ALSO IN THIS ISSUE:
Basilica di S. Cecilia: Martyr above, forgotten Rome beneath, a basilica between two worlds.
Last night I dreamt I stepped into an elevator—not a normal one, mind you, but one of those weird, floaty, architectural-impossibility elevators, the kind that exists in dreams, sci-fi, hallucinations…location unclear. Vatican-adjacent? Heaven-adjacent? The mall?
Inside: a Pope. Or something pope-shaped. Just as the elevator doors whispered shut and I prepared for a soul-shattering moment of divine insight…
A chainsaw started.
Not in the dream. In real life. Somewhere outside my window, a neighbor decided this was the perfect morning to dismember a tree.
I sat bolt upright. 8:19am. Which is 2:17pm in Rome. I was behind. The coverage of the conclave had already started, and I hadn’t even brushed my teeth, let alone tuned into Vatican TV.
If you suddenly found yourself in an elevator with the newly elected Pope, and you only had a few minutes—what would you say? Or would you just stand there, jaw unhinged, brain buffering, and totally blow the moment?
Now, a brief sidebar for those following my self-imposed challenge from Day One: yes, I’m still sticking to the “no spiraling, no endless rewrites, just hit post before I emotionally unravel” approach to blogging. Yesterday’s draft came in at 3 hours and 17 minutes. Today? A brisk 2 hours and 53. Miracles abound.
Eventually, I found the actual Vatican feed—finally—just as the second vote of the day was getting underway.
DISCLAIMER: There may be typos…no time to proofread. Wrote, format, and PUBLISHED!!! Now waiting to see who the new Pope will be…white smoke just released!!!!
Ok, let’s go for another photo travel tour of a spot in Roma—this time to one of my favorite off the beaten path churches with a hidden surprise...Andiamo!
Basilica di S. Cecilia
Within twisty, cobbled puzzle of Trastevere, the seemingly modest 6th century Basilica di S. Cecilia perches atop the remnants of St. Cecilia’s ancestral home, where the patron saint of music faced martyrdom in 230 AD. In what’s now the church basement, Cecilia endured three days of confinement in the caldarium; when this failed to suffocate her, her tormentors went with beheading-as-a-backup.
Within the basilica, a melancholic marble statue of the saint faithfully reproduces the exact position in which her body had been discovered in 1599—miraculously intact and incorrupt—in the Catacombe di San Callisto. The ghost-pale sculpture eloquently captures the graceful cascade of her garments, the weight of her lifeless form, and the scars of martyrdom etched on her neck.
But don’t stop there. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it side door off the tiny church bookstore leads to an unexpected subterranean excavation. These ruins were likely a 2nd century private home converted into a block of apartments during the imperial age as Rome became more populated. Representing its long history, Pagan imagery bumps elbows with early Christian symbols like awkward roommates in a shared flat. The area is a maze of ancient brick walls, stone floors with remnants of mosaic peeking through. Broken amphoras lean against walls and are strewn about, long-standing loiterers.
And then—just when your eyes adjust to the gray—you step into a small 20th-century chapel that feels like a miniature jewel box exploded underground. A small, vibrant 20th-century chapel—a surprise pop of sacred joy after all that dusty decay.
