Giornale: San Lorenzo in Lucina

I collapsed onto my bed exhausted after a long day at the Vatican. The clock read 5:45pm. I didn’t want to move. A borderline traumatic experience with the crowds in the Sistine Chapel had put me into a mood.

The clock changes to 5:46. The chicken trapizzino I had just eaten sits in my stomach like a cold hard rock.

5:47. Lauren from the other side of the room asks me, “Do you think that we have time to do a solo excursion right now?” I groan. We had a meeting at 7pm that night so I seriously doubted it. My stomach hurts. “Maybe” I said and slowly took out my laptop to google map possible locations. I wanted to go to a small church after being overwhelmed by many large basilicas over the past couple of days.

5:48. “Wait there’s a church that’s open right now and is only a five-minute walk from the Spagna metro stop.

5:52. I don’t know if it’s the beer still in my stomach from lunch or just a sudden miracle surge of energy, but Lauren and I are sitting on the metro on the way to San Lorenzo in Lucina.

6:10. I remember rushing down the street. We definitely looked like stereotypical Americans running around saying excuse me to every person we brushed past. But we didn’t care, we had a small church to get ourselves to.

6:18. I’m standing in San Lorenzo and its beautiful. I laugh to myself because I had thought a small church would be anything short of extravagant. Rome just doesn’t do simple churches I guess. When I think of a small church I think of my church at home. Cream walls, some simple wooden pews and an altar in the front.

When we entered the church, it was dark and silent. The only lights were some candles that were lit along the side chapels and the last daylight streaming through the windows. Instead of the larger basilica setup we had been accustomed to, with a central nave lined with columns and outer aisles, San Lorenzo had only the nave which was lined by arches to separate the chapels. But in the sense of ornateness, the small church rivaled its larger relatives. The ceilings were adorned with gold molding and sculptural flowers. The walls and arches were painted with Christian images and extravagant decoration. The light from a window near the top of the church streamed down upon the sculpture of Christ on the crucifix that was placed above the altar. We were lucky to come at this time of the day to see the way the church and the natural light interacted.

As I walked around admiring the paintings I wondered why the lights in the church were off. My questions were answered when after about 10 or so minutes in the church I heard a man singing. I remember turning to Lauren and putting a finger to my lips realizing there was a small service going on. It wasn’t happening in the central church but rather in one of the small chapels on the side. I wasn’t sure if it was a traditional service and didn’t want to get too close out of respect. But I sat down on the last pew in the main church and listened as the man sang and the few people sitting there responded. It sounded beautiful but sad. My eyes kept wandering to the image of Christ above the altar and his pained face in the light of the dwindling sun seems to harmonize with the song.

Lauren taps on my shoulder and shows me the time. 6:42pm.

Crap. We had lost track of time in the beautiful church. I felt the need to mouth a quick sorry to Jesus as we quietly rushed from the tranquility of the church.

6:52. We’re on the metro again, breath heavy, eyes tired. I stare out the window and think about how lucky we are to be able to experience so many different parts of Rome. Here we are running from San Lorenzo, past the Spanish Steps, on the metro from Spagna to Lepanto, and earlier today we were in the Vatican. The metro carries on and I know we are going to have to run really fast once we get off for the sake of our timeliness. We make it back to St. John’s with only a minute to spare and I find myself thinking it was all completely worth it.