Some articles, after having been assigned a spot on this site, refuse to stay in the background, but keep breathlessly returning to center stage, demanding more than their allotted fifteen minutes of fame.

Such is the one about the last church in Rome, the 50th to be built for
for the Centennial, which turned into a celebration of Pope John Paul’s 25th anniversary as Bishop of Rome.

After thinking it over for a couple of days, I concluded that the lovers of the limelight are correct; they deserve another chance on the world stage, for they can teach us important lessons , both about where we are in the grand scale of things, and where we are going.

Let us visit once again that 50th church, recently dedicated in Rome for Pope John Paul’s 25th anniversary as Pope of the World. You may recall that it was named Dives in Misericordia, Church of God, our Merciful Father, designed by the world-famous architect, Richard Alan Meier. In 1984, Meier was given the Prizker Prize, the highest accolade in architecture, for his “single-minded pursuit of new directions in contemporary architecture.”

Whereas Frank Lloyd Wright was concerned with the horizontal extension of space and the organic blending of a building with the natural environment, Meier told Doris Herzing for Newsday, April 24, 1984, that, “I think he (Wright) was wrong. Unlike nature, architecture doesn’t grow and doesn’t change. It is inert. What is important to me is the dialogue between what is natural and what is inert.” He believed that a building should contrast with its surroundings, rather than blend with them, to “heighten one’s awareness of nature.”

This may go a long way in explaining the existence of this extraordinary church, smack-dab in the middle of a parking lot, adjacent to a working- class apartment building, which strikes me as a monument to Meier and his architectural statement, rather than an attempt to reveal the compassionate arms of “the Merciful Father.”

Last week, I suggested that statues of saints circling the building might soften its starkness, and remind the faithful of what Church is all about Yet, the absence of statues might work toward our good.

Think about it. Without the use of marble, chisel or hours of an artist’s labor, we can populate the entire area with the fruit our imaginations. Each can choose his or her favorite heroes and heroines, and even change them once in a while for variety’s sake. This year, St. John Vianney might be in fashion, followed by St. Joan of Arc. How’s that for contrast, Meier?

Seriously, God’s infinite generosity in offering us inexhaustible riches in the lives of the saints cannot be taken lightly, for super-abundant graces were given, not only to bind them with a deeply personal love to God, but, also, for our example and encouragement.

Let’s also admit their lives make for spell-binding stories – stories of great expectations and failures, clarity of vision, followed by the darkest of nights, of love offered, taken back, and, eventually, given with whole-hearted abandonment. Can “Days of Our Lives” offer better entertainment or inspiration?

Everyone chooses his or her friends according to personal experiences and tastes. The same way it is with saints, who, through the years, become, not acquaintances off in the distance to be admired, but close-up companions on the journey, worthy of that parking lot circle, with faces toward those looking out from the apartment building, seeking reassurance that Christ is real, not a mirage to disappear in the blinding light of the noonday sun.

Many on my personal list can be gathered from the saints, canonized or not, found in the Archives of this site. After St. Francis, surely must come for that arena Rafael Cardinal Merry del Val. I fell in love with him back about 1957, when reading the biography with his name as the title, by Marie Cecilia Buehrle.

He belongs in the parking lot rotunda, as a reminder to all that there is service beyond the pomp and circumstance of Vatican rituals, for the cardinal, who served as Secretary of State under Pope Pius X, at the end of the day, would don a simple, black cassock and head for Rome’s slums of Trastevere, where he ministered to the poverty-stricken boys, whose friend he remained until his death.

He was proud of them, and they were proud of their priest who preached in a way they could understand, and who would see to it that when anyone fell ill, a doctor would be there to help, and hospital bills were paid. When there was no money for rent, somehow, it just appeared.

After World War I began to sweep young men into battle, Raphael stayed up night after night writing letters to them, and it was often he who was called upon to break the news to a family about their son’s death, to offer the Mass, as well as to accompany the family to the cemetery.

The boys who returned broken in body and spirit, knew Raphael would help them to heal. Some had written that they had strayed from the Faith, and were discouraged about where they stood with God. With gentleness, Rafael would remind them that their God was a Father, a Shepherd, who knew their weakness and was ready to forgive even before being asked.

When Pope Pius X died, Raphael, who could have lived a comfortable life anywhere, chose Trastevere, where he continued to serve the poor.

On Monday, February 24, 1930, Raphael was with his boys and became ill that evening. The next day the doctors diagnosed appendicitis, and said that an operation would be necessary. Infection set in, which the doctors could not cure, and he died, surrounded by his boys.

Many of the young men came home from throughout Italy, grown now, farmers, artisans, soldiers, professional men. They insisted on preparing the body for burial themselves, stayed day and night by the bier and carried him to his tomb in the crypt of St. Peter’s, close to his beloved Pius X.

It would be remiss of me to fail to admit that through the years I have been puzzled and saddened by the fact that Raphael, with his brilliant, searching mind, apparently approved Pius X ‘s unyielding stance against Catholic intellectuals’ interpretations of dogma and Scripture, which led to untold suffering for the Church’s best and brightest. It would take Pope John XXIII to begin to heal the wounds created by suspicion of all things modern.

While we find ourselves bombing Iraq into peace, we can take hope in those saints of every denomination, who walk with the lost and the lonely, the frightened and the sick, who make up our imaginary Circle of Living Saints, surrounding the Universal Church of God Our Merciful Father.

May the same Merciful Father surround us with love in this most unlovely of times, and grant peace to all who visit the church that soars and swoops next to a parking lot.

Peace to all. Amen.

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