From Darkness to Light

I'm starting this blog on Ash Wednesday, and I have to be honest – I feel like entering the blogosphere is like embarking on an epic journey. It feels almost as epic as the 40 day spiritual journey of Lent we're all embarking on, not nearly as epic as the 40 year (!) journey the Israelites embarked upon in the wilderness, and nowhere near as epic as the journey from death to new life that Christ accomplished for us in his Passion, death, and Resurrection.

Suffice it to say, I hope I can actually be faithful to making some posts on this blog on a more than irregular basis!

Lent in Rome almost wouldn't be Lent in Rome without the Station Church Pilgrimage, which has its origins all the way back in the 4th century AD! Long story short, the early Christian community in Rome began to celebrate Mass at the tomb of a different martyr each day during Lent, and the tradition stuck. The churches built over the tombs became like "stations" along the way of the 40 day pilgrimage from Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday that we enter into each year.

Now, a LOT of history has already been recorded about these churches and the Station Church Pilgrimage, more brilliantly than I ever could. So, to the right, you'll see a variety of links to other resources that can fill you in if you'd like to learn more about each day's church. Check them out! It might be a fruitful Lenten practice to learn a bit each day about the ancient history of our Church and those who have walked before us in faith.

My contribution will be more anecdotal and based on the experiences I have along the way. Like today, when the experience of the sunrise over the course of our Mass struck me as a powerful image of the journey we begin today. We set out from my college residence (called the Casa Santa Maria – just north of the Colosseum if you click on the Station Church Map) before dawn in order to make it to the Basilica of Saint Sabina in time for the 6:45am Mass. It was still dawn as we climbed up the Aventine Hill.

As Mass began, the church was lit by the foggy glow of fluorescent lighting. But as the Liturgy of the Word and the distribution of ashes proceeded, the natural sunlight began to grow, and by the time of the consecration, it was pouring in the windows that lined the top of the church's nave. I took a photo after Mass:

Our Lenten and lifelong journey of conversion from sin is lot like that. We set out in faith, with a destination in mind, but largely still in darkness – unsure of the way, and not able to see very clearly. But the life and light of Christ grows in us as we immerse ourselves in the Word of God, and recognize that "we are dust, and to dust we shall return," and allow ourselves to be filled with God's grace in the sacraments. Slowly but surely, God's light dawns in our hearts and begins to burn away the misty "fluorescent light" we've been settling for in all kinds of ways.

I was excited to learn as I read later in the day that the many ancient tombs that line the floor of the basilica (a common mode of burial here) are all pointed east – toward the sunrise – a sign of the light of the Resurrection they hope to enter into when Christ comes again in glory at the end of time!

I pray that the Lord fill each of us with his purifying light this Lent as we strive to open our hearts more fully to receive the graces He so desperately wants to give each one of us.

God bless you!