Subterranean Mystery Tour

National Catholic Reporter, Oct 27, 2000 by John L. Jr. Allen

Visitors can soak in spiritual energy, ponder whether ancient cemetery holds bones of first pope

Certain spots seem flooded with holiness, places where mystery crackles in the air. The tomb of St. Peter, part of an ancient Roman necropolis buried 40 feet deep under St. Peter's Basilica, offers a case in point.

Descending a metal staircase, analogous in my mind to descending through centuries of Christian tradition, and following the first-century stone street leading to the tomb was a sublime experience. The hush, the soft lighting, the ghosts of Christian history create an air of anticipation powerful enough to evoke the presence of what Rudolf Otto, in his classic Idea of the Holy, describes as "tremendous and fascinating mystery."

Beyond a pilgrimage to Christian origins, though, this visit to the ancient cemetery that contains St. Peter's tomb is also an encounter with a riveting detective story. Are Peter's bones buried in the place long known as Peter's tomb? Despite Paul VI's unequivocal "yes" in 1968, questions have long lingered. Perhaps they always will.

After two years of cleaning, lighting and reconstruction, the ancient cemetery can now be seen more or less as it was when small bands of Christians furtively scratched their testimonies on its walls. Visitors can soak in the spiritual energy, muse over whether the bones preserved under Plexiglas are really St. Peter's -- and ponder how to reconcile this humble legacy of a persecuted sect with the massive baroque splendor of the 16th-century basilica that rises above it.

My wife, Shannon, and I went down into the scavi, as the site is called in Italian, on a rainy Saturday morning in early October, one week after details of the restoration had been presented at a news conference. Accompanying us on our tour was Pietro Zander, an official from the Vatican's excavations office, along with Nazzareno Gabrielli, the avuncular director of scientific research for the Vatican museums. Gabrielli was an ideal companion, explaining complicated points of microbiology one minute, joking the next that he'd never entered a particular mausoleum because he is too portly for its narrow door.

The environment is hot and dank. Visitors have been known to faint. Gabrielli, however, said the oppressive humidity is a necessary preservation strategy. Because they were buried in damp soil near the Tiber River, the walls of the necropolis soaked up moisture. If they become too dry, many of the magnificent images on their surfaces would dissolve.

This delicacy also vastly complicated the process of removing 16 centuries of grime. A square foot could take six hours to complete, sometimes using the equivalent of an electric toothbrush.

Making the rounds with members of the project's brain trust did have its privileges. At one point, we stepped inside a mausoleum normally off limits, as Gabrielli wanted to explain something about differences in the masonry used to construct the walls. He proceeded to thump the walls and encouraged us to do the same. He swiftly brought down a small chunk of masonry, which elicited little more than a bemused "mama mia" and a shrug. Were I to do the same thing under different circumstances, I couldn't help thinking, I would probably find out what the Swiss Guards are capable of doing with their halberds.

Preserving the necropolis

As Gabrielli explained it, the two-year restoration project was driven by the need to preserve the necropolis, not just for scientists and historians, but for pilgrims. Its lighting, its organization, its mood was planned to be one that invites prayer rather than research. The tomb exists, Gabrielli said, above all, to lead Christians back to their roots.

Difficult as it is to imagine today, there once was a Rome without the papacy, a Rome in which the word Vatican referred not to the world's most powerful religious bureaucracy but to a hill outside the city notorious for bad wine and too many snakes. In the second century, some wealthy pagan families built tombs here.

For the earliest Roman Christians, the hill is a site of supreme importance. Here, they believed, the apostle Peter had been martyred under Nero -- crucified upside down at his own request in a final act of humility (believing himself unworthy to die in the same manner as his master).

When Constantine decided in 330 to build a basilica in Peter's honor, he chose the Vatican hill. He did so despite two major obstacles -- the need to fill in tons of earth to create a level space and the political uproar that must have followed his decision to build over a graveyard, then as now considered an act of sacrilege. The tombs were filled in with dirt and remained sealed for the next 1,600 years.

When Constantine's basilica was torn down to build the present St. Peter's in the 16th century, its floor was preserved a few feet under the new structure, creating a space for crypts for popes and other ecclesiastical VIPs, such as Queen Christina of Sweden. In 1939, Pius XII needed a place to inter his predecessor and authorized lowering the floor. About two feet down the workmen struck a brick wall, and the rediscovery of the necropolis was the result.