“I see you are a Franciscan, John.”
“My sense of fashion usually gives me away,” John laughed. “Actually, the Franciscan Brothers in Assisi have allowed me to live in their community while I consider the priesthood. I’m currently on loan to Father Morelli as his assistant for the next few months. We met this past year while I was finishing some graduate work on an archaeological dig on the outskirts of Rome.”
“Father Morelli seems to be involved in a lot of projects around here. Are you an archaeologist also?”
“I have a PhD in history, and I’m working on my master’s in anthropology.”
At least this new assistant had the right training to help Morelli, Leo thought.
Practically everyone who had ever entered the immense Renaissance church was overcome by its unparalleled beauty, and Leo and John were both awed as they passed through the mammoth doors and headed up the aisle toward the main altar.
“What kind of history, John? I mean, what was your thesis work about?”
“Classical Rome … the Roman Empire during the time of Christ. That’s what drew me to Italy in the first place.”
“Interesting. When did you first think of entering the religious life?”
“I’ve been thinking about it on and off since grade school. I was raised Catholic, went to Catholic schools all my life. You get pretty well indoctrinated by the time you reach high school. Two of my friends from school became priests.”
Leo looked up at the ceiling as they walked along. “I went to Catholic school too, but a lot of my friends became police officers and firefighters. I came out of a working-class neighborhood, and we had a lot of kids from my graduating class who entered those fields. It’s funny how we all gravitated to professions where we could help people.”
They continued up the center aisle of the enormous basilica that contained eleven chapels and forty-five altars and seated themselves near the baldacchino, a monumental canopy that sheltered the papal altar and the holy relics of Saint Peter. Made of dark bronze accented with gold vine leaves, it was created by Lorenzo Bernini in 1624 under the direction of Pope Urban VIII. For centuries, Christians had built their churches in the shape of a cross, and Saint Peter’s was no exception. The altar lay in the center under the colossal dome designed by Michelangelo; although sadly, he never lived to see it finished.
“I’m surprised the Jesuits didn’t grab you, John. How did you end up in Assisi?”
“Actually, I applied to Jesuit seminary shortly after I met Father Morelli. He realized I needed time to make a decision about the priesthood, so he arranged for the brothers in Assisi to accept me as a novice for a year.”
“What do you think of the monastic way of life so far?”
“It’s definitely not my calling. I have a feeling the Church is going to need men of action in the years to come, so that’s why I’ve chosen the Jesuits.”
“You have a lot to decide, John. As you probably already know, the ranks of the Jesuits have begun to dwindle over the past several years. We’re kind of like a peacetime army now. The priesthood is in trouble, and the Church is desperate for qualified candidates, especially men who are morally incorruptible in today’s climate of hostility toward our religion. A few bad ones have destroyed the work of thousands of good ones, but I’m heartened by the words of Saint Paul when he said, ‘Where sin has abounded, there grace will even more abound.’”
With the smell of incense permeating the air, an elderly bishop ascended the steps to the altar and raised his right hand in the sign of the cross. “Te igitur, clementissime Pater …” The High Mass spoken in Latin had begun. Leo was thinking of how much he had missed the Latin version of the Catholic Mass back in America when he glimpsed Morelli sliding across the wooden pew.
“Good morning, Leo. I see you’ve met John.”
“Yes, and I see you’ve already been at work this morning, Father.”
Morelli’s eyes widened. “How did you…?”
Leo cast his eyes down at Morelli’s mud-covered shoes.
“Oh. I wanted to take a look at something under the Basilica, but it appears that Emilio and a team of construction workers were there first. Evidently, he’s had a wall constructed sometime in the past few days to block me from reaching my latest excavation. That little toad of a man has been spying on me again.”
“Why don’t you go over his head?” Leo asked.
“Now is not a good time to rattle any cages around here. Until I know who we can trust, I can’t afford to bring any unwanted attention to my work.”
Morelli looked across the aisle at a group of nuns burning holes through them with their eyes and lowered his voice. “Did you know that Emilio made the suggestion to the cardinal that we should have a subway station constructed right under the Vatican? Can you imagine that? The man thinks it would be a great way to control the crowds and eliminate bus traffic. We could let the faithful just pop up like ground squirrels for a quick look around and then duck back down again. His plan would destroy literally thousands of years of history and make it impossible to do any further archaeological exploration of the area.”
“I agree, that’s pretty appalling, Anthony, but I’m sure the archaeological committee of Rome would put a halt to any plan like that as soon as it was presented to them.” Leo knew that the subway system in Rome would have been much more extensive if it weren’t for all the historical treasures buried below.
“The Italian government doesn’t have any say about what goes on inside Vatican City. I seem to be fighting a constant losing battle against those who want to destroy our past for some reason.”
A final blessing from the altar brought the Mass to an end and the multitude streamed past the immense doors into Saint Peter’s Square and through the colonnade created by Bernini. The three men loitered in the cool morning air before deciding to head across the street for breakfast in a small sidewalk cafe.
The waiter brought strong Italian coffee while the three men studied their menus and chose the Italian version of ham and eggs. Leo scanned the table for condiments and looked around at the different foods being served at other tables. “Too bad you can’t get hash browns in Italy.” He had a weakness for greasy American food.
Father Morelli reached into a napkin-covered basket and pulled out a peach muffin. “This cafe caters to Americans, but you can tell by the flavor of the meat that they serve only local ham that’s been cured according to strict Italian law. Thankfully, hash browns haven’t found their way here yet. I highly recommend their pastries.”
The sun was rising across a pale blue sky, erasing the early morning shadows crisscrossing the narrow Roman streets and bringing warmth to their outside table as the men began to eat. John was still studying his ham, looking as if he had discovered a new life-form, while Morelli gobbled his eggs and smothered his muffin with butter.
“Are you familiar with the ancient area below the Basilica, Leo?” Morelli asked between sips of coffee.
“I’ve only heard stories about it, but I’ve never had the opportunity to go down there myself. It must be fascinating, especially for an archaeologist.”
“It is. Directly below the Basilica, under the main altar, is the Vatican grotto, a sanctified crypt where many of our most venerated popes are buried. Then, below the grotto, is an ancient pagan and Christian necropolis that dates back to the second century. It was discovered by a team of archaeologists in the 1940s. That was the area I was looking around in this morning. About the same time they discovered the necropolis, they found a small tomb there dating to AD 160. That was the tomb that held the bones of Saint Peter. It’s one of the most important archaeological finds to date in the Christian world.”