Story: Searching for St. Peter

Emperor Constantine believed. Michelangelo trusted. Pope Pious was hopeful.

And every realtor I know swears by it. “Location is everything,” they say.

And apparently the same holds true, even deep below the Vatican.

Back in ancient Rome, a cemetery rested near the Circus Maximus, now the location of the Holy See. Emperor Constantine had the graveyard covered with dirt, in order to build a basilica. By 1447, that church fell into ruins, and over time a massive new St. Peter’s was constructed on the same site. But, until recently, the ancient burial chambers lay preserved, frozen in time much like Pompeii.

In 1939, Pope Pious XII allowed a clandestine dig of the Basilica necropolis. Against incredible odds, he prayed the workers would find St. Peter’s bones. Perhaps the sacred burial site of the first Apostle was only a legend.

Archeologists were forced to abandon their standard practice of brushing away topsoil to open and expose artifacts. Instead, they secretly tunneled down, then burrowed toward the nave, before beginning their upward exploration.

Now, just 150 visitors a day view what author H.V. Morton called “one of the most wonderful sights in Rome.” Those who can secure a coveted ticket for the Vatican Scavi tour receive more than a glimpse of underground wonders; they touch the foundation of Catholicism.

No, the price is not exorbitant; a mere ten euro will buy entry. But reservations must be requested months ahead. Only a lucky few can talk their way past stoic Swiss Guards, to ask at the Scavi office for any last minute cancellations.

Being a pre-trip planner, I obtained my ticket nine weeks ahead of time. On the correct date, I joined a group who descended a narrow marble staircase. I ducked and passed through a door in the 16th-century wall, about the height of a child’s playhouse. The air, three floors below street level, was moist, a tad musty. The passageway smelled of ancient history and felt as smooth as a path shorn by the soles of countless pilgrims.

A dark single-file walkway required me to grope along, shuffling my feet and fingering the walls for balance. Turning left, I emerged into a dimly lit room lined in thin symmetrical red bricks.

“You’re standing on the Street of the Dead,” announced our tour leader. Our heads swiveled, eyes squinting to see. But we found no skeletons or apparitions; no glass enclosed coffins with petrified bodies, like those of former Popes lying in the Basilica above.

Instead, I stared into a dusty room resembling a classical Greek or Roman movie scene. Frescoed walls dabbled with dainty flowers, vines and birds surround curved niches recessed in stucco. The floor lay tiled in a complex pattern created from half-inch black and white squares. What appeared as a rather inviting oversized living room, had it not been for the ash-filled urns, was an Etruscan mausoleum.

My group of fifteen scurried along subterranean tunnels like ants. We peeked in and out of colorful tombs, rather like strolling through a designer’s showcase. The chambers progressed from pagan times to early Christian. I was drawn to a ceiling mosaic of Christ riding in a chariot. He looked like Helios, the Greek sun god, carrying the light of the world. Vatican literature states: “Other mosaics in this tomb depicting Jonah and the whale, the good shepherd carrying a lamb, and fishermen have encouraged its interpretation as a Christian tomb.”

As I walked along, I almost heard the dead whispering, revealing tales of the past. In the Valerii family tomb, plaster reliefs of Minerva, Isis, Apollo and Jupiter showed festive dancing. Archeologist Margherita Guarducci wrote: “the religion of Dionysus predominates in this silent city of the dead with a promise of the end of troubles in an eternal happy drunkenness.” Perhaps this was why family members came to pour wine down terra cotta tubes in the vaults?

Early Christians lived in a volatile world, often persecuted. The Apostle Peter was martyred in Rome, hung upside down upon a cross in Nero’s circus, his body buried in the ground of the Vaticum cemetery. From this time onward, devoted followers came to honor him, secretly at night, in defiance of those who prohibited their beliefs.

Constantine claimed divine intervention helped win an important battle and he became the first Emperor to convert to Christianity. In 312 AD, he issued an edict permitting religious freedom. Then, he erected a basilica, choosing the cemetery hill-site to protect and secure Peter’s remains. Perhaps he also feared violatio sepulchri- to disturb the bones of a martyr would be to invite disaster.

I was feeling mildly claustrophobic in the narrow hallways, as my surreptitious tour continued. We advanced up an incline and approached sacred ground. The guide pointed out a modern drawing of the original structure, then the actual brick wall and marble columns from Constantine’s altar. We learned about graffiti scratchings on a wooden box, decoded to convey “Peter is here.” Everyone concentrated, sensing with awe that they were standing in a place venerated by Christians since the first century.

She continued, “The Apostle Peter’s real name was Simon, but Jesus called him Peter, which means “rock.” Jesus states in the Bible: ‘And I tell you, that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church.’” The Catholic interpretation is that the church was to be founded with Peter as the first Pope.

Then, the guide stopped at the underground hilltop and said, “Ladies and gentlemen: this is the rock.” A hushed moment followed, and a tingling sensation rippled through my body.

I felt a stirring connection to past and present history in the earthy chamber. The sanctity, the tears and prayerful promises of those who have come before radiates within the space. I felt their faith; the faith that gives reason to human struggle.

Now, one at a time, as if we were opening the gates of heaven, we stepped forward to peer into the cramped space below the High Altar, at Peter’s tomb. Then, rotating my body, I turned my head upward and gazed directly into the sunlit center of the Basilica dome, 390 feet above the main floor. A view of opulent splendor I’ll never forget.

Even though no evidence existed, Michelangelo designed the huge dome exactly over the grave. He believed Constantine revered that location as the true burial place of St. Peter.

The accidental uncovering of the ancient Roman mausoleums materialized when burying Pope Pius XI beneath the main altar, in the grottos. The new Pope then agreed to archeological dig of the holy site.

Anticipation grew when skeletal bones were uncovered in a crypt. However, after scientific analysis, the remains proved to be a combination of male, female and animal bones; not likely St. Peter. This problematic outcome confounded the archeologists and slowed the secretive project.

Eventually, Dr. Margherita Guarducci studied the graffiti on a wooden box taken from inside the marble column supporting Constantine’s altar. She theorized its importance and requested new Papal permission to continue the examination.

The painstaking process took years. Finally, a forensic specialist was asked in a blind test to date and identify the bones: fragments from various parts of a human body except the head and feet. He stated they came from a first century strong and robust man, about the age of 65-70. Saint Peter matches the identity.

The possibility increased with the understanding that Peter’s upside-down crucifixion caused many to believe his feet were severed and lost, when he was cut down.

At long last, Pope Paul VI was satisfied; he accepted the identity as confirmed. In June, 1968, he proclaimed the discovery as the true remains of St. Peter. The Pope retained fragments in a special reliquary for his private chapel and returned the remainder to a container under the ancient altar, as seen on the Scavi tour.

Upon returning to daylight, Anne Clippinger, a member of my group stated, “The tour left room to reflect, contemplate and feel the place. I got shivery; the emotional power was strong enough to make me take note.” She continued, “I don’t feel I need historical proof; the circumstantial evidence is strong enough. I believe it.”

While the bones may or may not belong to St. Peter, the location of the grave speaks profoundly. Yes, Constantine believed, Michelangelo trusted, Pope Paul confirmed, and I accept.

And now, whenever I think of the Vatican, my mind first returns, not to the Pietá, Sistine Chapel, gold emblazoned Baldachin, or grandeur of the immense marble sanctuary, but thirty feet underground —to the hallowed Street of the Dead and St. Peter’s tomb.