Back to Santa Maria del Popolo

We have finally made up all the snow days, juggled a few site visits and combined a few lectures, and we're back to normal. Class this week was on the book of Acts and we visited Santa Maria del Popolo. Last semester, I blogged about the art and the class. This time around, I'll point out something different. There is something that is true of just about every church in Rome, but Santa Maria del Popolo illustrates it in a particular way. These churches have stood for centuries in this crossroads of the world, and they carry that history in some interesting ways.

One of the fun little facts to know about Santa Maria del Popolo is that it was run by Augustinian monks for centuries. And so, when a young German Augustinian named Martin Luther traveled to Rome in 1511, it was natural that he stayed with his brethren right here at Santa Maria del Popolo. And, of course, it is no accident that, eighty years after Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses to the door of the church in Wittenburg, Caravaggio was being asked to fill this space with imagery of Peter and of Paul. Such art serves as a reminder both of the scriptural roots and authority of these two men, and--especially The Crucifixion of Peter--as a reminder that they both met martyrs' fates in the city of Rome. The century following Luther's visit to Rome saw not only the flourishing of art like Caravaggio's but also the renewal of interest in the catacombs surrounding Rome and devotion to the martyrs throughout the area. These stories are the stories of the church, formed and nourished by the scriptures, but also real stories of faith on their own. The city of Rome is a space on which these stories are written, in architecture, art, and tombs--in all the relics of the people who lived here, and even some who only passed through.

Snow Day in Rome

Since snow in Rome is rare, and the city isn't really prepared to deal with it, classes all across Rome were cancelled today. It was pretty nasty out there, but I took a walk up to Piazza del Popolo to check things out. Above is a picture of the piazza in the snow. You should be able to see a few more pictures if you follow this link.

Adapting to Challenges

On Tuesday night, all the students, faculty and staff at the Global Campus here in Rome were invited to join our Academic Dean, Kevin Murphy, for a roundtable conversation about cross-cultural exchange.

One of the things that the conversation emphasized was that, when you are in a cultural situation that is new to you, you have a real opportunity to reflect upon whether the differences are cultural ones (or whether something else is going on) and also how you will react and adapt to these differences.

Something that is a universal: no matter where you live, sometimes things don't go exactly as planned. But, when you are living and teaching abroad, it is easy to blame the chaos on cultural differences. My class on Monday did not go as planned, because a scheduling mix-up meant we could not go to the Capitoline Museums as planned. Class tomorrow has now been cancelled due to inclement weather, and we've just learned that there will be a transportation strike on Monday, which will complicate our intended site visit then.

All this is quite frustrating, but snow days and scheduling problems happen in the U.S., too. One of the great things about the situation here, though, is that, although I'm sure the students share my frustration, they have been really enthusiastic. I gave them a choice between just skipping that site visit or adding a class session during their free time so that we could get it in. They chose (unanimously and without hesitation) to plan a time for the visit. That sort of enthusiasm is a great reminder of what a great opportunity for learning this sort of experience offers.

Return to San Clemente

Yesterday, my class made its first site visit of the semester. We went to the Basilica of San Clemente, which some readers might remember from my posting last semester.

We also had an added advantage this time around, as Fr. Terence Crotty, O.P., a member of the Irish Dominican community at San Clemente, volunteered to show us around the place. San Clemente is a near-perfect start to my class, because it allows me to introduce my students to many of the key ideas that we will be considering all semester.

First, it really shows off the archeological layers of Rome. The upper church (the "current" basilica) dates to the 12th century, but it was built on top of a (now excavated and accessible) 4th century church. That layer, in turn, was built above 1st century buildings. So, students can see what archeologists know: the deeper you dig, the further back in time you go.

Second, San Clemente carries the stories (and the remains and/or artwork) of many saints and martyrs, and so displays the living tradition over time. San Clemente lays claim to housing the remains not only of its namesake, St. Clement, but also those of St. Ignatius of Antioch (click that link just to check out the great icon of the saint!) and St. Cyril. Also, a lesser known saint, Servulus (d. 590), a paralytic beggar who was often in the courtyard of San Clemente, was buried here and celebrated in some of the art here. (Unfortunately, his fresco was covered up by scaffolding in place for some restoration.) Also, there is a lovely chapel dedicated to St. Catherine of Alexandria, though (if legend can be believed) her remains are near Mt. Sinai, not in Rome.

Third, can anyone say enough about San Clemente's wonderful Tree of Life mosaic? Unfortunately, they request that no photos be taken inside, so take a look here for some photos (and reflections). This incredible mosaic features Christ at the center on the Cross, but two things are happening at the foot of the cross. First, the four rivers of paradise flow from it. Second, a tree grows from its base. The tree's branches grow in scroll-like vines that fill the whole apse. The whole scene teems with life. The suffering and death of Christ on the Cross brings life to all the world. A very appropriate image to begin our study of the New Testament in the Eternal City.

Fourth, (and this was brand new to me--thanks, Fr. Crotty!) we got to see the 6th century baptistry that is in an area that is usually sealed off. These ancient baptistries are more than big enough for an adult to wade in and be dunked in a full immersion baptism. Those of us who are used to baptisms being about a little sprinkle-sprinkle-sprinkle on a cute baby are challenged to picture something entirely different. Baptism is about dying to one's old self, one's old allegiances, the claims that worldly powers had, and rising to a new life in Christ. Study of the New Testament and these early days of the Church really demand that the seriousness of such a commitment be considered. Baptism was not for the feint of heart; baptism was not something you did because everyone was doing it; it was something you did if and only if the truth of the Gospel compelled you. That is something I intend to help my students consider again and again as the semester progresses.

So, we're off to a great start!

... And we're back!

Today is the first day of classes here at the Global Campus in Rome. I'll meet my New Testament class a bit later today, and will be back to blogging our adventures learning about the NT here in Rome next week.

As a bit of a fond farewell, though, to last semester, here's a picture of me together with the PC students who were here in the fall. One of the other students in the program snapped this at the farewell dinner in December (LtoR: Dr. Dana Dillon, Courtney Burek '13, Patrick Osbourne '13, Kaylee Miller '13, and Annie Bossa '13). Good luck to Courtney, Pat, and Kaylee back in Providence! (Annie continues here in Rome this spring.)

A visit to the Catacombs

This week, our class continued its journey through St. Paul's letters, with his letter to the Christian community right here in Rome. It's kind of amazing to read (or re-read) these words in the very place where they were first read, where they were received not as scripture, but as a letter from our friend Paul, written to encourage us in the Christian life.

To bring the history and the scripture to life, and to take advantage of our location, we had class today at the Catacombs of St. Priscilla. You can read a bit more about these catacombs there (or here), and also see some of the artwork that I'm going to mention below. (Sorry, they requested that we not take photos, so I don't have any of my own to offer you.)

The thing about these catacombs, though, that is nearly impossible to convey through text is their incredible expanse. By law, no one could be buried within the city limits of Rome, so there were burial sites outside of town. Many pagan Romans cremated their dead; since Christians and Jews did not, most of the burial sites belong to Christians, and some to Jews. These particular catacombs (Priscilla) were used to bury Christians as early as the 2nd century. By the 4th century (with the legalization of Christianity), it became a site where thousands were being buried. Over the course of a little less than 300 years, more than 40,000 people were buried here. This occurred in 3 separate levels, where each level has many corridors with spaces for bodies from floor to ceiling on both sides. If you walked each and every corridor, you would walk about 13 kilometers (that's about 8 miles!). Quite a few of those 40,000 were popes or martyrs, but many were just run-of-the-mill Christians, doing their best to live lives worthy of the gospel.

There are also several spaces that are more like larger mausoleums or chapels and gathering spaces. Just in case you've ever heard the stories that Christians actually hid out in the catacombs, living in them in the days when Christianity could get you killed, that's not true. These were simply burial sites. But the size of them makes it easy to see why people imagined that someone might have lived down there, and been able to hide for years in this network of tunnels and corridors from anyone who might have come looking.

The ancient artwork present here really gives one a taste of what was important to the early Christians in Rome. The most ancient portrayal of Mary (holding the Christ-child) is found on these walls (it dates to around 200 AD). There are pictures of Christ the Good Shepherd, of Jonah and the whale, of the binding of Isaac, of peacocks and doves and phoenixes. There are little marks on some of the graves--fish, the Chi Ro, olive trees. Little marks offered like prayers, connecting the deceased to Christ and the Christian community. And the excavations have also revealed that it was very common for mourners to fill little lamps with oil and leave them by the graves, so that their loved ones would be like the wise virgins whose lamps were still burning when the Bridegroom returned.

After our tour, we gathered together and continued our study of Paul. The letter to the Romans is some serious theology. It might reasonably be given credit (or blame) for the conversion of Augustine and the Protestant Reformation. We dove into a serious conversation about justification through faith and/or works, which was driven mostly by the text of Paul's letter. But as I think back upon that conversation and the art on those graves, I think they made the point much more clearly than what I was able to say. They marked the graves with the cross, with symbols and imagery of Christ, or with the olive tree that is the church. Righteousness matters, but our righteousness does not matter as much as the righteousness of God as revealed in Christ. Little or nothing remains in these graves of any claims to righteousness, but only the claim that these people lived and died as Christ's.

It's kind of funny. I tend to think of Rome, and especially of the catacombs as a place of martyrs and saints. It was good to be reminded that in this space and time, like in every place and every era, there were certainly martyrs and saints, but the vast majority of Christians were just ordinary folks struggling through trying (and hoping and praying) to live lives which marked them as Christ's own.

On the foolishness we are called to

This week, we did something a little different: we actually met in our classroom at the CEA Global Campus. This gave us an opportunity to explore Paul's first letter to the Corinthians in a little more depth than we are able to do on site visits.

One theme that we spent some time on, however is the contrast between worldly wisdom and divine wisdom, worldly power and divine power:

For Jews demand signs and Greeks look for wisdom, but we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those who are called, Jews and Greeks alike, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength. (1 Cor 1:22-25)

Rome is such a wonderful place to consider human wisdom and power and its divine counterparts. It is also a strange place to do so. What changes when the Pantheon (originally built to honor all the Roman gods) is rededicated as Santa Maria ad Martyres? The two most tempting answers are "everything" and "nothing but a name," I think. The latter is far too cynical. The Roman gods, once called upon to protect Rome, bless her armies, and keep the city and the empire safe through a very "worldly" sort of power are far different from Mary and the martyrs, whose only real power is in their faith and their willingness to say yes to God regardless of the cost. And yet it is also true that many throughout the history of the Church and the empire have prayed and have acted precisely as though Christian saints and martyrs might intercede in exactly this way: blessing armies and swords with an extra dose of worldly power and might.

The foolishness of God, it seems to me, was to become human not as some powerful king or emperor, but as a low-born carpenter-turned-rabbi whose greatest power lay in his submission to the will of the Father, and to those who would execute him. Sorting through, however, what then counts as foolishness or wisdom for those who would follow him is no easier nor harder today than 19 centuries ago, nor in Rome than in Providence.