Our Sunday in Rome.

By now, I was beginning to get used to walking miles each day. We decided on Saint Mary Major Basilica for an early Mass to avoid walking in the heat.

Before I go any further in our story, I have to tell you about Mountain Butorac. He owns the pilgrimage company named The Catholic Traveler. We were scheduled to have a tour with him on Monday, but with the flight issues as the travel restrictions from the pandemic were lifted, he was stuck out of the country. Mountain sent us a detailed email of every church we would have seen on the tour. He included precise instructions of the locations of relics and beautiful history of every stop. His generosity made our trip so special. There are so many things we would have never known that we were walking right past, if it had not been for his guidance.

Thank you, Mountain!

Saint Mary Major

So, back to Saint Mary Major. This church is built where a miraculous snow fell on August 5th in the 4th century. Can you imagine snow in August in Rome?! After we returned home, I learned they still celebrate this miracle today, every August 5th.

The tomb of Bernini, Salus Popoli Romani, and relics from the Holy Manger are just a few of the treasures within this Church’s walls. The Salus Popoli Romani is an icon drawn by the Apostle Luke on a piece of wood from Saint Joseph’s wood shop. How incredible!

We walked across the street for a quick breakfast at a cafe. This is where I learned a very important lesson – the rope next to the toilet is not how you flush. This rope rings a very loud bell and people will rush in to make sure you are alright. I’m pretty sure they installed it to alert them to when an American was in the cafe.

I finished the most delicious breakfast – a nutella something and fresh orange juice. We listened to the bells from Saint Mary Major and carefully studied Mountain’s instructions on how to find the next church -Santa Prassede.

Santa Prassede

This is the church I fell in love with.

I’ve never heard of Saint Prassede. How is that possible?

The church is built over the tombs of over 2,000 martyrs. The sheer number is staggering. To think of that many people in one town being killed for professing their faith feels other worldly. It brought the martyrs of today into sharp perspective.

The pillar where Christ was scourged is there. I didn’t know this pillar still existed. I’m absolutely amazed that there weren’t lines of people waiting just to be close to something Christ was near.

Saint Praxedis, who this church is named after, was a 2nd-century daughter of a disciple of St Paul living in Rome, and sister of Saint Pudentiana. She cared for the bodies of the martyrs. One sculpture that was particularly beautiful showed her kneeling over a bowl with a sponge, wringing out the blood of the martyrs. She would hide the bodies and the blood so that they could not be used in pagan rituals.

There was a gentle reverence in this church that I cannot explain.

Santa Croce in Gerusalemme

From here, we walked on to Santa Croce in Gerusalemme.

It was a long walk through a beautiful piazza. We found some shade and watched mothers play with their toddlers, drink coffee, and laugh together. We walked past the ruins of an aqueduct and watched a young family play basketball.

We sat on a bench and watched people enjoying a breeze and shaded grass, reading. Was it poetry or their favorite read that felt as familiar as comfort food? Were they rushing to finish every sentence for book club or were they savoring every word? We walked past a playground, with fathers giving their warnings of “just a few more minutes”.

When we arrived, the church seemed almost out of place. It stood alone, across a huge street.

This is the church I had been most excited to see. Queen Helena, Constantine’s mother, brought dirt from Jerusalem and used that as the foundation.

After Christ died, all the instruments of the Passion were buried. The pagans requested that a temple be built on top of these. What they didn’t realize is that the temple preserved the relics perfectly.

In her home she kept relics of the Passion. In the reliquary is the finger of Doubting Thomas, fragments of land from Bethlehem and Jerusalem, two thorns from the Crown of Thorns, four pieces of wood from the True Cross, one of the nails from the Crucifixion, and part of the Titulus (INRI). I sat in the room and cried. I had no idea that these still existed. It was an honor to be in the room with so many pieces of the story.

The reliquary is to the far from left if you are looking at the altar. When you enter, there is a beautiful room dedicated to a little girl named Antonella Meo. She was diagnosed with cancer when she was 5 and wrote beautiful letters to Jesus. She loved Jesus so very much and was reunited with him when she was 6. The room is very peaceful and bright. There was a table with a book to write prayers in. I immediately wrote the names of dear friends suffering from cancer.

We walked up a few stairs and down a beautiful hallway to the reliquary. It was quiet and dark. The relics were displayed at the far end of the room. I sat down in a pew and just stared and took a deep breath. It was incredible. I felt honored just to be in the room.

As Brian and I sat together, a large group of teenagers came through. Someone came in, said something in German and the students all quickly left. We thought it was their teacher or tour guide. We continued to pray and then heard a door shut. We were slightly concerned, but decided to enjoy the quiet. Then, the lights shut off.

We finished our rosary and walked back to the door. It was closed. And barricaded.

The door was ancient. There wasn’t a lock. Instead there was a system of bars and slides. One bar was angled against the wall perpendicular to the door. We tried knocking, but the door was massive. I don’t think they could hear us. Beautiful music began to play.

I began to panic. What if we were locked in until tomorrow? I mean, there are worse places to be locked inside, but would we get in trouble?

I began to study the bars and slides. Carefully, I slid something up along the perpendicular wall and the bar across the door swung down. We cracked open the door and loud music poured in. A security guard was in the chapel on the other side of the altar, about 60 feet away. He looked equally bewildered and stern. What was happening?

Suddenly, a beautiful couple came down the aisle with a sweet infant in a baptism gown. The gown had a train that stretched behind the couple and all eyes were on them. We snuck out the crack and hugged the wall, Mission-Impossible-style. We escaped outside and fell into laughter. What on earth had just happened?!

We knew this would be our last truly free evening to wander and there were still two things on our list that we really wanted to see :

• Caravaggio paintings at St. Louis of France
• Saint Agnes

We wandered back to the Piazza Navona and thankfully they were both open! Brian’s paternal grandmother’s name is Agnes and I know he had really been hoping to go, but it had been closed every time we passed by. I was so glad for him! He showed me around and I began to learn the story of Saint Agnes, another young martyr. There are so many dear friends of Christ who gave their lives for Him. I just want to learn about them all!

We ate a lovely dinner right there in the Piazza, kept company by street performers and a cool breeze.