From July 6 to 22, 2012, Connie Wardle participated in a pilgrimage through countries touched by the Protestant Reformation—France, Switzerland and Scotland. This is the sixth of a series of reflections on the journey.
I sat in a quiet village in Switzerland in the footprint of a lost city. Beyond the fields, I could just make out the line of ruined walls that once encircled the capital of Rome’s Swiss province. The city of Aventicum was probably born around the time of Christ and it grew into a bustling place, home to about 20,000 people.
Today, in its place stands the village of Avenches, home to about 3,500.
I wondered what it must be like to live surrounded by such history. Ruins of Roman baths, a theatre and a temple stand in the fields on the outskirts of town, and in the museum one can visit some of the artifacts that have been recovered. More must be hidden beneath the earth and paving stones. And much must exist now only in the speculation of scholars and the imaginations of visitors.
Perhaps for local people who live surrounded by these reminders of this city—which rose and dwindled away again long before the first Europeans set foot in North America—the place has lost its enchantment. Perhaps it has become routine.
Yet for someone like me who was just passing through, walking by those ruins brought history very close. I imagined time as a heavy curtain that hung between me and this place and its people in Roman times. As if I could pull it back and catch a glimpse of them.
The feeling stayed with me as our little band of pilgrims visited a modest Reformed church, which still goes by the name it carried before the Reformation: Sainte Marie-Madeleine.
The building itself has evolved through the ages. The oldest surviving section dates from the 11th century, yet it has modern stained glass windows created by Brother Eric of Taize. A mural from the 13th century adorns one wall. The sanctuary was expanded in the 15th century and renovated in the 18th.
In the old chapel, it was easy to imagine standing shoulder to shoulder with past pilgrims, with only the heavy curtain of time between us. So often I have said the words of the Apostles’ Creed: “I believe in the holy catholic church, the communion of saints…” But so rarely had I thought about being a member of that church or that communion. I hadn’t considered what it might mean.
There are generations and generations of Christians who have gone before me. Some of them are the well-known men and women whose lives and theologies are studied in seminaries. Others lived their faith quietly and humbly and then faded out of history. Even if I can never know their names, even if all physical evidence of them is gone, they are as much a part of Christ’s church as I am. It’s a wonderful thought.
“I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. Amen.”
