Mark Jersin came to the rescue with photos of this morning’s Station Church, Santa Prisca. Very Prescient, certainly.
Photo by Mark Jersin
The palms (or here in Rome, olive branches) from Palm Sunday flank the tabernacle.
Photo by Mark Jersin
Here you have Saint Peter baptizing the young Prisca.
Photo by Mark Jersin
Tomorrow concludes the Roman Station Mass trek. After an early morning Mass at Mary Majors, you have the Seven Churches Walk, which continues on (for 15 miles) to Saint Lawrence Outside the Walls, Saint Paul Outside the Walls, Saint Sebastian’s, the Holy Cross in Jerusalem, Saint John Lateran’s and Saint Peter’s. A practice begun by Saint Philip Neri, he would encouragingly call out along the way, “We’re Neri there!”
Well, perhaps not.
I have yet to visit today’s church on the Aventine Hill, as I had Mass with the sisters today. One account of Saint Prisca identifies her as being one of Saint Peter’s converts, being baptized by him when she was 13. Condemned to death by the Romans, she pulled a Daniel in the amphitheater and had a ravenous lion merely licking her feet instead of devouring her. So the Romans cut off her head instead—making Prisca the first martyr in the west.
One of my favorite churches, Santa Prassede was the site for today’s Station Mass. In addition to having beautiful 9th century mosaics, it gives a glimpse into the history of the martyrs’ relics.
First century Praxedes lived here as with her sister Pudentiana and father Pudens she helped hide Christians from Roman persecution. When 23 of them were discovered in her home, they were cut down before her eyes. Taking a sponge, she collected their blood and preserved it in a container hidden in the courtyard well. When she herself was martyred, she was buried in the same spot.
Centuries later, after the emperor got the idea of pitching the martyrs’ relics into the sea, Pope Saint Paschal I began collecting relics from the catacombs and bringing them here, carrying some of them barefoot from outside the city. Over 2,300 martyrs are now buried here today.
Paschal, who also rebuilt the church, added a small chapel on the side as a tomb for his mother Theodorica. From the same period as the mosaic over the apse, it is full of the rich gold of the Byzantine style.
Adjacent to the tomb is a small chapel with a portion of the pillar brought back from Jerusalem at which Jesus was scourged.
This was my first time at today’s Station Church. Following a beautiful trek southward which led to quiet tree-lined roads, we arrived at this morning’s small church.
If you can identify this, you’re doing well.
The church stands next to a small shrine commemorating an event described by Tertullian, who writes that the Evangelist was seized by the State and boiled in oil, and ‘he came forth as from a refreshing bath’—so he was subsequently sent off to the island of Patmos.
You can make out part of the scene here.
Lined with alabaster windows in the front, which fill the church with a warm glow, the upper portion of the church is lined with 12th century frescoes.
The creation of Adam and Eve and the Garden of Eden work down the left side of this photo, while Cain and Abel run across the back of the church.
The ancient columns and wood roof reflect the early style of the church.
Cared for by the Institute of Charity today, Saint John’s is a welcome discovery on a lovely spring morning.
When you visit Cambridge, you find in its center one of its oldest buildings, the Round Church of c. 1130. Designed to evoke the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, it is one of only four such churches in England.
England’s awareness of Jerusalem and the Church of the Holy Sepulcher emerged from the First Crusade, thirty years before this church was built. 700 years earlier, Rome had built today’s Station Church, Santo Stefano Rotondo. What was their link to the church in Jerusalem?
Mainly the fact that they’d built it. Constantine ordered the building of the church in Jerusalem in 326, with pilgrims like his mother Saint Helen flocking to the site. With the discovery of Saint Stephen’s bones in the Holy Land in 415, Pope Leo the Great (or possibly Simplicius who succeeded him) ordered the building of a church to house his relics in Rome.
Of the same scale as the church in Jerusalem, Saint Stephen’s shares the feeling of austere simplicity brought with age. If not the vending of falafel outside its doors.
Piazza Navona has a distinct shape, formed on the outlines of the circus which long ago stood there. At the north end of its long, extended reach, leaving the piazza places you in front of the young University of Santa Croce, and immediately adjacent you find the lovely church of yesterday’s Station Mass.
Newly restored, the interior of Sant’Apollinare is awash in various marble hues (fitting, as ‘numerous epigraphical fragments’ from excavations identify the site as having been the marble quarries’ central office under the Imperial administration: the office to visit when you’ve lost your marbles).
Currently the church is slightly awash in violet.
If San Crisogono Monday had a sinking feeling, today’s church would be the last straw, at least for Pope Saint Marcellus, who in being condemned by the Emperor Maxentius, had his newly made church converted into a stable, for which he was to care for, and in his elderly state, he had to bale—that is, bail out of here to the next life.
Today his relics are under the main altar.
A major fire destroyed the church in 1519, but preserved in this side altar is a thirteenth century fresco of the Virgin and Child.
Having Mass with the MC sisters yesterday I missed the Station Mass right off the Via del Corso (translated the street would be something like, ‘way of the street’ or, ‘avenue of the boulevard’. A slight feeling of redundancy). Historically the name of the street was Via Lata, which of course carries over in the name of the church. Today as well you can still order a Latte in a nearby bar, but you’d better specify you want coffee with it, or you’ll simply be served hot milk.
Monday’s Station Church could leave you with a sinking feeling, at least if you were Chrysogonus himself. An account of his martyrdom states that after being beheaded at Aquileia under Diocletian, his body was thrown into the sea.
His body being rescued by the priest Zoilus, today he lies (in part) under the main altar, which also contains the arm of the apostle James the Great.
This doesn’t show you beneath the main altar, but just above it:
And a lovely wooden choir in the apse.
Ianus, Sospita, and Spes are the Roman deities of the day—yesterday, actually, as we visited the church built on top of their temples. Saturday’s Station Church of Saint Nicholas was also built by the site of the vegetable market Forum Olitorium. “Lettuce pray,” the ancient vendors would call out. “Leeks for the meek,” they’d offer. “Be devout, eat saurkraut,” they’d chant. OK, maybe not—the Goths hadn’t arrived yet.
Here’s a temple wall incorporated into today’s church.
Perhaps getting up and down chimneys is considered a pretty impressive feat for those in tight spots, because Saint Nicholas is the patron saint of prisoners: the in Carcere of today’s name means jail in Italian.
Saint Joseph was known as a woodworker, and on his feast day today our Station Mass was at San’Eusebio: appropriate because the choir stalls there had some of the most intricate wood carving I’d ever seen.
Here you can see the ambo used for the massive Psalters that would be placed so that everyone singing could see the large font from a single book.
A beautiful barrel vault here.
Saint Joseph’s Feast Day, in addition to being a national holiday, is Father’s Day here in Italy. It’s also a special celebration for the Holy Father as well, since Joseph is his namesake.
Pope Saint Sylvester (314-335) built the original church of today’s Station Mass, so the full name of the church is actually Santi Martino e Silvestro ai Monti. He’s buried under the crypt altar, which is under this not-crypt altar.
Sylvester is also believed to have been the first bishop in the West to use a miter, which at the time they said, ‘was a miter good idear.’ Or something to that effect. His miter and throne are preserved here; unfortunately you can’t see them in this photo of the ceiling.
The extensive ruins below show the original Titulus Aequitii (being one of the original 25 parishes of Rome), which, while appearing to be a home, also shows a hall which could hold about 400 people, being the only such design of a house known in the city.
By the way, while we’re in the Monti district, these two photos from the nearby church of Santa Maria ai Monti help clarify a difficulty of the visitor (or resident) in Rome. While the 40 days of Lent can bring you to some of the most magnificent churches of the city, with almost 1,000 churches filling the streets, there’s no way you’ll see them all. 
And even the most obscure chapels cascade with art.
So enjoy what you can, knowing there’s always more.
One of Rome’s four major basilicas was Wednesday’s Station Church. As you can see from the link, happily I took lots of photos the last time we were there, so that my missing of the Mass yesterday is a little less disastrous.
The ‘First Scrutiny of the Catechumenate’ might not be a term readily tossed about, but its occurrence today explains why Gregory the Great had everyone coming out to a major basilica on a Wednesday. Today, just as 1400 years ago, the season of Lent is the Church’s time of preparation for those who are preparing to join the Church (catechumens), and the liturgies where they publically professed their intention and were prayed for by the community were called scrutinies. If Saint Gregory were arranging his Station Churches today, he’d send us to Saint Paul’s on the Third Sunday of Lent, because we’ve since moved the event from Wednesday.
Tuesday’s Station Church was built by Pope Saint Damasus over his home, so his name gets put into the church’s title. Damasus is buried here as well, under the high altar designed by Bernini.
The late 300’s are of course a long time ago, so remodelings and rebuildings have shifted the church: most notably in the 1484 construction of the Palazzo Cancelleria, which is still Vatican property today with a whole houseful of important offices packed inside.
This gives the church all sorts of notable aspects, so that even the side altars are quite ornate.
Or the sacristy:
After Mass another student mentioned studying this palace in architecture class. Of note, she said, were the ‘unbroken string courses’ in the courtyard.
If you were hungry you might be disappointed to learn that does not refer to an all-you-can-eat spaghetti buffet, but to the horizontal lines that run between the floors.
Two years ago we brought you the flying skeleton, this year we have the still partially hair covered skull.
If you need to drop off your baby somewhere you could do so at Monday’s Station Church. The Augustine Nuns who care for the church arrived in 1564, and at the entrance set up a revolving case that allowed you to leave your baby behind anonymously to be cared for in their orphanage.
The name of the church comes from four brothers, scourged to death under Diocletian, earning them the title of the ‘crowned ones’. Having won the crown of martyrdom, they can join the Who’s Who gallery of saints shown in this apse fresco above the main altar.
Continuing our round of the Seven Hills of Rome, Monday’s church is very much atop the Caelian, bringing you up a stiff climb as you continue south past the Coliseum, and giving you a view of the neighborhood from above. Here you can see the medieval fortified exterior of the church; not quite distinguishable in this shot is the upper edge of the Coliseum to the lower right of the photo.
Not all of us are as forgetful as I am, and so happily others had cameras last Thursday when we visited the Basilica of Cosmas and Damian for our Station Mass. As we were guided through the crypt, Laura took this photo of the 6th century main altar, below which the martyr brothers are buried.
Photo by Laura Taylor
While you may not want Susanna to cry for you, you still can visit her church near the Baths of Diocletian. Beautiful and well educated, Susanna was considered by the emperor Diocletian an ideal match for his heir Maximian. Considering herself already taken as a bride of Christ, she turned down the offer, which also cut short her stay in Rome as Diocletian beheaded her in her home. He had sent her two uncles to convince her, and with her converting them to Christianity instead, Diocletian burned the two alive.
Today the North American Parish in Rome, you can spot the flag to the lower left. 
You may have heard of Saint Peter’s across town. Its facade was designed by Maderna--five years before he did that other church, Maderna created the facade of Saint Susanna’s in 1603. A remarkable example of Baroque architecture, here you can see it next door to the church of Our Lady of Victory, which hold’s Bernini’s Saint Teresa in Ecstacy.
The walk home took me past one of the finest churches of a not-fan of Bernini, his rival Borromini. This beautiful church of San Carlino is on the corner of the Quattro Fontane, four fountains at each corner of the intersection, one of which you can see below.
And in the morning sunlight, here’s another, depicting the goddess Juno.
Lady Lucina built the original oratory for yesterday’s Station Mass. Her name sounding like kitchen (cucina), and her church containing the grill that Saint Lawrence was barbecued on, it’s sometimes called San Lorenzo in Cucina . . .
Here’s Guido Reni’s famous painting of the crucifixion over the main altar.
And the side altar with the barbecue grill itself.
Good help is hard to come by these days, so you’ll be happy to see these two sentries watching the church’s entrance.
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