Pope Francis and Santa Maria Maggiore

Pope Francis passed away this morning. One of his signature moves was that, in choosing in advance where he wanted to be buried, he chose his beloved Santa Maria Maggiore, a papal basilica in Rome, instead of St. Peter's Basilica. Santa Maria Maggiore was originally constructed in the 5th century, a miraculous response to a woman and her husband praying that the woman would become a mother. This is an astonishing nod to the laity and motherhood tracing all the way back to the early Church. 

Francis asked to be buried in a side chapel under one of the most famous icons in the world called "Salus Populi Romani" which means "The Salvation of the Roman People." 

By a complete coincidence, I have spent many, many hours in this basilica in recent months. Here is the icon under which Francis will be buried:      

This is the Pauline Chapel with the icon above the altar, where I regularly attend daily Mass:

This is the main altar of the basilica with the baldacchino over it:

Here are relics from the crib in Bethlehem below the main altar: 

Here is the Ave Regina Pacis, which was important as a sign to bring about the end of the World War II:

Pope Francis had a special place in his heart for women, and wrote eloquently about mothers. May the Church hear and emulate him in that dignifying esteem. 

Lastly, here is a video of what it is like to walk through the Holy Doors, which is a key element to the Jubilee year, a year of mercy and hope. Thank you, Pope Francis, for this Jubilee!

https://youtu.be/8gc5grA0WDc

Stations of the Cross: Text by Pope Francis

This Good Friday, I was fortunate enough to participate in the Stations of the Cross led by our church community here in Frattochie, Italy. The event consisted in a procession on the streets of the town. It was at night, and we carried a large crucifix with candle-bearers on each side. Two priests and two women read the prayers and meditations for all 14 stations, as we stopped 14 times along the street of the church. It was like nothing I have ever seen. 

Pope Francis wrote the meditations for the Stations again this year. Here is one meditation that stood out as particularly beautiful to me:

8th Station

Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem

From the Gospel according to Luke (23:27-31)

A great number of the people followed him, and among them were women who were beating their breasts and wailing for him. But Jesus turned to them and said, “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children. For the days are surely coming when they will say, ‘Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bore, and the breasts that never nursed.’ Then they will begin to say to the mountains, ‘Fall on us;’ and to the hills, ‘Cover us.’ For if they do this when the wood is green, what will happen when it is dry?”

In women, Lord, you always saw a special likeness to the heart of God. That is why, amid the great crowd of people who turned around and followed you that day, you immediately caught sight of the women and once again felt their closeness.  A city is a different place when women care for those around them, when we see mothers holding their children and nursing them; then we look beyond power and profit, and sense the things that really matter. The wailing women find their hearts moved at the sight of your suffering. For the heart is where things connect, and thoughts and decisions are born. “Do not weep for me.” God’s heart throbs with love for his people; he creates a new city: “Weep for yourselves and for your children.” There is a kind of weeping, indeed, which can bring forth a new birth. It brings forth tears of regret, unabashed and unrestrained. Lord, our broken world, and the hurts and offences that tear our human family apart, call for tears that are heartfelt and not merely perfunctory. Otherwise, the apocalyptic visions will all come true: we will no longer generate life, and everything around us will collapse. Faith, on the other hand, can move mountains. The mountains and the hills will not crash down upon us, but a path will open up in their midst. It is your path, Jesus: an uphill path, a path on which the apostles abandoned you, while the faithful women — the mothers of the Church — continued to follow you.

Let us pray, saying: Jesus, grant us a maternal heart! 

You filled the Church’s history with holy women:

Jesus, grant us a maternal heart!

You disdained arrogance and domination:

Jesus, grant us a maternal heart!

You embraced and consoled the tears of mothers:

Jesus, grant us a maternal heart!

You made women the messengers of the resurrection:

Jesus, grant us a maternal heart!

You inspire new charisms and missions in the Church: 

Jesus, grant us a maternal heart!

Robin's Egg

Charlie was with us almost 10 years and was raised with Sebastian (also 10) who did not know life without him. Sebastian regularly called Charlie his "best friend." Charlie sent Sebastian off to school with an encouraging look every morning and greeted him when Sebastian returned as though he had not seen him in weeks. To say that Sebastian leaned on Charlie through our move to Italy is an understatement. Charlie is, in fact, how I learned the importance of dogs in the lives of people and see them as gift from God deliberately crafted and generously given. We lost Charlie on the Feast of St. Sebastian--it seemed like a message from God: "Charlie loves you, Sebastian!" 

Sebastian tried to stay steady. He didn't even tell his teachers or classmates that his dog had died when they asked him what was wrong. But under that courageous exterior, the boy was in pain. Ron took charge. He coached him, listened to him, encouraged him, consoled him. Ron has been magnificent, maintaining a firm, guiding hand while supporting him, planning camping trips, hiking adventures, and--you guessed it--getting a new puppy. 

In truth, this new puppy is about the sweetest little dog I have ever seen. He is absolutely precious. Ron found golden retrievers in Tuscany, and we went twice to see the puppies. We chose one little boy and brought him home just a week or so ago. Be still my heart! 

We named him "Nilo" after San Nilo, one of our favorite churches in Italy. It was, rather incredibly, built only 50 years before the Great Schism between the East and West, and remained steady as a Catholic Church (because it is in Rome) with a Byzantine rite (because it serves a Greek population) and never endured change due to the Schism. It is a symbol of unity of the East and West, and we simply adore its heavenly liturgy. Annie even sings in their choir!  

This puppy can never replace Charlie's place in our hearts. But Sebastian is getting stronger. Yesterday morning, Sebastian and I took Nilo out, and fed him along with our bunnies. 

[Here is Annie with our bunnies]

We spent an hour outside as the sun rose. Sebastian got ready for school and then we were off. As he approached the school, Sebastian pulled a robin's egg out of his pocket that he had found that morning and wanted to show his classmates. Seeing Sebastian with that little, delicate blue egg in his cupped hand, feeling so tender toward the idea of a baby bird, my heart melted. A wave of hope washed over me. Thank God for grieving, for healing, for spring time, and for new beginnings.