Memories Of Saint Rose

[Written for The Southern Cross]

I clearly recall one day in second grade religion class where I learned something very memorable. Ms. Claudine, the religion teacher, taught us about the first canonized saint of the new world, who in 1671 was proclaimed by Pope Clement X Patroness of the Americas, the Philippines and the West Indies. That morning I learned that Saint Rose had been born in Lima like me, and that it was possible to visit her house. I had seen statues of her in every church of the city, faithfully flanking almost every altar along with Saint Martin de Porres, the second saint Lima claims as her own, but I did not learn till then that I could visit her house.

I asked my mother about the house of Saint Rose and a few weeks later, I took my first trip into downtown Lima (at least the first trip I remember). There was a church appropriately painted the color rose next to a beautiful colonial garden. In the garden stood an adobe hut built by Saint Rose’s brother at her request so she could pray away from the noise of the house. Her father was an official at the viceroy’s court, so the house, only a few blocks away from Lima’s main square, must have been a busy place.

I recall placing my hands up against hand imprints on one adobe brick inside the hut. They were imprints of the saint’s hands. My hands were much smaller than the hands of Saint Rose. “I am touching the hands of a saint,” I thought. I saw a burnt piece of wood hanging on the wall of the garden, believed to have been burnt by Satan out of fury since he could not tempt Saint Rose. I fearfully observed several contraptions she used to inflict physical penances on herself. As every pilgrim had done throughout the centuries, I wrote a petition on a slip of paper and dropped it into the well of the garden. My older sister and my mother did the same. My request never materialized, I still remember it well.

There was a small wooden door in the garden that opened out to a busy street. Saint Rose, who always remained living at home since she never took religious vows, sat at this door for hours and took care of the sick that approached. Saint Martin de Porres, a Dominican brother from the nearby friary, would often stop to chat with Saint Rose while she sat at the door.

After her death on August 24th 1617, she was buried as she requested at the Convent of Santo Domingo, the Dominican friary where Saint Martin de Porres lived. To this day, her remains along with those of Saint Martin, are venerated at this beautiful 16th century convent where the first university of the new world was founded in 1551.

Sixteen years later I walked into the Church of Santa Maria Sopra Minerva in Rome, Italy. I had arrived as a seminarian to the city two days prior. To my surprise, on the second altar to the right after entering this Dominican Church, I found the painting commissioned for the canonization of Saint Rose in 1671. There she was, looking down upon me, flanked by a Peruvian flag and a statue of Saint Martin de Porres.

In a few days the universal Church will celebrate the feast of this great mystic who for centuries has inspired Christians to faithfully approach Christ with great reverence while leaving behind all vanity and conceit. Lima and all limeños proudly identify with their patroness and joyfully share her Christian witness with the world.

Memories of Saint Rose