Months ago, we planned a family trip to Italy to visit our daughter Olivia, who is enrolled in a European master’s degree program in chemistry. A 2017 graduate of St. Patrick School in Carlisle and 2021 graduate of Trinity High School in Camp Hill, Olivia is currently studying in Bologna.
Eager to visit a country that was new to us and to have the family together again for at least a little while, my husband Jason, younger daughter Veronica and I booked the trip to take place around the Easter celebration.
We flew into Rome on Good Friday and then promptly took a two-hour train ride to Bologna to spend about a week there. Our itinerary put us back in Rome on Friday, April 25, to enjoy three nights before flying out on Monday, the 28th.
I knew that Pope Francis had been in ill health. It was heartening to hear that he made a St. Peter’s Square appearance on Easter Sunday. On Easter Monday, I did something I hadn’t done yet on our visit: I turned on the TV in our rental apartment. Although I don’t speak Italian, the picture of Pope Francis and the words on the screen told me what had happened. Just to be sure, I searched my New York Times account and other American media. Ironically, there was not yet a U.S.-based story on the pope’s passing. The Vatican announced his death at 9:45 a.m. Rome time. I turned on the television at 10 a.m. The fact that I was probably one of the first people I know to be aware of the pope’s passing is only the beginning of how surreal our visit became.
As details emerged about the rules regarding the timing of a papal funeral and burial, it became clear our Rome-based agenda was about to change. The funeral would be 10 a.m. Saturday in Vatican City. The Maddux family’s scheduled tour of the Sistine Chapel and Vatican museums that had been booked for 1:30 p.m. Saturday was canceled.
Then came news that Pope Francis would not be buried in the Vatican, as is most common. His wish, rather, was to be buried in the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore. That name rang a bell for Olivia, who had visited Rome a few years ago. Her quick check of our Rome rental location alerted us to the fact that we would be staying less than 800 feet from Santa Maria Maggiore. Pope Francis last visited the basilica on April 12; he is now the 8th pope to be buried at this location.
Clearly our trip to Rome was not only going to be impacted by Pope Francis’ final farewell, but was also destined to be intertwined with it.
All of this news – the pontiff’s death, his final wishes, our proximity to his burial space – was a lot to absorb. As a lifelong Catholic, I was saddened by the pope’s passing, if not surprised, given his appearance in St. Peter’s Square the day before. As a first-time visitor to Rome, I wasn’t quite sure what to make of how all of this was going to work.
But we had a train ticket and a place to stay, so the four of us proceeded to Rome after a lovely week in Bologna and Florence. We surrendered the idea of how our trip was supposed to go and opened ourselves to letting it unfold.
We didn’t have any problem getting from Bologna to Rome by train or walking to our apartment, which was about 10 minutes from the train station. We could see Santa Maria Maggiore up the hill at the end of the street, even before we settled in. The basilica steeple was visible from the windows in our apartment.
We decided to visit the basilica on Friday because we weren’t sure we would have another opportunity. It is a beautiful, moving and elaborate space, as are so many of the Italian churches we viewed. The basilica is said to have been built in the 4th century during Pope Liberius’ reign after the Virgin Mary appeared to him in a dream. I can see why it was one of Pope Francis’ favorites and his ideal final resting place.
There was a plywood casing around the spot where Pope Francis would be buried when we visited Friday. Hundreds of people gathered inside and out, many praying in the chapel that houses what is considered the most important Marian icon, the Salus Populi Romani (Protectress of the Roman People). Many others visited the relic of the Holy Crib, located down a flight of steps toward the basilica altar.
We went about the rest of our day in Rome on Friday and discussed what we wanted to do on Saturday. Trying to catch any of the papal ceremonies seemed potentially overwhelming. But not trying seemed like a missed opportunity to witness history and pay our respects.
Ultimately, we decided we would head to the Vatican and see how close we could get to the funeral. We rode the Metro, which we weren’t sure was a good idea at the time, but proved to be just fine. It was no more crowded than a typical American subway system on the way to a big event, and a lot less rowdy.
We got off at the Ottaviano-San Pietro stop and started walking. We walked where we were told to by installations of police and other security members. We didn’t know where we headed exactly, but we figured as long as we were moving, we were getting closer.
Eventually, we went through a security line and made it within eyesight of St. Peter’s Basilica. We watched the funeral Mass on a big screen with a view of St. Peter’s Dome in the distance. By the time we settled in, we could hear our native tongue as an American proclaimed the first reading.
Over the course of the Mass, so many different languages were spoken, keeping with the worldwide nature of the Church and in accordance, from what I understand, with the pope’s wishes. We didn’t know whether the people around us were there because it was an historic event or a religious one. But regardless, the tone was reverent; it felt safe and comforting.
We exchanged the Sign of Peace with our neighbors in handshakes and multilingual greetings. Much to our surprise, we were able to take Communion. One priest came to our section and somehow was able to distribute the Eucharist to thousands of people. I never would have expected to receive Communion at the funeral of a pope. And yet, it seemed fitting.
We left as the Mass was wrapping up; security looked to control the crowds and have people leave in shifts, but also because we were thinking of trying to get back to our apartment and the basilica to see the casket taken in.
We then realized that the most direct route to our temporary home was probably going to be blocked off by the procession. So, we decided to follow the procession route from St. Peter’s to Santa Maria Maggiore. It was our surest way home and also secured the chance to pay tribute to the pope either in procession or at the church. As it turns out, we were probably about halfway there when the police escort and modified popemobile came through with Pope Francis’ casket. People cheered. People prayed. People took pictures, of course.
We continued on to the basilica. We did not see the casket carried inside but we did stand outside while people paid their respects.
The number of news outlets outside the church the entire time we were there was amazing. My husband was interviewed by an Australian news crew. We had lunch at an outdoor cafe next to a French news crew. A cameraman and on-air reporter left in the middle of their meal to do a live report at the basilica and then came back to resume the meal.
On Monday, we went back to Santa Maria Maggiore. We saw the simple tomb – only a silver cross (an enlarged reproduction of his pectoral cross) and his name, “Franciscus.” (Technically, “FRANCISCVS”, the derivative of the pope’s name in Latin.) A line wrapped around the back of the basilica, through security and entered through the Porta Santa (holy door), one of the special entrances in the four major basilicas that are opened only during Jubilee Years by the pope.
In the funeral crowd, along the route and at the basilica, we mingled with priests, friars, sisters and religious members I couldn’t identify. (I particularly liked the young man in the black cassock and fedora.) They prayed. They took selfies in the church. They waited in line to clear security. They were just like the rest of us.
In addition to religious, the most noticeable organized presence during our Roman visit was the police. I’ve never seen so many police and/or military members; they were armed with a variety items and others I’m sure I couldn’t see. Despite being part of the estimated 250,000 people at the funeral and 150,000 people on the parade route, everything felt calm and safe.
This did not feel like a world event accommodating more than half a million people. It felt like, dare I say it, almost a simple affair.
The police presence, I should add, was undoubtedly also due to the security of the approximately 50 world leaders who flocked to Rome that weekend. Kings and princes and presidents and prime ministers attended. We saw more than one motorcade that was probably escorting someone very important. The police were strict but generally friendly. They had a lot to manage in a relatively short amount of time.
We also visited the Colosseum and several other historic sites on our trip, a reminder of just how long Rome and its people have been around. The history surrounding us in Italy, and Rome in particular, was awesome in the truest sense of the word. I would say that I felt both small compared to the big picture but also very much included in it.
I would never say that I was happy we were in Italy when the pope died. But I am grateful that we experienced such a significant event in an extremely personal way. As I wrote in the book outside the basilica for visitors to express their condolences, “Rest in Peace, Holy Father. May God be with you.”
(Photos courtesy of Lisa Maddux, a freelance reporter for The Catholic Witness.)
By Lisa Maddux, The Catholic Witness
