ROME – I wasn’t planning on ascending 28 marble steps on my knees, but as I watched white-haired ladies, young couples and people of all nationalities struggle to pull themselves up the ancient walkway where Jesus is believed to have tread, I felt compelled to do the same.
The Scala Sancta, “Holy Stairs,” are believed to be the passageway Jesus walked on his way to face Pontius Pilate before the crucifixion. St. Helena, mother of Constantine, brought the staircase to the Eternal City from the Holy Land in the middle of the 4th century.
Located across the street from the Basilica of St. John Lateran, the stairs attract pilgrims from around the globe.
As I slowly advanced up the walkway, I found myself struggling nearly as much as people twice my age. The steps, now covered in a protective hard wood, pained my knees and made it difficult to concentrate. When I made it to the top, I reached out to touch a section of the wood that had been drilled through to expose a part of a step where a drop of Christ’s blood is believed to have fallen.
The climb up the stairs reminded me that ours is a physical faith as much as a spiritual one. We are a church of sacraments and sacramentals, of incense and holy water.
Throughout my Rome pilgrimage with more than 200 people from the Baltimore archdiocese, there were plenty of signs of the physical part of our faith.
We saw a bronze sculpted foot of the Child Jesus on a church door that was worn away from the millions of people who have touched it over the centuries. We saw pieces of what are believed to be the True Cross, parts of the manger in which Christ was born and even the finger of “Doubting” St. Thomas.
The physical and spiritual came together for me in a special way inside St. Peter’s Basilica Feb. 17, a day before Pope Benedict XVI elevated 22 men to the rank of cardinal. Noticing that there weren’t very many people in line to go to confession, I decided that receiving the sacrament in such a holy place wasn’t such a bad idea.
After joking about it with one of the priests on our pilgrimage, the clergyman traced his thumb on my forehead and offered me a blessing before I approached a confessional stamped “English/Italian.”
An Italian priest heard my sins and before giving me absolution, asked a simple question: “Are you at peace with everyone?”
The query stunned me in its profound simplicity. It seemed to encapsulate what’s really important in life and I was happy to acknowledge that I was indeed at peace with everyone.
I leave Rome proud to be Catholic and more aware of God’s presence all around us.
Email George Matysek at gmatysek@CatholicReview.org
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