Rome’s competing legacies

Lots of writers who are probably better than me have written lots of words about Rome. There are lots of movies by great filmmakers (and bad filmmakers) that take place in Rome and attempt to capture its particular kind of magic. I’m going to attempt to write about Rome (I was just there) not as a historian, or sociologist, or theologian, but rather as a food lover and practicing evangelical Christian seeing the place for the first time.

To begin with, I loved Rome and loved meeting believers there, as I have similarly loved meeting believers in France, Ukraine, Lithuania, and lots of other places we’ve had the privilege of visiting over the years. We were guests of Rome International Church, which is a small but growing body of sincere, humble believers living out their faith in a challenging place. This will always move me, emotionally. It’s a very quick runway from “these people are total strangers,” to “I love these people very much.” Only the warm, rich, bond of Christ can deliver this.

We did lots of first-time-in-Rome things such as touring the Colosseum and the Vatican. We viewed a surprising number of renderings (paintings and sculptures) involving Mary stomping Martin Luther into hell for suggesting that average people could read and understand Scripture, and have a direct advocate with the Father. I saw lots of people struggling up the Scala Sancta/Holy Stairs (Google it) on their knees, in an attempt to merit favor with God and maybe free a loved one from purgatory. To say that this was “wild” would be to really understate it.

Regarding food: I could write a whole piece on this (and probably will), but suffice it to say it delivered (and more). Romans know how to eat. In the span of three days we became “regulars” at a street sandwich place called Trappizino, where the guys were super cool and recognized me because of my weird glasses. They are for sure not reading this.

The Vatican has also appeared in lots of books and movies of varying quality, and before this trip that was the only way I’d experienced it. Seeing a thing a whole bunch in pop culture before experiencing it in real life has a weird way of making that thing either more grandiose (the Colosseum for example) or less-grandiose (the Vatican) in real life. Imagine a large river of cash flowing through an abundance of impressive buildings, and you have a sense for the Vatican, except the “river” in this case is comprised of tourists standing shoulder-to-shoulder and sweating their way through buildings containing countless images of Christ (Renaissance-era Christ, who is built like former Chicago Bears middle-linebacker Brian Urlacher) but very little presence of Christ.

The tour culminated in the Sistine Chapel, which was a large, rectangular room centerpieced by Michelangelo’s renderings of creation, heaven, and hell, including a guy he had a beef with having his genitals eaten by a snake for all eternity. In this, the Vatican was very impressively human.

Aside: For the balance of my Rome visit I was texting with a college buddy who indicated that one of our more impressive king-of-our-small-Christian-college classmate/acquaintances was also in Rome, and garnered a brief audience with the pope, as evidenced by this person’s Instagram post of him sort of scuffling/bowing in the presence of the pope. This raised an interesting question from my wife: “Would you scuffle/bow for the pope?”

I indicated that I wouldn’t, though I would extend him the respect I would extend to a.) any human, and therefore image-bearer and b.) dignitary who has achieved a lot—which would be very respectful but stop short of scuffling/bowing. I hope this is the right answer, but I’m not sure.

But our most profound visit in Rome was also the quietest and least-crowded: The Mamertine Prison, which is a few steps away from the Colosseum, and takes all of about 15 minutes to really view. It basically consists of a set of stairs leading to a hole in the ground where Paul wrote 2 Timothy shortly before his martyrdom. The hole in the ground was worse than I imagined it. Our brother was probably lowered into it via another small hole, and wrote by the light of one candle. “Suffering” doesn’t begin to do it justice. We were moved and grateful and silent in a space that was a complete aesthetic foil to the Vatican but which delivered so much more.

In lots of enjoyable ways, Rome is now what it was then—a paean to man’s ingenuity and creativity. It has a way of making a man feel small, in a good way. It is quantifiably beautiful and I could spend a whole lot more time there. But the most beautiful and challenging part was a hole in the ground. A reminder that when we sin we have an advocate with the Father, and a reminder that the good deposit of the faith is worth guarding.