One pilgrim's progress

Today is Epiphany.  Epiphany is a day of revelation--a day when we go home a different way.  It is the marking of an experience that changed your life.  So here is mine.  I'm starting it today, but I will not have time for the whole story.  So I will continue as I go.

1.  An unexpected pilgrimage

I was on my own on my last day in Rome.  I was at the Coliseum and had heard about the Pope's own church--not the basilica, a small private church where the pope hears mass.  I knew that it was in Rome, but I wasn't sure how far away it was.  So I asked a vendor if he had heard of it.  "Si, si", he said.  Did he know how far away it was?  "Oh, it's just over that next hill," he replied.

So off I went.  I walked up one hill and down another, on and on, and remember--I wasn't sure what I was looking for.  Every so often, I would talk to someone and ask if I was still heading in the right direction.  "Si, signorina.  Just over the next hill." Rome is said to be made up of seven hills, and I could swear I traveled through all of them.  But finally, I saw it--a modest little building with an equally modest building to its side.

I entered the church, and it was beautiful.  As I left, I noticed again the yellow building to the side.  I asked someone at the church about it, and she told me that it was "La scala sancta."  She said that I owed it to myself to go.  I thought to myself, 'Why not?  I've traveled all this way, I might as well see what's inside."  So I stepped inside and changed my life.

2.  La scala sancta

La scala sancta--the holy steps--is a relic brought to Rome from Jerusalem by Helena, the mother of Augustine.  Legend has it that it is the actual staircase that Jesus ascended when he was on trial before Pilate. It used to be open to view, but so many people climbed the steps that it now is covered in wood, with just a small view of each step.  You climb the stairs on your knees.  It is 28 steps high--quite a climb for a 45-year-old woman.  I felt the holiness of the place, and whether it was the holiness of the steps themselves or the holiness of 600 years of pilgrims coming to honor Christ was immaterial.

At first, I planned to simply look, say a prayer, and leave.  Although a converted Catholic (and not yet an Episcopalian), I did not put too much stock in pilgrimages, and it seemed senseless to climb steps on my knees just to say that I did.  Besides, I have arthritis in my knees, and I couldn't imagine the pain that I would experience.  I don't like pain.  However, something happened that changed my mind and made me realize that there was more to this than I had realized.

3.  An act of devotion

She was easily in her 80's.  I noticed her as she made her way before the steps.  She was so crippled that she walked with two canes, slowly, upper body hunched.  She was Italian, and it was obvious that this was not her first trip here.  She stood at the black iron gate in front of the steps, signed herself with the holy water, and began to pray.  As she continued, her prayers turned to tears as she watched the pilgrims climbing the steps.  It was obvious she was never going to be able to climb the stairs herself, and it was obvious that the fact caused her great sorrow.

As I watched her, she made the sign of the cross once again, stood for a few minutes watching the pilgrims as they climbed, and then slowly, painfully made her way out of the building.  I realized that this journey was her pilgrimage.  She had done what she could for her Lord.

And then it hit me like a hand forcibly grasping my shoulder.  "Have you done what you can for God? Are you willing to try this and give the pain as a gift to God, for his glory?"  Yes.  And so my pilgrimage began.