I will always remember my first view of St. Peter’s Basilica. I boarded the city bus from the western outskirts of Rome where I was living and disembarked at a stop near the church. I turned the corner and there it was, reaching out its colonnaded arms to welcome and embrace me. I walked up the Via della Conciliazione, the broad avenue leading from the Tiber River to Piazza San Pietro, the famous façade growing ever larger as I approached. I was checking off the premier item on my bucket list before I was twenty years old.
I was a college sophomore, spending the spring semester of 1975 on the Rome campus of the University of Dallas. UD is a Catholic liberal arts institution known for its core curriculum of great books of literature and philosophy. That semester we read Virgil’s Aeneid, Dante’s Divine Comedy, and Augustine’s Confessions, among other foundational works of classical and Christian culture. I had taken two semesters of History of Art and Architecture my freshman year, and now I was ready to see these works firsthand. We had class three or four days a week, then every weekend and on our long spring break we’d take our backpack, Eurail pass, and Europe on $10 a Day guidebook to explore the world.
But my first stop, the morning after we arrived in Rome, was the visible center of my Catholic faith. No other church has such a magnificent approach. As an eager nineteen-year-old, I first noticed the tall obelisk dominating the outdoor plaza. I discovered that the massive structure, made from a single block of red granite and weighing 330 tons, was brought from Egypt by the Roman emperor to be placed in the nearby Circus of Nero. It was here in this circus that Peter the Apostle was tortured and died as a martyr, somewhere between AD 64 and 68. Peter certainly viewed this obelisk during the final minutes of his life; it formed one of his last conscious impressions before his agonizing death.
The original placement of the obelisk would have been at the center of the circus, a long track for horse and chariot races with bleachers that could accommodate thousands of spectators. Located on what was known in the days of the empire as Vatican Hill, the circus was adjacent to a Roman cemetery, where Peter was buried after his execution. In the sixteenth century the obelisk was moved from its original location just to the left of the present basilica to its present spot. It remains here as a “witness” to Peter’s martyrdom.
Originally inscribed to “Divine Augustus” and “Divine Tiberius,” the obelisk today stands dedicated to the Holy Cross with the Latin inscription: Christus Vincit, Christus Regnat, Christus Imperat. Christus ab omni malo plebem suam defendat. (“Christ conquers, Christ reigns, Christ rules. May Christ defend his people from all evil.”) In Egypt the structure stood as a solar symbol, representing the flow of vital energy between heaven and earth. It still functions as a sun dial and is topped by a bronze cross containing a fragment of the true Cross from Jerusalem. This ancient timepiece of the Egyptian gods now declares the saving power of the cross of Jesus, to which Peter bore witness in the capital of the empire at the end of his life.
My youthful wonder was drawn to the 300 columns, forming two curved arcs and extending four rows deep from each side of the basilica. With guidebook in hand, I soon found the two porphyry discs in the pavement between the obelisk and the two fountains on each side of it. Standing on these two spots—the two foci of the ellipse—one experiences the illusion that each of the colonnades has only a single row of columns. The colonnades form a permeable boundary for visitors and worshipers so that they feel welcomed and embraced.
One hundred and forty statues stand atop the colonnades, representing martyrs throughout the centuries, founders of religious orders, and male and female heroes through the ages. They stand as witness to the power of faith to transform lives, and they stand in solidarity with the crowds of believers and seekers alike who enter the sacred ground. For the pilgrims who enter to celebrate the feasts of the church, to participate in the weekly audience with the pope, or to receive his Sunday blessing, the saints are reminders that heaven and earth are united as we do these things in unity with Jesus Christ. The combined effect of the pillars and their saints forms one of the world’s great public spaces.
Although I would return to this place many times in later years, I will always cherish my initial impressions—the feelings that Gian Lorenzo Bernini intended to evoke as he designed the piazza, its columns, and its saints. I was facing something far more global and inclusive than I had yet experienced in my young life. This space had witnessed two millennia of Christian history and in that universal Jubilee Year of 1975, called by Pope Paul VI, I encountered tourists, students, and pilgrims from every continent on earth.
The evening that Pope Francis was elected, I had just arrived in Jerusalem for a month of research, staying at the Jesuit-run Pontifical Biblical Institute where I had lived as a graduate student many years before. I was now fifty-seven years old. As I joined the community to watch the news from Rome, the announcement of the first pope from the Society of Jesus stirred the Jesuit priests and brothers around me with joy. Although I am not a Jesuit, I felt a deep sense of spiritual kinship after being formed in Ignatian spirituality during my six years of Jesuit education in Rome and Jerusalem.
The focus of the world was on St. Peter’s Piazza, that sacred space that had enveloped me since my young adulthood. As thousands of people gathered, along with millions throughout the world via the marvels of international broadcasting, Pope Francis was presented as the 266th successor to St. Peter. The newly elected Francis said, “The duty of the conclave was to appoint a bishop of Rome. And it seems to me that my brother cardinals went to fetch him at the end of the world. But here I am.”
My mind wandered back to 1977, when I had again journeyed to Rome for graduate studies at the Jesuit Gregorian University. Although I was only twenty-two years old, I came with a firmer purpose than in my college days, and the rich history of the city of Rome became ever more pertinent for the emerging direction of my life.
I was living in Rome during 1978, which has become known as the “Year of the Three Popes.” Pope Paul VI was growing frail after guiding the church during the tumultuous years following the Second Vatican Council, and on August 6 his death was announced to the world. I attended his stately funeral in St. Peter’s and then experienced the excitement of watching the cardinals come to Rome from around the world to choose a successor.
Albino Luciani was elected on August 26 on only the fourth ballot and took the double name, John Paul I. He wanted to give homage to his two immediate predecessors, Pope John XXIII and Pope Paul VI, and to assure the world that the work of church renewal begun by them would continue under the guiding documents of the council. I was among the throngs held close within the colonnades as we watched the white smoke billow from the Sistine Chapel and heard the first words of the new successor in the line of Peter. But his sudden death thirty-three days later ended the refreshing change that his election represented to many. As still the most recent Italian-born pope, he is remembered as Il Papa del Sorriso (“the Smiling Pope”), and several news media dubbed him “the September Pope.” His kind personality seemed to bring a warm and gentle touch to the sometimes ostentatious papacy. At his funeral he was aptly described as “a flashing comet who briefly lit up the church.”
As a new semester of studies began for me in Rome, I walked to St. Peter’s every evening after classes to be a part of the crowd and to feel the electricity that filled the air as the cardinals returned to the city to elect a new pope. The doors of the Sistine Chapel were sealed as the conclave began. The electors were split between two strong Italian candidates: the progressive Cardinal Benelli and the conservative Cardinal Siri. But both faced too much opposition to prevail, and the electors turned to a compromise candidate: the Polish Cardinal Karol Wojtyla.
I have fond memories of that evening. A full moon was shining down upon us as I gathered with a few friends near the obelisk. That ancient Egyptian solar symbol reflecting the light of the bright moon reminded me again that the heavens were pouring down their energies upon the earth that night. As the silvery smoke came forth from the chimney, Pope John Paul II was introduced to the world: Annuntio vobis gaudium magnum: Habemus papam! Eminentissimum ac reverendissimum dominum, dominum Carolum, sanctæ romanæ Ecclesiæ cardinalem, Wojtyła, qui sibi nomen imposuit Ioannis Pauli. (“I announce to you a great joy: We have a pope! The most eminent and most reverend Lord, the Lord Charles of the Holy Roman Church, Cardinal Wojtyla, who took the name of John Paul.”)
That autumn of the three popes in Rome launched the second-longest papacy in history. John Paul II served as pope throughout my remaining years of study in Rome, which included two more years of theology at the Gregorian University and three more years of specialized biblical studies at the Pontifical Biblical Institute. I often visited the Piazza San Pietro during the following years, bringing guests to see an outdoor papal audience or to experience special liturgies and canonizations.
Pope John Paul II was noted for his multilingual skills. Every Christmas and Easter he would deliver the traditional blessing, Urbi et Orbi (“to the City and to the World”), in imitation of the proclamations of the Roman emperors. Located on the central balcony of the basilica at noon, Pope John Paul II extended the joys of Christmas or the blessings of Easter in more than sixty languages.
In May of 1981, I was in the middle of my afternoon jog through the streets of Rome, when I began to hear sirens and then saw helicopters hovering over the city. Returning to my room, I turned on the radio and heard that the pope had been shot during his Wednesday audience in the piazza. I would later learn that four bullets hit the pope, two of them lodging in his lower intestine, the others hitting his left index finger and right arm. Yet he made an astonishing recovery and went on to meet with his assailant in prison and offer his forgiveness. This generous act of forgiveness struck me deeply at the time, and I have continued to explore the theme of mercy and forgiveness as a central impulse of the Christian life. Visitors today can see a small marble plaque in the pavement at the site of the shooting. It bears the pope’s coat of arms and the date in Roman numerals: XIII V MCMLXXXI.
Pope John Paul II traveled more than any previous pope, visiting 129 countries during his twenty-seven years of service. He consistently attracted large crowds, some among the largest ever assembled in human history. I saw him in 1993 on one of his visits to the United States. He had come to Denver for World Youth Day. I had just completed writing a series of Bible studies for youth and young adults, so I journeyed to Denver and was stationed in one of the many booths erected in the city to promote various Catholic ministries. Pope John Paul II initiated World Youth Day in 1984, and every two years it is held at some international location. As these events continued to grow in size, the media came to describe Pope John Paul II as a “rock star,” due to his magnetic appeal among those who traveled to see him from all over the globe.
Why such international acclaim for the pope? What makes the bishop of Rome such a media sensation? Why have pilgrims traveled to St. Peter’s Basilica from throughout the world in every age? To discover the answers to these questions, we must enter the basilica and consider what we discover there.
Entering the Basilica of St. Peter is an experience vividly written on the mind of nearly every pilgrim. After entering one of the massive bronze doors and standing at the back of the nave, the visitor is washed in architectural imagery highlighting the ancient significance of the place. Sunlight from the windows above shines down in shafts, spotlighting the central structures in burnished bronze and gold.
The shape of the basilica forms a Latin cross, with its elongated nave intersected by two arms or transepts. At the center is the high altar, a single block of marble, where only the pope may celebrate the Mass. Above and around the altar rises the enormous bronze baldacchino (canopy), crafted also by Bernini. It is the largest casting of bronze ever made. But the massive weight of the bronze does not dominate the space because its four columns are twisted, spiraling upward with great vitality.
The baldacchino frames the magnificent display in the apse. Bernini created a large bronze throne, symbolizing the cathedra (teaching chair) of Peter. Within this bronze chair is a simple wooden chair on which, according to an ancient tradition, Peter sat and taught the church of Rome. The massive chair of bronze, representing the apostolic authority of Peter, is raised high by colossal bronze statues of four early Doctors of the Church: Saints Ambrose and Augustine signifying the church in the West, and Saints Athanasius and John Chrysostom representing the church in the East. Their lively movement and sweeping robes express the energy and unity of the universal church in its early centuries.
Above the cathedra, a fine alabaster window is surrounded by golden clouds and angels flying between rays of light, casting mystical warmth through the basilica with the afternoon sun. The window is divided into twelve sections, in homage to the twelve apostles who carried the gospel throughout the world. And at its center is the luminous dove, expressing the Holy Spirit, who forever guides the church toward its fullness.
High above, on the golden background of the frieze, is the Latin inscription: O Pastor Ecclesiae, tu omnes Christi pascis agnos et oves. (“O pastor of the Church, you feed all Christ’s lambs and sheep.”) Next to it, the same message is also written in Greek. The prayer alludes to the words of the risen Christ to Peter when he meets him on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. After asking Peter three times if he loves him, Jesus commissions him to feed the lambs and sheep of his flock.
This baroque masterpiece pays tribute to the heart of the entire basilica beneath the high altar—the tomb of St. Peter. In front of the altar, a double ramp of stairs descends to a lower chapel. A marble banner leading to this chapel reads: Sepulcrum Sancti Petri Apostoli (“The Tomb of Peter the Apostle”). The entire sunken area is illuminated with one hundred continuously burning oil lamps and is called the Confessio, built to honor Peter’s confession of faith that led to his martyrdom.
The center of the Confessio is a niche containing a mosaic of Christ and a bronze urn containing white stoles (palliums) embroidered with black crosses and woven with the wool of lambs. After the appointment of new patriarchs and metropolitans (archbishops), the pope places a pallium on their shoulders. The wool from the lamb becomes a sign of their unity with St. Peter and of their imitation of Christ the Shepherd, who bore the lost sheep around his shoulders.
The level of this chapel is the floor of the earlier Basilica of St. Peter built in the fourth century by Constantine, the first Christian emperor. Although that earlier church was only about half the size of the present basilica, it too was centered on this burial place. But even before the Constantinian church, a shrine was built over the tomb of Peter in the second century to mark the grave and to serve as a place of prayer for Christians in those early decades of the church. When Constantine started to build the old Saint Peter’s, he recognized the venerated spot of the apostle’s tomb and its shrine, encased it in a box of marble and porphyry, and built the high altar directly above it. However, he filled the remainder of the necropolis (city of the dead) with dirt and covered over the first century tombs buried next to Nero’s circus to construct the new church.
Since the time of Constantine, tradition and strong historical evidence have testified to the existence of Peter’s tomb directly below the high altar. For this reason, many of the bishops of Rome in the line of Peter have been buried in the crypt around his tomb, and pilgrims from the earliest centuries have traveled here to pray. But only in the 1940s, during the pontificate of Pius XII, did excavations below the basilica begin. A series of mausoleums were unearthed and eventually the tomb of Peter and his remains were discovered. Pope Paul VI announced in 1968 that the remains of St. Peter had been “identified in a way that we can consider convincing” and tours of the underground excavations began in the 1970s.
I have toured this ancient cemetery beneath St. Peter’s many times over the years. Each experience is a great thrill. Just stepping into the necropolis means walking along Roman soil from 2000 years ago. Through these ancient streets the Roman disciples of Jesus walked and worshiped with trust in the Spirit and confidence in Christ’s resurrection. Yet I can imagine the grief of those Roman Christians who laid Peter in his tomb. He would have been buried secretly during those times of persecution, but with sufficient clues to indicate to Christian pilgrims the location of his tomb. Perhaps the grave was used as a site for small gatherings of believers in the dead of night. Maybe during calmer times, the simple shrine of Peter was the site for Christian baptisms, Eucharistic assemblies, and funerals. The remains of St. Peter would have been among the most jealously guarded relics of the ancient church.
Today, these bones of Peter are the hidden treasure for which the whole structure stands.
Buried underneath the world’s most famous church, more valuable than all the precious metals and priceless artwork above, lies the tomb of Peter from Galilee who was called by Jesus to follow in his way.
The dome of St. Peter’s Basilica, the cupola or cupolone (big dome) as the people of Rome often call it, is a strong and unforgettable image rising from the panorama of the city. This was the intention of Michelangelo, who supervised his masterpiece until his death. He designed it to provide the heartening landmark for pilgrims coming for the great Jubilee in 1600. And for all seekers thereafter it represents a guiding beacon to the holy shrine of the apostle.
Ascending this cupolone is a thrill for any visitor. The first stop on the climb is the circular gallery around the interior drum of the dome. At this level we are about halfway between the floor and the top of the dome. This is my favorite view of the basilica interior. Here the decorative elements of the dome can be seen in great detail.
Immediately above the gallery are sixteen windows designed by Michelangelo to form the shafts of light entering the basilica from different directions. And above these windows the dome begins, divided by ribs into sixteen segments. The images that form the first tier around the dome are sixteen busts of popes buried in the basilica. Above them are images of the apostles, other figures from the Gospels, and angels guarding the tomb of Peter.
Circling the drum and immediately below the gallery, in golden capital letters two meters (6.6 feet) tall, are the solemn words of Jesus spoken to Peter: TV ES PETRVS ET SVPER HANC PETRAM AEDIFICABO ECCLESIAM MEAM. TIBI DABO CLAVES REGNI CAELORVM. (“You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven.”) There is no mistaking the magnitude of these words as they form the foundation supporting the massive dome.
At the top of the four piers that support the drum and its dome are colossal mosaic medallions of the four evangelists: Matthew with the angel, Mark with the lion, Luke with the ox, and John with the eagle. The quill pen of Mark alone is over nine feet in length.
Every time I view the basilica from this vantage point, I am astonished by its vast dimensions. Walking into the church from below, the structure does not look so overpowering because all the elements are so perfectly balanced. But here above it all, the immensity becomes clear, especially when I see tiny people walking below, dwarfed by the scale of everything around them.
Continuing the dome ascent, the visitor enters a narrow, spiraling staircase between the inner and outer shells of the dome. Each time I climb these stairs, the expedition seems more difficult. At age nineteen, I bounded upward. On later pilgrimages, my legs grew heavier. And on my most recent ascent this year, my back, thighs, and knees ached for the rest of the day.
Exiting toward the outside and a bit dizzy from the spiral climb, the conqueror is rewarded with a magnificent view of the city and its surroundings. Here one can clearly understand the human analogy that Bernini sought to create in his design of the whole. We are at the top of the head looking down. The basilica continues to form the neck and shoulders. And the arms reach out with the colonnades to embrace and welcome pilgrims.
This human likeness is not complete until one considers the pulsating heart that animates the entire complex—the tomb of Peter. Enshrined by some of the greatest artwork ever created, the tomb of the fisherman forms the essential core of the basilica. Yet the bodily remains are not as important as the spirit of Peter and his continuing ministry that enlivens the church left by Jesus, its founder.
Exploring the monuments and churches of Rome today, it would be difficult to miss the words Pontifex Maximus (“the Great Bridge Builder”) engraved in many places as a title for the bishop of Rome. The chief pontiff was originally a title given to the high priest of pagan Rome, the one responsible for the religious rituals of the city. By regulating the system of sacrifices, consecrating temples, executing religious law, and administering the calendar, the chief pontiff formed the bridge between the gods and the people.
Beginning with Augustus, the emperor took the title of Pontifex Maximus. Presiding at religious ceremonies and directing imperial authority and power, he was seen as the one building bridges both to the gods and to the far reaches of the empire. In the fifth century, this title was bestowed on the bishop of Rome. But it was not until the fifteenth century, when the Renaissance stirred up new interest in ancient Rome, that Pontifex Maximus became a regular title of honor for popes, appearing on buildings, monuments, and coins.
Despite its grandiose air, the stately title of Pontifex Maximus for the successor to Peter seems to me an appropriate one because Peter himself was a bridge builder. He provided an important link between the earthly ministry of Jesus and the post-Easter church. Forgiven and commissioned by the risen Lord, Peter formed connections between the other apostles and the growing community of Jesus’ followers. While the Holy Spirit provided the divine power that formed the church, Peter gave voice to the experience of Pentecost and guaranteed the permanent connection between the gospel of Jesus and the ancient faith of Judaism.
Peter was also a bridge builder among the church’s early leadership. After his imprisonment in Jerusalem and his escape, Peter left the city and began his missionary work in other communities. At that time, James became the chief overseer of the Jewish Christians in the Jerusalem church. Meanwhile Paul was witnessing increasing numbers of Gentiles coming into the church in far-flung territories of the Roman Empire. In the ongoing dispute between Jewish and Gentile Christianity, the first major struggle of the infant church, Peter took a centrist position. He helped reconcile the polar positions of James, representing Jewish Christians, and Paul, representing Gentile Christians. While deeply respectful of his Jewish tradition, Peter also encouraged and facilitated the mission of the church reaching out beyond the culture of Judaism.
According to the renowned scholar James D. G. Dunn, Peter did more than any other to hold together the diversity of first-century Christianity. He established the bridge between the early church in Jerusalem and the ever-widening church scattered throughout the empire.1 In this way, Peter became the focal point of unity for that worldwide community of faith in Jesus Christ that would soon describe itself as the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic church.
When have you made a pilgrimage to a sacred place? What sites stand out in your memory?
How does the design of St. Peter’s Basilica resemble characteristics of the human body? What effect might this have on a person’s experience of the place?
How often have you thought about the pope and how that person/office relates to your daily life of faith?
What does the stone, bronze, and other art of St. Peter’s Basilica express about the enduring legacy of St. Peter in the church?
Explain how tradition plays a role in your appreciation of the ancient and global Christian faith.