The Church of St. Stefano Rotondo

It constantly amazes me how immense of an impact Roman churches—even those that are smaller in size—can have.  I always catch my breath for a brief moment when I enter a basilica; for some reason I never expect them to be quite as large, quite as ornate, quite as magnificent, as I find they are when I make the first step into their tranquil, hushed atmosphere.  What is interesting about these spaces to me is that those who visit them, regardless of what deity they worship or religion to which they conform, can appreciate them.  There is a distinct feeling of reverence and respect that accompanies a Roman church that does not necessarily have to stem from sensing “the presence of God”.  Though those of a devout Christian faith must feel this to an overwhelming extent, those who do not consider themselves Christian can experience similar enthrallment in standing among the work of architects and artists whose fear and devotion to God were so great that it motivated them to create these places of worship.

On my second solo excursion, I visited the church of St. Stefano Rotondo.  Hidden at the end of a long gravel driveway and nestled among trees, I would think it would not be obvious to the average passerby that it is a church, were it not for the engraving carved into its stone entrance.  It was very secluded and quite, surely emphasized by the fact that there were no other visitors in the church at the time that our group went to see it.  The space was dim, but it did not feel dark in the way that other basilicas we have visited have felt to me.  The light streaming in from the windows above the altar reflected off the concrete pillars and walls. 

One of the most striking aspects of this church is fact that it is circular.  I learned afterwards that the church is one of the oldest circular churches in existence, and takes its shape from the plan of a classical mausoleum, not unlike those of August of and Hadrian.  According to Macadam’s Blue Guide, Christians adapted this style of architecture for the building of a shrine above a martyr’s tomb.  (261-262) The dead are not only memorialized in the shape of the church itself, but in the paintings of gruesome martyr deaths that line its walls.  While some depict Christians praying amongst threatening bears and hungry lions, other representations are far more horrific. 

The details of the deaths suffered by Christian martyrs are in no way spared in this church.  The blood and gore that has been vividly portrayed in these scenes demonstrates the way in which martyrs were willing to sacrifice themselves for their love of God.  For a martyr, giving up bodily life on earth was a small price to pay for eternal life in heaven. The fact that these martyr deaths are venerated and memorialized on the walls of St. Stefano Rotondo emphasizes the notion that a martyr can never truly die, because the spaces that commemorate them allow their memory to thrive.