At Home in Rome

Arriving at the tomb of St. Peter in Rome, after walking 150 miles to get there, was another one of those pilgrim experiences which is hard to put into words. I’m not Roman Catholic. I disagree with the pope on many important issues of our time. But there is something about that sacred ground that transcends the institution of the Church and religion in all its expressions. Standing there in my sweaty clothes, I felt as though I was at an important intersection of the global community. Once again, all distinctions between pilgrims and tourists were erased in that mass of humanity that converged on the square in the late afternoon of a very hot summer day. Nuns, boy scouts, a wedding party, a group of women from the Caribbean, teenagers crowded around their tour leader, priests, cab drivers, and countless others from every age group- all with their own reason and motivation to be there. For much of his life, St. Peter would have had a problem with this kind of diversity. Often, we’re told, he tried to set limits on who could be in the inner circle with Jesus. Even after the radical experience of Pentecost, Peter still imagined a new community in Christ that was primarily Jewish. Then, there was the mysterious vision, given to Peter while he was in a trance. In it, he saw that God had destroyed all boundaries that separate the “clean” from the “unclean.” So, before his death here in Rome, Peter joined St. Paul in joyfully welcoming all people into the family of God. I took comfort in that as I stood among the diverse crowd of people gathered in the square named after this saint. I thought of myself as a pilgrim, but I knew that there were many others there who had spent much more time in prayer and spiritual reflection along the way. For some in the crowd, the journey to Rome had involved great suffering and sacrifice. This was not the case for me. Yet, as it was throughout every stage of my own journey to that sacred place, I felt no judgment. In all the towns and villages along the way, no one questioned me when I said I was a pilgrim, and that had helped to confirm this identity within me. Honestly, I still wasn’t sure what this journey was really about for me, and I was feeling a kinship with those who say that the term “pilgrim” is so overused that it runs the risk of losing any real meaning in our time. But none of that really mattered as I walked into St. Peter’s square. I was there, and it felt good. Over time, I will know much more about the significance of this for my life. In my work and in my daily life, I will draw from this whole experience again and again. But, there, in the late afternoon sun, it was just nice to know that I was part of a much larger reality and a much greater community than I could ever imagine. Maybe that is my small link to Peter. If so, I pray that my heart and soul will continue to expand, as his did, throughout every stage of the journeys that lie ahead.