the holy stairs
At half past 9 my pen hovered over the plastic banner in the train station, ready to scribble another note for the boys just as they showed up. Less than one half day left in Rome and Jarryd & I headed to St. Giovanni while Tom ran off to find out if the ATM robbed him. I never did get to give Tom a proper goodbye.
I don’t know if you’re sick of seeing photos of churches yet, but I’m hardly tiring of visiting them. Seeing cathedrals in person are always awe-striking, and the kinks you get in your neck from trying to soak in the details of the ceilings are quickly forgotten about. I do have to admit, though, that the abundance of paintings depicting the sufferings of Christ have numbed me to their emotional content. The crucifix is a horrifying thing in reality, but when every painting you pass by contains one brutal depiction after another, it becomes about the painter - whose brush strokes are more skillful? The artist and the daughter in me began a battle.
My sister gave me a little Jesus flashlight keychain upon my European departure, and I attached it to my backpack. After the walking tour in Seville where I learned crosses were embedded into alleyway walls so that drunks wouldn’t urinate there out of holy reverence, I figured that with the strong Catholicism in this region, most people wouldn’t mess with my pack after seeing mini plastic Jesus hanging out on my zipper. No one has yet…knock on wood. Jarryd commented on the flashlight this morning then later insisted on us heading to the Sancta Sanctorum. I think he figured it may mean something to me. It meant much. Sancta Sanctorum contains the Scala Santa (The Holy Stairs) where the faithful now devoutly crawl only on their knees to the top. Pope Sixtus V had the stairs installed here in 1589 - they came from outside the Lateran Palace where pilgrims came to receive the Pope’s blessing. Before this, as legend has it, the mother of emperor Constantine brought the stairs to Rome in year 326 from the palace of Pontius Pilot in Jerusalem. These are the stairs that Jesus walked several times on the day of his condemnation. With a healthy body, a hopeful future, and a thankful, forgiven soul, I began a slow, painful crawl up the 28 marble steps now protectively covered in knotted and sagging walnut wood. I ran my hand along the stairs and noticed exposed pieces of marble, later learning the spots were left open because traces of blood were found there. I will remember my traverse up those stairs more vividly than any painting passed by.
