I love visiting St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome.
I traveled to the Eternal City–and the Vatican City–at very different times in my life. But I reacted to the seat of Catholicism in very different ways.
In 1970, my family toured Europe. My teacher mother insisted we visit museums and climb church towers during the ten weeks we camped around the continent.
I’d seen a lot of churches by the time we got to Rome. While I realized St. Peter’s was the mother church, I wasn’t as enthusiastic as my Mom hoped — until I got inside.
St. Peter’s–and the nuns!
I dressed carefully to get inside because in those days of fashionable mini-skirts and tank tops, the nuns of St. Mark’s Basilica in Venice refused me entrance two days before.
Fussing and fuming that the most devout person in the family couldn’t get into the church, I had resolved to dress in a more conservative style when we got to Rome. The nun held up the ruler when she saw me entering St. Peter’s, but my skirt got past.
We started in the Vatican Museum, and knowing the importance of the Sistine Chapel — years before it was restored to its current glory — we determined to experience it with as few tourists as possible.
(The change shocked me when I returned in 2010.)
As a result, we got in line early for the museum and once inside, bolted to the Sistine Chapel. We wanted to be the first ones there, enjoying the paintings before anyone else arrived.
In 1970, we followed a painted line that wound through the museum. We bolted past artwork of exquisite beauty without a second glance..
We only slowed when we reached the hall of maps and couldn’t believe the glorious mosaics on the wall.
But other tourists followed us, so we picked up the pace and skidded into the tall, narrow empty chapel.
We cheered. The guards cried ‘shhh.”
Panting, we looked around.
I recognized God and Adam on the ceiling and a few other stories .
God tossing Adam and Eve out of the Garden of Eden didn’t seem as impressive as I expected.
Everything wore the grime and smoke of the previous 300 years, and so it was difficult to see why I should be so impressed.
But we were in, and in hushed voices, examined what we could see.
Actually visiting the basilica
Afterward, we wandered back along the galleries and paused to admire paintings. We were gearing up for the big visit to the actual basilica — St. Peter’s isn’t really a cathedral.
We particularly wanted to see Michelangelo’s Pieta.
In 1970, the Pieta had not been attacked by an insane man with a hammer, and we walked right up to it.
We’d already seen Michelangelo’s masterpiece at the New York World’s Fair in 1964.
(It sailed to New York packed in a giant crate full of ping pong balls. The Vatican curators thought the ping pong balls would supply the lift needed if the ship sank).
The statue looked the same to me, but I could appreciate it more standing right beside it, rather than trying to see it behind glass as we rode a moving walkway.
I stared at tourists and wondered what they thought of the magnificent building and felt the pride of ownership.
Teenagers can be obnoxious that way.
Can we go to the top?
My brothers and I wanted to climb to the top of the basilica where the apostles stared down.
My parents didn’t think the trip justified the cost. (I’ve been up there twice since.)
We wanted to visit the basement to see where Saint Peter was buried, but my parents thought our catacomb trip would be sufficient for admiring old bones.
So we wandered and admired and then checked “St. Peter’s” off the list. My mom bought a charm from Vatican City.
On this trip, St. Peter’s felt like a museum, not a house of worship. We admired works of art and jockeyed with other visitors.
We saw flocks of nuns following guides, and I wondered where you actually heard Mass in the large, echoing building.
Later, I realized the small side chapels were the places to worship. That day, however, we felt overawed by the magnificence of the church.
My historian father pointed out the designer gave the basilica such an immense size to inspire awe and fear in the populace.
Built over 100 years and finished in 1626, it still is the largest Christian church in the world.
We were there for one afternoon in 1970, not nearly long enough to appreciate much about it. But the seed was planted, and when I returned fifteen years later, I had a better idea of how to spend my time.
Of course I had no idea, in 1970, how different I would view God, religion, and the Catholic church.
Next time: Traveler’s Tales: Did You Take that Altar out of the Book of Revelation?
Thoughts? Reactions? Lurker?