Apostles old and new

Today, my long-awaited visit to the Basilica of St. John Lateran. (Seven years ago, I happened upon this church while looking for a restroom in the streets of Rome!) Before the relics of St. Peter and St. Paul I asked for the reconciliation between the Churches that has so long evaded us. I thought also about how Peter has become like a rag doll caught in an ecclesial tug-of-war—everybody wants a piece of him to legitimize power. But he is not the only victim of this un-Christian struggle. Rome wants Peter, Constantinople wants Andrew, India wants Thomas… Will the whole Church ever be able to see themselves as heirs to “the faith that comes to us from the Apostles”?

After that, the Church of San Clemente with its gorgeous apse mosaic and underground frescoes with so many stories. At the tomb of St. Cyril I wondered what it was like for St. Methodius to have lost his brother and missionary partner there. Did they know that they were saints? I prayed for my friends at Ss. Cyril and Methodius in Denver, for perseverance in their daunting task of bridging East and West. There were moments when the tension could’ve torn one in half.

Lunch was at a small restaurant across the street from San Clemente. My first real dining out experience on this trip, and though the food was very good the 30-euro bill stung. (I’d forgotten to ask for the price of the daily special, silly me.)

This evening I am off to Vespers and dinner with the Apostles of the Interior Life, a Catholic religious community to whom I owe much of my spiritual formation. Many old friends there. You can find pictures here.

Rome

Christ is risen!

Holy Week, Bright Week, the Easter season… These past few weeks have been so full of light, I’ve felt myself quite unable to write or say much about them. Maybe some days are meant for only for living and not for telling.

It’s been almost a week since I arrived in Rome on a cold, grey day and was welcomed with hot breakfast at Ben and Heather’s small apartment here in the Eternal City. On my way into the city on the train from Fiumicino I sensed the incredible age of this place. It has witnessed so much:  classical antiquity, the rise of Christianity, the Middle Ages, the Renaissance. Layer upon layer, the ground rises.

Today for the first time ever I attended a High Mass of the old (“extraordinary”, if you prefer) Roman Rite at Santissima Trinità dei Pellegrini and was moved by the tangible verticality of the liturgy. To say it another way, I felt pushed (taken?) upward. I also felt a sense of connectedness to the common tradition that once held East and West together, and simultaneously a blunt sadness for all that was loss in the so-called liturgical reform.

This evening, Ben and I went to Vespers at Trinita dei Monte of the Community of Jerusalem. I didn’t understand a word of the French, but that is not necessary for one to apprehend that this worship was directed at One who is Mystery. On the way back to the apartment I wished that more could see and experience what I had seen and experienced in that little church on top of the Spanish steps. I could not help but feel that its serene power was something that flowed beyond the doors of the church onto the unsuspecting crowd gathered on the steps—some to sing, some to chat, some just to enjoy quietly the setting sun and the spring flowers—but all somehow affected mystically by the psalms and hymns ascending from Trinita dei Monte.

I’ll try my best to keep writing on this trip. These days seem ineffable.

“Like a strong man who shakes off his wine”

When the Hero slept on the cross and trampled on death, after three days His sleep departed and He rose strengthened; while He rested for three days His burden was lightened and He was awakened after His labour without corruption from His wounds.

David His father saw Him when He came forth and ran before Him and touched the strings of his lyre and began to sing in prophecy: The Lord has awakened like a strong man who shakes off his wine and has struck His enemies and delivered His friends who were mourning.

The Bo’ootho of St. Jacob, taken from Saphro (Morning Prayer) of the Sunday of the Resurrection

For Holy Saturday

Yesterday was Friday full of sorrow and darkness, today is the Sabbath of hope and joy.

Yesterday the crucifiers raged like madmen, today the dead in Sheol sing praise.

Yesterday, Friday, the jeering crowd mobbed the city, today, Saturday, the Giver of life to the dead descends to Sheol and lays waste its walls and spoils its treasures.

Today Sheol is resplendent with praises and as in the month of April the dead shoot up like flowers, rejoicing in their tombs.

Today the house of the dead becomes gloomy when they see that Death is bound and Adam is released who was bound captive.

Today Sheol, the place of those who died, is cast down because it knows that its captives have returned to their former place.

Today those who lay in the dust shout praise from their mouths because their Redeemer has descended to them.

Today all those who slept cry out with one accord, “Blessed is the glory of the Lord from His place forever!”

From the Office of the Twelfth Hour for Holy Saturday

For the Wednesday of Conspiracies

Today our Lord reveals to the Twelve the secret mystery:
“One of you will betray Me and take a price for Me.”

Today the wolf goes forth from the fold of the sheep
to mingle with the company of treacherous people.

Today in his treachery Judas parts from his companions
and conspires perfidiously against the True Shepherd.

Today the Good One offers Himself to the Passion and to Death
for the sake of the guilty Adam who fell in the Garden of Eden.

Today the chief priest prophesies concerning the Lord,
“It is in our interest that one man die so that the nation may live.”

Today our Lord tells His disciples, “Do not grieve.
I rise. I resurrect that you  may live.”

From Saphro (Morning Prayer) for Wednesday of the Week of the Life-giving Passion (Wednesday of Conspiracies)