The town itself, leaning against the slope of the hill upon which it clings, is shaped like the almond-eyes of Giotto's Madonna, with the massive basilica of St. Francis at one tip and that of St. Clare on the other. In the middle--the pupil, as it were--was and is the forum. The temple of Minerva (now, of course, Santa Maria sopra---over---Minerva) still dominates the piazza. A few meters under our feet are the remains of walls, an altar with benches, and a canal for shedding water. These can be visited through a remarkable underground museum. Ambrose, I think, would have loved Assisi for its beauty then almost as much as we do now. The students' first response when I took them to the church of San Rufino, Assisi's first Bishop and a martyr, was "we are only staying here two days!?!" But in Ambrose's day, San Rufino was some sort of villa or bath: the cistern and some work are visible under the glass panels of the floor. And Francis won't have sacralized the place for another 800 years.
Ambrose might have appreciated Assisi's other famous resident, though. Beneath the church of Santa Maria Maggiore, near the walls, are the remains of a house of the famous Roman love poet, Propertius. On the walls of his house are still visible graffiti notes left by whom we might as well call pilgrims of poetry. (it is dang handy having an archaeologist along on this trip!)
From Assisi it is still another 5 days walk to Rome, and it is half way between Rome and Florence, which Ambrose certainly did visit. So, perhaps he would have found it a convenient resting place. If so, he would have found a vibrant Christian community with which to stay. So did we: the Cittadella Ospitalita are as remarkably hospitable (sic) as they have been in each of the 10 years we've been coming here. So too, I should add, are the staff of the regional hospital where we had to take a student suffering from migraine. Everyone was so considerate and friendly...and it cost us nothing. I can also report that said student is fully recovered. Francis might get some credit, but Universal Health Care is not only a fundamental human right, it is just dang useful!
Florence, an ancient town of Etruscan roots, boasts proof of Ambrose's pastoral visit here. Not only do we have documentary evidence, we have a place: the church of S. Ambrogio. It isn't a big place, and it is off the tourist route--near the massive Synagogue well outside the Roman walls and just inside the renaissance walls. Neither walls survive, except in archaeological evidence occasionally drawn out in helpful colored pavement stones on the streets, many of the towers and a couple of triumphal gates, and a few strips of wall on the Altrarno (altra-Arno: across the Arno river) side of town.
The reason for Ambrose's visit was to consecrate a churn with relics he'd brought with him just for the occasion. He had met a wealthy widow and mother of four adult children. Their relationship blossomed such that the three daughters took religious vows and the son became a priest. The widow vowed celibacy and used her wealth to help Ambrose and the martyrs spread the faith through the most concrete of means: churches and relics.
I imagine, and I hope it is not to irreverent, Ambrose as a sort of Johnny Appleseed of the Gospel. Being passionate and devoted to the martyrs he used their physical remains as seeds which he scattered all over central and northern Italy: planting them in churches and trusting them to grow the devotion of the faithful.
The little church of St. Ambrose sits in a friendly blue-collar neighborhood. A figure of the saint is anchored to the wall of a building opposite the church, and he is seen in fresco above the central door. Inside it is, oddly, nearly impossible to find any image of Ambrose. Perseverance pays off in amusing ways, though. There is one large painting with a card on the altar that identifies Ambrose as one of the saints adoring the Madonna and Child...it is interesting how often Ambrose is paralleled with Jerome. They were contemporaries, of course, and 2 of the greatest minds the church has produced. Moreover they knew one another and corresponded. Both lived in Rome, though if I remember correctly, not at the same time. Their circle was small and consisted of mutual professional relationships. But they were not friends. It seems that on the death of Rome's Bishop Damasus, Jerome expected to be elevated to the post: he'd worked for Damasus as an important member of his episcopal court (which is why tradition usually has him anachronistically with the trappings of a Cardinal). To advance his bid he requested Ambrose's support--not exactly an appeal for patronage, but certainly an exercise in the favorite occupation of Rome's Illustri (great men), whether pagan or Christian: we'd call it back scratching. For whatever reason, Ambrose seems not to have replied to the letter. Note, he didn't say no, or write a negative letter, he just didn't write.
We can speculate why: Jerome was extremely unpopular in Rome for his acerbic criticism of the city's clergy for living luxuriously. Other such criticism are common enough to suspect that he may have had a point, but he was not diplomatic at all--more like a conservative radio talk show host than a prophet: Rush Limbaugh, not Henry David Thoreau. Besides, he reportedly consorted comfortably with very wealthy women--widows and women whom he was encouraging to take vows. Critics saw a certain hypocrisy in this. In any case, from now on Jerome's writings will either pointedly omit Ambrose all together (as when he compiled a who's who of the Church's most important figures) or with nasty--if clever--critiques (as when he managed to simultaneously accuse Ambrose of bad theology and plagiarism just by saying "I saw good Greek turned into bad Latin").
Back at the little church of S. Ambrogio, another sign indicates that there is an unusual fresco of the saint dating, if I remember correctly, from the XII century. It is unusual for two reasons. First, he is identified by a banner like ribbon with his name written in Italian--not Latin. Secondly, the fresco has been completely covered over by a large XIV century fresco, except for a tiny corner that has been chipped away, with obvious deliberation, exactly where Ambrose was to be found beneath. Now what kind of records must they have kept to have known exactly where to remove the inches of plaster that had encased him for 500 years? I confess, I laughed when I finally found it...Beyond that there just isn't much. The parish is convinced that their's was the original site of the church Ambrose built, or at least visited, but there is no archaeological evidence that goes so far back. Still, we know he visited the city.
Ambrose's Florence would have been quite small, walled, and already beginning to sprout churches. The pagan city had been dedicated to Hercules and a statue of the demi-god stood guard over the city's main bridge. At some point, Hercules and his statue were replaced with John the Baptist: whose statue was in place on the river at the time Dante was beginning to have difficulties with the Donati clan. I honestly don't recall whether or not Ambrose is mentioned in the Paradisio. Besides speaking to my lack of mastery of the masterpiece, this says something about the gradual eclipse of the influence of the saint in history.
One of the students, casually and innocently, asked me why I have become so enthusiastic about Ambrose, especially since he is no longer so very famous. I'd been thinking about it and had a more ready and thorough answer than she was expecting. St. Ambrose of Milan is the perfect patron for a Catholic Liberal Arts university precisely because he is not too "big." He does not so dominate the conversation that he is always the center of attention. He was not such a great master that we are reduced to mere pupils. He was complicated, pastoral, brilliant, industrious, spiritual....and flawed. He wrote for the moment, not the ages, about issues that were of immediate concern. Sometimes he made mistakes or became too deeply entrenched in his own conviction that he was right. He teases the line between faith and ideology at least on a couple of occasions. He was a writer, an orator, a scholar of the law, a master of two languages, an architect, musician, poet, administrator, fund raiser, diplomat, political activist, a leader and mostly a man of disciplined faith. He is a portal into the Liberal Arts and the Catholic Intellectual Tradition without himself becoming the goal of our study. He is a gate way, not a destination; a means, not an end; a brother, yes, a big brother. We can look up to him without feeling that we have to idolize him. We can pursue our own path while leaning on him for advice.
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