But you, O Lord, are enthroned forever; your name endures to all generations. - Psalm 102:12
It's always good to be reminded of the wideness of the church beyond denominational walls. Sometimes it's being surrounded by the deep history of the Catholic church that inspires us with its abiding tradition and depth. Sometimes the continual renewal of new Christian worship styles strengthens our devotion. No matter what, it's good to know that we all worship the same God and follow the same Jesus - especially when home is far away.
The Anglican Centre finds itself on almost-donated ground in the glorious home of the Doria Pamphili famly, Italians with a long tradition of intermarrying with British royalty. As such, they grant a piece of their home (which is also a museum) to the Anglican church. The director of the facility is also the Anglican emissary to the Holy See, making it quite the well-connected place. However, the Centre dedicates itself to ecumenical dialogue, especially within the Anglican communion, and to hospitality within Rome.
Having attended All Saints Anglican, and being 'discovered' as a Lutheran pastor-to-be, I was warmly invited to their Tuesday afternoon Eucharist and lunch. I can no longer imagine any other way to spend my Tuesdays. Not only did I meet a host of other non-Romans, I came across students, clergy, tourists, families and visitors of all sorts, gathered together in an inviting, Christ-filled place. The food was pretty good, too.
Were it not for our shared faith, I would have had no opportunity to meet these people and worship with such an intimate, devoted, diverse group of people. Our native languages are different (Finnish, Spanish, German, and more!) and yet our faith brings us together. In the heart of the Christian faith, I have been welcomed by others who have nothing and yet everything in common with me. Thank God!
Our Divine Father, you draw us together as your children from all across the world. Inspire us with the one true faith, so that we can always work side-by-side in your kingdom. Grant us understanding, respect, and inspiration in the lives of faith our brothers and sisters life in Christ's name, Amen.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Basilica di Santa Croce in Gerusalemme
...and after twisting some thorns into a crown, they put it on [Jesus'] head. They put a reed in his right hand and knelt before him and mocked him, saying, "Hail, King of the Jews!" They spat on him, and took the reed and struck him on the head. - Matthew 27:29-30
On this Ash Wednesday, we start our journey to the cross. We spend 40 days preparing for that most horrific events, the death of Jesus; we also wait expectantly for Easter morning and his resurrection. Here in Rome, you can be face-to-face with very physical reminders of Christ's Passion and death.
Santa Croce in Gerusalemme (Holy Cross in Jerusalem) is so named because of the soil supposedly taken from the Holy Land by Saint Helen, Augustine's mother, and packed into the floor of the church. It is an ancient church, consecrated in 325, but was restored in the mid-1400s to its current state today. The church is most revered for its amazing collection of relics: two thorns from Jesus' crown of thorns, a nail from the crucifixion, splinters of the true cross, a large piece of wood from the good thief's cross, a bone from St. Thomas' infamous doubting finger, and a portion of the titulus - the 'condemnation' posted above Jesus' head. There is also a reliquary containing small pieces of the pillar at which Christ was whipped, Christ's tomb, and the manger.
Of course, there are all sorts of stories behind each piece. The thorns, for instance, are said to have come from a completely unknown plant. The titulus was long hidden behind a mosaic in the wall of the church, re-discovered only in the 18th century. It even clearly demonstrates being written from right to left, like a native Aramaic speaker; this seems to cast doubt on it being a forgery. The nail, of course, is one of more than three that exist, so the theory is that people throughout history took shavings from the original nails and recast them into many to be venerated.
No matter what one thinks about the reality of relics, their veneration is amazing. The sort of devotion and piety they can inspire are remarkable. Sometimes we need tangible reminders, whether dubious or factual, of the person of Jesus and his amazing work on our behalf. Especially in the difficult time of Lent, we need inspiration. It almost doesn't matter how it comes to us, as long as it guides us constantly back to the crucified Christ. On the journey to the cross, we will take whatever small comfort and encouragement we can get.
God of mercy, guide us on our Lenten journey. As we struggle towards your Son's cross, give us hope in the life to come on Easter morning. Grant us the inspiration of your Holy Spirit, that we might encounter your Word and believe in Christ's name. Amen.
On this Ash Wednesday, we start our journey to the cross. We spend 40 days preparing for that most horrific events, the death of Jesus; we also wait expectantly for Easter morning and his resurrection. Here in Rome, you can be face-to-face with very physical reminders of Christ's Passion and death.
Santa Croce in Gerusalemme (Holy Cross in Jerusalem) is so named because of the soil supposedly taken from the Holy Land by Saint Helen, Augustine's mother, and packed into the floor of the church. It is an ancient church, consecrated in 325, but was restored in the mid-1400s to its current state today. The church is most revered for its amazing collection of relics: two thorns from Jesus' crown of thorns, a nail from the crucifixion, splinters of the true cross, a large piece of wood from the good thief's cross, a bone from St. Thomas' infamous doubting finger, and a portion of the titulus - the 'condemnation' posted above Jesus' head. There is also a reliquary containing small pieces of the pillar at which Christ was whipped, Christ's tomb, and the manger.
Of course, there are all sorts of stories behind each piece. The thorns, for instance, are said to have come from a completely unknown plant. The titulus was long hidden behind a mosaic in the wall of the church, re-discovered only in the 18th century. It even clearly demonstrates being written from right to left, like a native Aramaic speaker; this seems to cast doubt on it being a forgery. The nail, of course, is one of more than three that exist, so the theory is that people throughout history took shavings from the original nails and recast them into many to be venerated.
No matter what one thinks about the reality of relics, their veneration is amazing. The sort of devotion and piety they can inspire are remarkable. Sometimes we need tangible reminders, whether dubious or factual, of the person of Jesus and his amazing work on our behalf. Especially in the difficult time of Lent, we need inspiration. It almost doesn't matter how it comes to us, as long as it guides us constantly back to the crucified Christ. On the journey to the cross, we will take whatever small comfort and encouragement we can get.
God of mercy, guide us on our Lenten journey. As we struggle towards your Son's cross, give us hope in the life to come on Easter morning. Grant us the inspiration of your Holy Spirit, that we might encounter your Word and believe in Christ's name. Amen.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Pompeii Scavi
Those who feasted on delicacies perish in the streets; those who were brought up in purple cling to ash heaps. - Lamentations 4:5
Not to be confused with the nearby modern city of Pompeii, Pompeii Scavi (which means excavation) can be found a commuter train ride away from Napoli, Italy. The ancient city was buried under tons of ash during an eruption of Mt. Vesuvius in August of 79 AD. About 1,600 years later the city was slowly excavated, giving us an extremely well-preserved example of what ancient life was like. The city was literally stopped in its tracks by the eruption, leaving behind petrified examples of bread, fruit, and all sorts of other daily activities - including graffiti, prostitution and excess.
Frighteningly, the people themselves were also left behind. Most suffocated on poisonous gases and were buried under ash. Today, plaster casts have been made of those bodies and are on
display throughout the site. Most frightening is the fact that on many faces, you can still make out expressions of pain, fear and desperation.
Some might try to make some kind of connection between Pompeii's infamous love for the erotic and passion for excess and its quick, untimely destruction. Living in the time recently following Christ, some might say that God was clearing out pagans and those wrapped in the pleasures of the flesh and showing that their time had passed. It's a tempting thought, since it gives some kind of meaning to this incredible disaster and grand loss of life.
Even today, we use these kinds of explanations. Earthquakes, hurricanes, and tsunamis that leave massive destruction and death in their wake are explained as punishment and purification by God. It's an easy explanation, but doesn't quite ring true. After all, Mt. Vesuvius killed innocent and extravagant all in one cloud, just as Hurricane Katrina took young, old, poor and wealthy all at once. After all, God promised Abraham that even Sodom would be spared if there were even 10 worthy people there. If God is just, God would keep those promises even today.
Perhaps instead, we can be reminded of two things by the story of Pompeii: no wealth or luxury is ever permanent, and disasters occur to faithful and faithless alike. We will always do well to put our ultimate trust in God no matter what - tragedy or success, wealth or poverty, life or death - and to not jump to conclusions at others' expense.
Just and gracious God, in the face of tragedies and uncertainties, help us to always put our trust in you. Keep us from the lure of easy answers and the draw of material goods, and remind us that the only answers are from you, the only wealth is your grace. Give healing and rest to those battered by tragedy, and give us always your peace and mercy. We pray this in your Son's name, Amen.
Not to be confused with the nearby modern city of Pompeii, Pompeii Scavi (which means excavation) can be found a commuter train ride away from Napoli, Italy. The ancient city was buried under tons of ash during an eruption of Mt. Vesuvius in August of 79 AD. About 1,600 years later the city was slowly excavated, giving us an extremely well-preserved example of what ancient life was like. The city was literally stopped in its tracks by the eruption, leaving behind petrified examples of bread, fruit, and all sorts of other daily activities - including graffiti, prostitution and excess.Frighteningly, the people themselves were also left behind. Most suffocated on poisonous gases and were buried under ash. Today, plaster casts have been made of those bodies and are on
display throughout the site. Most frightening is the fact that on many faces, you can still make out expressions of pain, fear and desperation.Some might try to make some kind of connection between Pompeii's infamous love for the erotic and passion for excess and its quick, untimely destruction. Living in the time recently following Christ, some might say that God was clearing out pagans and those wrapped in the pleasures of the flesh and showing that their time had passed. It's a tempting thought, since it gives some kind of meaning to this incredible disaster and grand loss of life.
Even today, we use these kinds of explanations. Earthquakes, hurricanes, and tsunamis that leave massive destruction and death in their wake are explained as punishment and purification by God. It's an easy explanation, but doesn't quite ring true. After all, Mt. Vesuvius killed innocent and extravagant all in one cloud, just as Hurricane Katrina took young, old, poor and wealthy all at once. After all, God promised Abraham that even Sodom would be spared if there were even 10 worthy people there. If God is just, God would keep those promises even today.
Perhaps instead, we can be reminded of two things by the story of Pompeii: no wealth or luxury is ever permanent, and disasters occur to faithful and faithless alike. We will always do well to put our ultimate trust in God no matter what - tragedy or success, wealth or poverty, life or death - and to not jump to conclusions at others' expense.
Just and gracious God, in the face of tragedies and uncertainties, help us to always put our trust in you. Keep us from the lure of easy answers and the draw of material goods, and remind us that the only answers are from you, the only wealth is your grace. Give healing and rest to those battered by tragedy, and give us always your peace and mercy. We pray this in your Son's name, Amen.
Pontifica Universita' San Tommaso D'Aquino in Urbe
You have dealt well with your servant, O LORD, according to your word. Teach me good judgment and knowledge, for I believe in your commandments. - Psalm 119:65-66
The name is pretty long, so it typically goes by its other name: the Angelicum. Those in the know or in a hurry call it simply the Ang. I call it my school here in Rome.
To go into detail of all the ways that this school is similar and yet different to my time at Luther Seminary seems almost beside the point. After all, this is a pontifical university in Rome - a denomination, intent, and world away from St. Paul At the same time, it still serves to train both ordained and lay people into the faith for service in the church.
The differences are, of course, immediately visible. My classes have about 40-60 people each, and I am without fail one of about 5 without a habit or collar on. Also, since this school draws people from across the world, my native English-speaking ability finds me in the minority. While the Ang holds classes in Italian and English, the more international nature of the English language finds the English-speaking classes quite a bit more culturally diverse. Also, I have only met one other Protestant who takes classes at the Ang, and he's in an entirely different program than I am.
However, I have been immediately and warmly received here. Since each class cannot but recognize their unfamiliarity, each class break has people introducing themselves, telling stories of home, and learning of each others' paths to the Ang. A great deal of learning takes place in the halls, as students find out more about the international character of the church. Sometimes you even learn about how small the world can be; a fellow graduate from my small-town high school takes three classes with me.
Perhaps most comforting is the strong community of faith. Even though we're from across the globe, separated from families, challenged in a rigorous environment, we are all drawn together for the sake of the church. Somehow, it makes me feel more at home to be surrounded by theology scholars talking Old Testament over coffee and stressing out over assisting in chapel. No matter how much I stand out, I still somehow fit right in.
Holy God, you send your servants out into many vocations. Be especially with those called to serve you in the ministry as they feed your flock in the name of Christ, our one Shepherd, who draws us all together from every race, country and language. Grant us unity in the Holy Spirit to truly serve you in harmony. Amen.
The name is pretty long, so it typically goes by its other name: the Angelicum. Those in the know or in a hurry call it simply the Ang. I call it my school here in Rome.
To go into detail of all the ways that this school is similar and yet different to my time at Luther Seminary seems almost beside the point. After all, this is a pontifical university in Rome - a denomination, intent, and world away from St. Paul At the same time, it still serves to train both ordained and lay people into the faith for service in the church.
The differences are, of course, immediately visible. My classes have about 40-60 people each, and I am without fail one of about 5 without a habit or collar on. Also, since this school draws people from across the world, my native English-speaking ability finds me in the minority. While the Ang holds classes in Italian and English, the more international nature of the English language finds the English-speaking classes quite a bit more culturally diverse. Also, I have only met one other Protestant who takes classes at the Ang, and he's in an entirely different program than I am.
However, I have been immediately and warmly received here. Since each class cannot but recognize their unfamiliarity, each class break has people introducing themselves, telling stories of home, and learning of each others' paths to the Ang. A great deal of learning takes place in the halls, as students find out more about the international character of the church. Sometimes you even learn about how small the world can be; a fellow graduate from my small-town high school takes three classes with me.
Perhaps most comforting is the strong community of faith. Even though we're from across the globe, separated from families, challenged in a rigorous environment, we are all drawn together for the sake of the church. Somehow, it makes me feel more at home to be surrounded by theology scholars talking Old Testament over coffee and stressing out over assisting in chapel. No matter how much I stand out, I still somehow fit right in.
Holy God, you send your servants out into many vocations. Be especially with those called to serve you in the ministry as they feed your flock in the name of Christ, our one Shepherd, who draws us all together from every race, country and language. Grant us unity in the Holy Spirit to truly serve you in harmony. Amen.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
All Saints Anglican Church
Today we worshiped with the community of All Saints, an Anglican church found near the Spanish Steps and Piazza di Popolo. This church is in communion with the Old Catholic church and also hosts an Italian mass every Sunday night. The church was small but strangely, as soon as we stepped in I felt like we were in England. I knew that it would be an interesting worship experience as we were removed by denomination and nationality from this congregation, and I was excited to see how it worked out.
The service was very formal, with about five people presiding and a small quartet leading all the music. Since members of the Italian congregation were present that morning, part of the prayers and lessons were in Italian. The preacher, however, was a woman without any hint of an accent, British or otherwise. Her sermon was brief, but extremely passionate. The congregation is about to reevaluate its direction and she encouraged the congregation to be involved and earnest, especially as they also prepare for Lent.
Much of the liturgy was very similar to traditional Lutheran LBW worship. I even recognized most of the tunes. It was strange to be so theoretically removed from a congregation and so technically similar. As if to drive the point home, after the service we greeted the preacher (who is actually an American) and she warmly invited me to preach while I'm here. Later, I will join her, the chaplain of All Saints, and other Protestant seminarians in weekly Eucharist and fellowship. Finally, a group of colleagues!
Interestingly, my husband and I both still felt like the American Catholic church had the best sense of acculturation; however, they have the advantage of at least having denominational contacts. All Saints has a strong sense of self in the context of the city and a very passionate staff, which certainly helps. I look forward to getting to know them all better in the weeks to come.
The service was very formal, with about five people presiding and a small quartet leading all the music. Since members of the Italian congregation were present that morning, part of the prayers and lessons were in Italian. The preacher, however, was a woman without any hint of an accent, British or otherwise. Her sermon was brief, but extremely passionate. The congregation is about to reevaluate its direction and she encouraged the congregation to be involved and earnest, especially as they also prepare for Lent.
Much of the liturgy was very similar to traditional Lutheran LBW worship. I even recognized most of the tunes. It was strange to be so theoretically removed from a congregation and so technically similar. As if to drive the point home, after the service we greeted the preacher (who is actually an American) and she warmly invited me to preach while I'm here. Later, I will join her, the chaplain of All Saints, and other Protestant seminarians in weekly Eucharist and fellowship. Finally, a group of colleagues!
Interestingly, my husband and I both still felt like the American Catholic church had the best sense of acculturation; however, they have the advantage of at least having denominational contacts. All Saints has a strong sense of self in the context of the city and a very passionate staff, which certainly helps. I look forward to getting to know them all better in the weeks to come.
Friday, February 9, 2007
Santa Maria della Vittoria
Keep your conscience clear, so that, when you are maligned, those who abuse you for your good conduct in Christ may be put to shame. For it is better to suffer for doing good, if suffering should be God's will, than to suffer for doing evil. - 1 Peter 3:16a-17
If you've read Dan Brown's Angels and Demons, you are familiar with this church and its infamous statue of St. Teresa of Avila. In fact, most people come to this church only to see the statue, and since the publication of the book (and the ensuing popularity of Brown after The DaVinci Code) the church has seen a massive increase in tourism. Perhaps if people were willing to put the conspiracy theories aside, they would learn a lot more about an amazing woman and her faith.
St. Teresa of Avila was a Spanish mystic who dedicated her life to poverty, prayer, devotion, and writing. She is heavily credited with reforms of the Catholic church, especially in the cloisters. She was blessed with many visions and was dedicated to writing down her experiences, leaving behind multiple writings and devotionals still used today. She is another of the Catholic Church's Doctors of the Church, and one of only three women among the 33 Doctors.
However, she was not without great suffering. First of all, she was originally convinced that her visions were actually the work of demons, and so she subjected herself to extraordinary forms of mortification. Even once she was convinced otherwise, she maintained a strong ascetic lifestyle. Her work to form another Carmelite order was almost destroyed when she fell under the Spanish Inquisition, and only years of pleading with the king could stop it - only after she and her followers had been severely punished. Even her visions themselves were physically painful; the statue in Santa Maria della Vittoria portrays her in the midst of a vision where an angel pierced her heart and left her in combined pain and joy.
For many women of the early church, service as a mystic and ascetic were the only options available. Still, they suffered greatly to bring their vision forward and serve the church. While today we hope that people no longer have to suffer for their faith, we know that there are those across the world in suffering either mentally, socially, or even spiritually because of their belief in Christ. The life of people like St. Teresa remind us that while suffering might be inevitable due to faith, it can be endured with the sustaining power of the Holy Spirit.
Merciful God, be with those who suffer in this life because they proclaim your Son as Lord. Grant them relief, give them strength, and join us in solidarity with them. Help us always to do what is right for the good of our faith, and to never back down even when it might hurt. We ask these things in Christ's name, Amen.
If you've read Dan Brown's Angels and Demons, you are familiar with this church and its infamous statue of St. Teresa of Avila. In fact, most people come to this church only to see the statue, and since the publication of the book (and the ensuing popularity of Brown after The DaVinci Code) the church has seen a massive increase in tourism. Perhaps if people were willing to put the conspiracy theories aside, they would learn a lot more about an amazing woman and her faith.St. Teresa of Avila was a Spanish mystic who dedicated her life to poverty, prayer, devotion, and writing. She is heavily credited with reforms of the Catholic church, especially in the cloisters. She was blessed with many visions and was dedicated to writing down her experiences, leaving behind multiple writings and devotionals still used today. She is another of the Catholic Church's Doctors of the Church, and one of only three women among the 33 Doctors.
However, she was not without great suffering. First of all, she was originally convinced that her visions were actually the work of demons, and so she subjected herself to extraordinary forms of mortification. Even once she was convinced otherwise, she maintained a strong ascetic lifestyle. Her work to form another Carmelite order was almost destroyed when she fell under the Spanish Inquisition, and only years of pleading with the king could stop it - only after she and her followers had been severely punished. Even her visions themselves were physically painful; the statue in Santa Maria della Vittoria portrays her in the midst of a vision where an angel pierced her heart and left her in combined pain and joy.
For many women of the early church, service as a mystic and ascetic were the only options available. Still, they suffered greatly to bring their vision forward and serve the church. While today we hope that people no longer have to suffer for their faith, we know that there are those across the world in suffering either mentally, socially, or even spiritually because of their belief in Christ. The life of people like St. Teresa remind us that while suffering might be inevitable due to faith, it can be endured with the sustaining power of the Holy Spirit.
Merciful God, be with those who suffer in this life because they proclaim your Son as Lord. Grant them relief, give them strength, and join us in solidarity with them. Help us always to do what is right for the good of our faith, and to never back down even when it might hurt. We ask these things in Christ's name, Amen.
Sunday, February 4, 2007
Worship In Rome
It's hard to get anywhere in Rome without coming across a church, so it's not too hard to find a place to attend worship. However, if your primary language is anything other than Italian and if you're anything other than Roman Catholic, things get a lot harder. Since we're English-speaking Protestants, we're trying to find a worship community where we feel like we belong, at least for the time being.
Last week, we attended church at Santa Susanna, the official American National Catholic church in Rome as designated by the Pope. They are funded neither by American nor Italy, but instead exist under permission of the church to function as if they were an American church. Their facility is a beautiful, ancient building, with parts dating back as far as 280 AD. Their service was very contemporary, using Marty Haugen among other more recent liturgical artists. The sermon was simple, straight-forward, and accessible.
This past Sunday, we decided to try something a little different and went to St. Paul's Inside The Walls, the American Episcopalian church in Rome. They are the first non-Catholic church built inside Rome. Interestingly enough, this service was more high church than the Catholic church the week previous; this probably owed partly to the Bishop's attendance at worship that day. His sermon was extremely calm (almost to where I tuned him out) and very intellectual. The church itself was a sort of modern take on ancient art, with gorgeous mosaics and sculpture inside.
What struck me most about these two congregations is the way they defined themselves within their contexts. Santa Susanna certainly has the advantage by way of its denomination, since the Catholic church has much more support within the country. However, it seemed to also have a stronger sense of integration; instead of defining itself against its surroundings, it placed itself strongly within it. It embraces its ancient history while remaining extremely accessible for all sorts of visitors (since even its regular worshiping body doesn't come close to those visiting) regardless of language or even denomination.
St. Paul's, on the other hand, didn't seem to strike the same balance. Their bulletin opened with Luke 4:24, as if we worshipped in Rome because we weren't welcome at home. Even the closing hymn made explicit mention of the call for evangelists to save Europe, as Paul did once before and we were to do now. Instead of helping us feel welcomed and adjusted, it reminded us so strongly of the foreignness of our surroundings.
Churches in general are out-of-place no matter where they land. Therefore, a congregation must decide how it will adapt and adjust in light of the peculiarities of whatever city (or lack thereof) it finds itself in. English-speaking and/or Protestant churches here in Rome seem to drive that point home. I look forward to continuing participation in their services and seeing how they find sense of self and strong proclamation in this sometimes challenging context.
Last week, we attended church at Santa Susanna, the official American National Catholic church in Rome as designated by the Pope. They are funded neither by American nor Italy, but instead exist under permission of the church to function as if they were an American church. Their facility is a beautiful, ancient building, with parts dating back as far as 280 AD. Their service was very contemporary, using Marty Haugen among other more recent liturgical artists. The sermon was simple, straight-forward, and accessible.
This past Sunday, we decided to try something a little different and went to St. Paul's Inside The Walls, the American Episcopalian church in Rome. They are the first non-Catholic church built inside Rome. Interestingly enough, this service was more high church than the Catholic church the week previous; this probably owed partly to the Bishop's attendance at worship that day. His sermon was extremely calm (almost to where I tuned him out) and very intellectual. The church itself was a sort of modern take on ancient art, with gorgeous mosaics and sculpture inside.
What struck me most about these two congregations is the way they defined themselves within their contexts. Santa Susanna certainly has the advantage by way of its denomination, since the Catholic church has much more support within the country. However, it seemed to also have a stronger sense of integration; instead of defining itself against its surroundings, it placed itself strongly within it. It embraces its ancient history while remaining extremely accessible for all sorts of visitors (since even its regular worshiping body doesn't come close to those visiting) regardless of language or even denomination.
St. Paul's, on the other hand, didn't seem to strike the same balance. Their bulletin opened with Luke 4:24, as if we worshipped in Rome because we weren't welcome at home. Even the closing hymn made explicit mention of the call for evangelists to save Europe, as Paul did once before and we were to do now. Instead of helping us feel welcomed and adjusted, it reminded us so strongly of the foreignness of our surroundings.
Churches in general are out-of-place no matter where they land. Therefore, a congregation must decide how it will adapt and adjust in light of the peculiarities of whatever city (or lack thereof) it finds itself in. English-speaking and/or Protestant churches here in Rome seem to drive that point home. I look forward to continuing participation in their services and seeing how they find sense of self and strong proclamation in this sometimes challenging context.
Friday, February 2, 2007
La Scala Sancta
So Jesus came out, wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe. Pilate said to them, "Here is the man!" When the chief priests and the police saw him, they shouted, "Crucify him! Crucify him!" Pilate said to them, "Take him yourselves and crucify him; I find no case against him." - John 19: 5-6
According to church tradition, the Scala Sancta (Holy Stairs) are the steps that led up to the praetorium of Pilate in Jerusalem, which Christ stood on and was condemned during his passion. They reached Rome around 326 when St. Helena, mother of Constantine, had them brought back from the Holy Land. The stairs were moved a few times, but reached their current location outside S. Giovanni in Laterno near the end of the 16th century.
Currently, the marble steps are covered with walnut wood to protect the steps - and, perhaps, be a bit more forgiving on pilgrims who climb the 28 steps on their knees. The stairs lead up to the Sancta Sanctorum (Holy of Holies), an old papal chapel which is the only remaining part of the former Lateran Palace. It contains several relics and a icon of Jesus that is said to have been made 'not by human hands'.
For centuries, pilgrims have climbed these stairs on their knees. In the Catholic church, plenary indulgence can be granted for climbing the stairs, especially in Lent and on Fridays. Not realizing this when we climbed the stairs ourselves, we met a huge crowd of people. Several nuns, but a surprising number of lay people. Some of them were extremely devout, pausing for lengthy prayers, bending to kiss certain steps, or using prayer books and other devotional aids to make the most of their experience.
From a Lutheran perspective, these stairs gained infamy when Martin Luther climbed them 500 years ago, praying for the souls of his grandparents. When he reached the top, he famously wondered if it all meant nothing. His trip to Rome was clouded by doubts - about the church, about his faith, about indulgences, and more. For him, the religious experience of the Scala Sancta was not buying a soul out of purgatory - something that could not be done - but about reawakening his own Biblical faith.
As a modern Lutheran pilgrim, I did not hope for indulgences or favors. I only wanted to join brothers and sisters in faith in an important experience. For me, it was enough to be reminded of Christ's passion, to spend time on my knees, and to be in a holy place consecrated by prayers and devotion, no matter the reason or intent.
Gracious God, we know that we are saved by grace through faith in your Son, Jesus Christ. Keep us ever aware of his sacrifice, and join us with the faithful in prayer and devotion to you always. We pray these things in your name, Amen.
According to church tradition, the Scala Sancta (Holy Stairs) are the steps that led up to the praetorium of Pilate in Jerusalem, which Christ stood on and was condemned during his passion. They reached Rome around 326 when St. Helena, mother of Constantine, had them brought back from the Holy Land. The stairs were moved a few times, but reached their current location outside S. Giovanni in Laterno near the end of the 16th century.
Currently, the marble steps are covered with walnut wood to protect the steps - and, perhaps, be a bit more forgiving on pilgrims who climb the 28 steps on their knees. The stairs lead up to the Sancta Sanctorum (Holy of Holies), an old papal chapel which is the only remaining part of the former Lateran Palace. It contains several relics and a icon of Jesus that is said to have been made 'not by human hands'.
For centuries, pilgrims have climbed these stairs on their knees. In the Catholic church, plenary indulgence can be granted for climbing the stairs, especially in Lent and on Fridays. Not realizing this when we climbed the stairs ourselves, we met a huge crowd of people. Several nuns, but a surprising number of lay people. Some of them were extremely devout, pausing for lengthy prayers, bending to kiss certain steps, or using prayer books and other devotional aids to make the most of their experience.
From a Lutheran perspective, these stairs gained infamy when Martin Luther climbed them 500 years ago, praying for the souls of his grandparents. When he reached the top, he famously wondered if it all meant nothing. His trip to Rome was clouded by doubts - about the church, about his faith, about indulgences, and more. For him, the religious experience of the Scala Sancta was not buying a soul out of purgatory - something that could not be done - but about reawakening his own Biblical faith.
As a modern Lutheran pilgrim, I did not hope for indulgences or favors. I only wanted to join brothers and sisters in faith in an important experience. For me, it was enough to be reminded of Christ's passion, to spend time on my knees, and to be in a holy place consecrated by prayers and devotion, no matter the reason or intent.
Gracious God, we know that we are saved by grace through faith in your Son, Jesus Christ. Keep us ever aware of his sacrifice, and join us with the faithful in prayer and devotion to you always. We pray these things in your name, Amen.
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