There is nothing ordinary in Rome. A morning coffee, even if one does overcome the delightful cliché of cappuccino in Italy, is hardly ordinary when sipped in the Piazza Santa Maria Maggiore. Be that as it may, as a pilgrim I found devotion in the Eternal City so … ordinary. That’s not to say it wasn’t also meaningful and needed. So often acts of spiritual devotion are simply meant to be acts done for the sake of being done. This is what makes us devoted to them. We do them because we ought to, and in the process, we draw closer to the Divine. More often than not, there are no tears, no cries of desperate longing, no pain; just ordinary action. Though this came as a surprise to me in the most extraordinary city of Rome, it also came with warmth and welcome, like a warm blanket wrapped securely around you on a chilly Sunday afternoon. Ordinary devotion.
This sense of the ordinary provoked me most as I stood across from Rome’s cathedral, the Holy Steps (Scala Sancta) ascending before me towards the papal Chapel of St. Lawrence (a.k.a. Sancta Sanctorum). These steps, the very ones Christ climbed to meet Pilate in his praetorium, were brought from Jerusalem to Rome in the 4th century. Well-worn planks made of oak now cover the original marble ones which can be seen through small slits in the risers. Occasional panes of glass on various treads reveal drops of blood having purportedly fallen from Christ’s thorn-crowned head. Prayerful pilgrims like me may now climb them too, provided the 28-step ascent is made on their knees.
And so, on a rainy December day as the streets of Rome hummed with commuters on nearby streets, my father and I knelt at the feet of the Holy Steps in silence. To our left and just ahead of us, a young woman knelt and wept. On every step she wept. I sheepishly wondered whether or not I should be doing this as unemotional as I was. Nevertheless, I pressed on in silent prayer, my eyes fixed on the Renaissance mural of a crucified Christ and the heavens above him coming closer with each step. No emotion … it was all so very ordinary. It was devotion for the sake of spiritual devotion. It is what we Christians do; when there is emotion and when there is none, we do it. It is devotion in the ordinary.
This matters really very little until one thinks of it all as ordinary love. In those moments of trauma, it can be easy to set ourselves to needed love and devotion. In the worst of times, we are quick to love and we do it with vigor. But so often, trauma meets us infrequently; what happens to love and devotion then? Are we quick to offer love in the best of times or on an ordinary weekday when an expression of it may not necessarily be required?
In days and weeks gone by, the assurance my partner had of my commitment to her waned. I think we both began to wonder if the research project lying seductively in my study was actually an evil mistress. Through tears, my partner related the lonely isolation that perhaps surpassed my own. I rallied with quick assurance of my deep devotion for her, the most amazing person I know. It was love in the worst of times. It came easy, it came quickly, and it came with vigor. Today there is a skip in her step and a glint in her eye. Life is good, but I will, nevertheless, tell her how much I care for her; how her life makes me human; how my support of her is sure and strong and true. Today, on this ordinary weekday, I will love her in the best of times so that there is no doubt in the worst of times. Today, on this ordinary weekday, my family is cancer-free. I will tell them I love them in this best of times so that should the worst of times return, there will be no doubt with whom my devotion lies. On this ordinary weekday morning I find myself the undeserving companion of special friends. I will assure them of my shoulders in these best of times so that when the worst comes they know with whom their burdens can be shared. This, I think, is love of the most difficult kind, or at least the most difficult to remember, for it is ordinary love and devotion in the best of times.
Yes, I’ve been quiet here lately – wrapping up Ph.D. matters. But I’ve been busy with other things too. My article “‘Agonizing for You’: Christian Responses to Religious Persecution” is now out in the latest issue of International Journal of Religious Persecution.
