below drawing on the early symbol of Jesus as the Good Shepherd--us being the sheep who need some serious guidance to get to where we want to be.