Face of God

I.

What is the physicality of the space that we find ourselves in? Are we experiencing things slowly, as we see them and touch them? Are we walking and thus become not only spectators of the space which is in front of us, but also fully part of the space? Is there such thing, as Fr. James Schall pointed out, as “metaphysics of walking”? I believe that there is. I think it points to a possibility of living in the present fully, rather than being scattered throughout the past and future.

An interesting experience which is connected to the philosophy of walking had occurred to me while visiting Rome. It was a first time for both my husband and I in Rome. We came to the city by train after crossing the Adriatic Sea on an all-night ferry. We didn’t have hotel reservations: just a map with some hotel names. Where do we go? Strangely, we weren’t afraid. Quite the contrary, we felt truly free. Neither of us spoke Italian but that didn’t seem to bother us.

As we emerged from the underground and left the train station, a taxi driver planted his body firmly in front of us. He muttered something in Italian: something to the effect “where are we going? He will take us there.” But there was a slight problem there. We had no idea where we were headed. Without even asking, he grabbed our suitcase and told us to follow him. And so we did. Not even five minutes later, he led us into a hotel. We trusted him and it paid off.

II.

Rome was inviting. The streets led us perfectly into the world that the natives were inhabiting every day. The layout of the streets didn’t make us feel like strangers in the city. Rather, we were part of the humanity, the everydayness of the city and its buildings. Santa Maria Maggiore was not some island on its own to be looked at like an expensive china that you take out of your cabinet only occasionally. Santa Maria Maggiore was part of its past and the meaning that is connected with that. But it was also firmly planted in the present. Her being exuded the extraordinary characteristics that are unmistakably past. And yet, being firmly planted in the present, it welcomed the visitors to explore her ordinariness. And so we did.

A man came up to us in the middle of our stroll throughout the church. Usually, one gets uncomfortable when another human being approaches us, and we know that they might talk with us. What is he going to say? Why did he pick me? Do I have a sign on my head: please, anybody, talk to me? Well, at times these same questions do go through my head as well. This time, however that did not happen.

This man in question was quite old; perhaps in his eighties. And he looked a bit disheveled. He wore a tattered jacket and carried a knapsack that suggested that was all he had in his possession. He spoke in English at first.

“Don’t you love this church? I come here every day.”

His accent was quite heavy and broken up, yet I didn’t think that he was native Italian.

“I have left my country and moved to Rome. I love the Lord and I have come here to die.”

I remember thinking how morbid that was. But since then, I have changed my mind about the man’s comment. My husband and I continued to listen to him. We never asked him his name but none of it mattered. I wondered where did he sleep, where did he eat. Was he able to wash himself? A few ants that were crawling and moving ever so slowly on the strap of his knapsack caught my attention in the midst of the conversation. He was from Czech republic and since I spoke the language, we continued in his native tongue. He mainly shared passages from the New Testament with us and how Christ was the salvation for him. It was an amazing feeling: standing in a church in Rome, speaking Czech, a language he was most at home with. His physical self and his linguistic self were participating in some type of dialectic. It was quite beautiful.

Despite the fact that this man certainly seemed a bit confused and quite frankly smelled, there was a human presence about him. He, even in his state of utter confusion was made in the image of God. He, even in his malodorous presence and lack of teeth was a child of God. He was not confused about his love for God or his religious belief. I think that this is what it means seeing the face of Christ in everyone.