On a rocky outcrop within sight of the topaz blue of the Adriatic stands the Basilica of the Holy House of Loreto. I came with a certain mental reservation because the 21st-century man in me was slightly uncomfortable about the idea of it being transported here by angels (only because I think angels have better things to do with their time).
The literature at the basilica mentions the legendary mode of transport, but is more inclined to attribute the transfer to the work of Crusaders who were finally expelled from Palestine in 1291. Archaeological research seems to confirm that it was transferred to Loreto by ship from Epirus as a wedding dowry to the daughter of the ruler, Niceforo Angelo, who was betrothed to Philip, son of Charles II of Anjou, King of Naples.
The same research confirms that the stones of the Holy House bear the marks of five red crosses of the kind used by the Knights Templar who defended the holy places in Palestine. The primitive brown stones of the Holy House are subsumed within a marble casing designed by Bramante, which forms a kind of outside shell, which encases it so that it stands as a little church protected by a huge one built over it, much in the manner of the Portiuncula at the Basilica of St Mary of the Angels. I was there in Assisi earlier in the day. It’s been a week for churches within churches.
What the outer casing does is to complete the fourth side, since the imported Holy House is actually three-sided: three walls about 10ft high of stones of a kind not native to the Le Marche region of Italy, but corresponding to those found in Nazareth. Archaeologists say this structure was contiguous and coexistent with the grotto in Nazareth, which tradition held to be the home of Our Lady and the place of the Annunciation, so the three walls were a kind of “extension” to the cave. The fourth wall provides the little house with a back wall where the cave would have been, and there an altar. The great basilica towers over the little church of the Holy House. Its exterior looks a little like a Crusader fortress. Inside the huge domed church is richly decorated; there is a magnificent retro-choir where the friars celebrate the Office and numerous beautiful side chapels.
I came, as I said, rather in the mindset of 21st-century man, but all of that vanished as the bells struck 12 and a friar came into the Holy House and we began the Angelus. It was no longer the archaeological possibility that I was standing within the very walls in which that angelic salutation took place which so moved me, but rather the very possibility made me realise theologically that its taking place was as real as standing within these old walls. “And here the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us,” is how the Angelus is prayed in the shrine, but the “here” might refer to the primitive house, or to the world of flesh and matter, the world of human experience and sensation, or the “here” of a heart disposed to welcome the transformation of the indwelling of the Spirit. All these things were like the structures encasing a hidden, precious truth at the centre: that the Word was made flesh and therefore flesh is of its existence a rude home in which God wishes to come and dwell and beautify.
The image of Our Lady of Loreto is a black Madonna robed in garments of gold with red decorations. It was very beautiful to be able to pray the Litany of Loreto at the end of Mass and give her those mystical titles: Tower of Ivory, House of David and Morning Star. The origin of the Litany is contested. Some say it goes back to the earliest days of the Church, others to the establishment of this shrine. What is known is that it has been prayed for at least 500 years. That represents a lot of petitions imploring Our Lady to pray for us, the endless repetition allowing verbalising faith which continues the ascent towards truth when words fail.
The Litany too, then, is venerable, and like the little house from which it takes its name, can focus our minds on the spectacular truth which is built above and around our everyday existence. What truly connects us to reality
is neither archaeology, nor spectacular signs or proofs, but prayer and living faith in Mary’s Son.
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