At St. Peter's: Awe and Unease

 After their “wandering tour” of Rome on their first day, Tom and Jim decided to spend their second day touring a site the two Catholics from northern Ohio had heard about all their lives: St. Peter’s Basilica, the spiritual and literal heart of Roman Catholicism.

After sixteen years of Catholic education, the boys were primed for this visit. As they neared, they thought of the names so familiar through school, Sunday mass, and their own observant Catholic families: John XXIII, Paul VI, John Paul I. The Roman numerals reinforced the weight of centuries behind them or, in John Paul’s sad case, a spark of hope for the future.

Unlike the previous day’s sightseeing route that easily took in the Forum, Pantheon, Colosseum, Altar of Nations, and the Spanish Steps (not to mention the obligatory coin toss into Trevi), the path to St. Peter’s wasn’t entirely straightforward, requiring numerous stops, turns, and backtracking a time or two as Tom consulted his ever-present map. His navigational skills proved effective, though, when they stepped onto the Via della Conciliazione,

“There it is,” Tom called out, like a sailor spotting land after days adrift.

St. Peter’s rose before them like a travertine mountain.

“Mammoth,” Tom said, awestruck. He consulted his Let’s Go Europe and pointed out Bernini’s colonnade, the columns, the massive semi-circle of 284 columns, topped with statues of saints, built in the 17^th century. As with the Parthenon they had visited days before, the colonnade offers an optical illusion, appearing as a single row of columns when viewed from a specific point. The semi-circle surrounding the piazza is meant to symbolize the embracing arms of the Church.

On that day, the statued saints were on their side, for the crowds were light and the boys entered the basilica without having to wait in a line.

They stepped into another world and were immediately awestruck at the immensity of… well, everything: the many marble chapels, gilded altars, soaring domes, and the tombs of Popes stretching back centuries. Even for two lifelong Catholics, the sheer scale of it all felt overwhelming.

For Tom, the grandeur was inspiring. But Jim had a different reaction. As when he took in the cathedral at Cologne, he couldn’t help thinking of the money needed to construct such a beautiful building. As he walked around the basilica, Jim thought St. Peter’s made Cologne, as beautiful as it is, look bargain basement. Everywhere he looked, the wealth it all represented was staggering.

“Not sure this is what Jesus had in mind,” he mumbled.

It wasn’t a crisis of faith—not yet—but it was the first serious crack in his sense of belonging to the institution he’d grown up in. Yes, the Church did tremendous good in the world. He knew that. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that selling even a fraction of the treasures in St. Peter’s could feed a nation.

For Tom, the most powerful moment was not in the gilded chapels but in the quiet, restrained presence of Michelangelo’s Pietà. Mary cradling the body of Christ. The folds of her robe, the tenderness in her expression. The way Michelangelo coaxed emotion out of stone. For Tom, this sculpture represented the essential heart of his faith.

After visiting the Papal Altar, located directly above the tomb of St. Peter and directly beneath  Bernini’s huge bronze canopy—the baldacchino—Tom and Jim climbed the long stairway up to the cupola, pausing to catch their breath and admire the enormous statues along the rooftop. At the top, the view opened in every direction: domes, rooftops, ancient ruins, and the expansive sprawl of Rome. They both agreed it was exhilarating.

Back inside, they toured the Vatican Museum. The collections were staggering: tapestries, maps, sculptures, gifts from emperors, entire hallways of works that would have been priceless even in the ancient world. They paused longest at Raphael’s “School of Athens,” trying in vain to identify all the philosophers and mathematicians. They stopped again before a painting of Constantine’s vision before the Battle of the Milvian Bridge, the moment that paved the way for Christianity to become the religion of the Empire.

After what felt like miles, they reached the Sistine Chapel.

Tom had expected just a portion of the ceiling to be painted. Instead, the entire ceiling was alive with Michelangelo’s frescos: Creation, temptation, judgment, prophets, and saints unfolding in every direction. He felt dwarfed by the scale and deeply moved by the artistry. For Jim, the chapel’s significance as the site where popes were elected, and the beauty of Michelangelo’s art, was astonishing, almost overpowering. But it didn’t erase the questions rising inside him.

The boys walked out of the Vatican changed in different ways. Tom felt renewed, as though the art and the history had awakened something hopeful in him. Rome had not disappointed. Jim, walking beside him, felt himself taking a step back from the institution that had always been part of his identity. It left him feeling unsettled.

Nevertheless, as they left St. Peter’s Square and crossed back into Rome proper, both Jim and Tom felt they had visited one of Europe’s great historical centers—one that mattered regardless of a person’s religion, politics, or beliefs.

And then, reality returned.

As they neared the Tiber, chants echoed through the streets. Soon, they saw marchers and red, hammer-and-sickle flags. A communist demonstration! For two Americans born during the McCarthy years and raised during the Cold War and Domino Theory, this was a bit unnerving. Commies! The marchers grew louder, in formation, singing, carrying banners, and filling the avenues with energy.

Far from chaotic, the march was remarkably organized and peaceful. Tom and Jim were impressed—not just by the scale of the demonstration but by the discipline and unity of the marchers. In mere minutes, they had traversed from the quiet epicenter of spirituality into the loud cacophony of a communist demonstration.

It was another "Not in Ohio Anymore" moment.

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That was "Then." Click on the video below for Tom and Jim's "Now" reflections on St. Peter's Basilica in Rome.

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