Train to Assisi – 8:30, 8. May, 2009

In the Vatican I was struck by all the stuff. All the maps, all the postcards, all the books. Yes, this is a museum. But is it also not a holy place?

But then again, what of holy places? What of holy things? Are not holy deeds what the prophets extol?

I was frustrated and distracted. As I walked into the Basilica, I saw a sea of people. Pictures. Flashes. Maps. Talking. Pointing. And then a curtain.

Behind this curtain was silence. No pictures. It was a room for prayer. I walked in and saw a few people kneeling, sitting, ans praying. It was stunning. It was beautiful.

But the young Argentine couple sat in front of me, the man praying with his hand on his wife’s back. Maybe they had come far. Maybe they were in trouble. But they were praying. And so I did the same. I asked God to help me focus and to reveal why He had brought me here. I revered it. I revered it all because it was Rome. But still, frustrated, I prayed and in the silence looked around at the others doing to same. And in that moment, all of Rome was made holy. All the money, all the tourists.  All the pub crawls and prostitution. All the vanity and destruction of the Church. All the holy and vain history. It was redeemed in prayer and silence. The citta del Deus is a place in time.