Places

The Basilica di Sant'Ambrogio was originally built in the year 379 under the leadership St. Ambrose, Arch Bishop of Milan, Italy. In the 1100's it was rebuilt. During WWII it took on some serious damage from Allied bombings but has since been restored. So, if it feels like you're going back in time when you walk under those Roman arches and into the courtyard, it's because you are.

A few years ago I spent a semester living in Milan, and I discovered the Basilica just down the street from my school. Almost every day after class I would wander over to the old church that had been there for longer than I could imagine. I would walk through the courtyard, imagining myself in the same place many years ago, walking on the same timeless stones as so many others.

And then I would enter the church. There is something very powerful and surreal about entering into an old church. It feels old. The steps leading to the door are concave and smooth because of the countless feet that they have supported. The doors are heavy and creaky, and the handles have the same smooth characteristics as the stairs. The place is a little bit chilly and drafty because 900 years ago they didn't put insulation in giant stone buildings. Ancient frescoes, sculptures, and relics fill the walls and nooks and hallways throughout the building. And there's the silence. The cavernous atrium hears every footstep and every cough and every shuffle and every silent prayer and echoes them into eternity.

I grew to love my afternoon visits to the Basilica. There was this small chapel on the south side of the church that was reserved for silent reflection and prayer. It became my spot. Almost every day I would walk in and sit down in the pew and just breath. Sometimes I'd listen to music. Sometimes not. Sometimes I'd journal. Sometimes not. The point was that in the big, loud, polluted, bustling Italian city that was Milan, I had found a place where I didn't have to be big, loud, polluted, bustling...or Italian.

I need a place in my life. I need my Kansas City version of the Basilica di Sant'Ambrogio - A place where I can just be, where I can journal or not journal, listen to music or not listen to music. A place that exists to center me, silence me, allow me to listen to my heart and soul.

There's a little chapel that I've found right down the road from my house. It doesn't have almost 1,700 years of stories and people under its belt like my place in Milan did, but it does have some history. It was built in 1942 as a church for the hearing impaired. It looks more American than Roman, with rafters and floors made out of wood instead of stone. Its not as drafty and not as elaborate as the old Basilica, either.

But I still felt that shock of silence when I walked through the doors this morning. More than anything, it was quiet. And the walls were listening for footsteps and coughs and shuffles and prayers to echo into eternity.

dave