There are two ways to visit Rome. The first is the way millions of tourists experience it every year: selfies in front of the Trevi Fountain, carbonara pasta on a side street in Trastevere, a stroll through Piazza Navona, and a quick visit to the Colosseum — with an audio guide narrating tales of gladiators and emperors. The second way is what I want to propose: to look at Rome not as a museum of ancient power, but as both a graveyard and a birthplace. A graveyard, because here the two pillars of the early Church — Peter and Paul — died, along with thousands of anonymous Christians whose bones still rest in tunnels beneath the earth. A birthplace, because it was precisely from the blood of these martyrs that the faith which would transform all of Western civilization sprang to life.
When I first set foot on the pavement of St. Peter’s Square, it was not the grandeur of Bernini’s colonnade that struck me most, but a simple thought: somewhere beneath me, just a few meters underground, lies what tradition and archaeology confirm to be the tomb of the fisherman from Galilee who said to Jesus, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” And upon this rock — upon this confession — everything was built.
In this article, I want to take you on a journey through Christian Rome. Not papal or Renaissance Rome (though they overlap), but Rome of the first three centuries — the Rome of catacombs, of arenas, and of believers who risked their lives to gather around a simple symbol: the fish, ichthys, the Greek acronym of the confession “Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour.”
Via Appia Antica: The Road Where Paul Entered Rome
Any journey through Christian Rome should begin where the Apostle Paul’s own journey began: on the Via Appia. Built in 312 BC by the censor Appius Claudius Caecus, this is one of the oldest and best-preserved Roman roads. It stretches from Rome southeastward to Brindisi, over a distance of more than 500 kilometres. The Romans called it Regina Viarum — “The Queen of Roads.”
Luke records in Acts 28:15 that the brothers from Rome, hearing of Paul’s arrival, came out to meet him as far as the Forum of Appius (Forum Appii) and Three Taverns (Tres Tabernae), two stops on the Via Appia located approximately 65 and 50 kilometres south of Rome, respectively.
“The brothers and sisters there had heard that we were coming, and they traveled as far as the Forum of Appius and the Three Taverns to meet us. At the sight of these people Paul thanked God and was encouraged.”
— Acts 28:15
Consider this moment. Paul had just survived a shipwreck in Malta, sailed through Sicily, anchored in Puteoli (modern Pozzuoli, near Naples), and was now walking or riding in a cart along the basalt-paved road toward the capital of the world. He was a prisoner. He probably wore chains. But when he saw the brothers coming to meet him, the text says he “thanked God and was encouraged.” It was not Rome that encouraged him. It was the Christians.
Today, the Via Appia Antica is an extraordinary archaeological park. You can walk or cycle along the same road that Paul walked. The original basalt paving, polished by two thousand years of footsteps, is still there. Along the roadside you see monumental Roman tombs, ruins of imperial villas, and — most importantly for us — the entrances to the catacombs.
The Catacombs: The City Beneath the City
Beneath Rome lies a network of tunnels of almost unimaginable scale. It is estimated that the total length of the funerary galleries — the catacombs — exceeds 150 kilometres. In these narrow corridors, carved from the soft volcanic tufa, the Christians of the first centuries buried their dead and, at times, gathered to pray.
I should dispel a popular myth: the catacombs were not, generally speaking, hiding places during persecutions. The Roman authorities knew very well about them. Roman law protected burial sites, so for the most part, the catacombs were legal spaces. But they were Christian spaces — and that is the remarkable thing. In a world where cremation was standard Roman practice, Christians buried their dead whole, following the Jewish model, because they believed in the bodily resurrection.
The Catacombs of San Callisto
The most important catacombs on the Via Appia are those of San Callisto (St. Callixtus). Spanning more than 15 hectares with four levels of galleries (reaching depths of up to 20 metres), they housed the burials of approximately 500,000 Christians between the 2nd and 5th centuries. Here you find the Crypt of the Popes (Cappella dei Papi), where nine popes from the 3rd century were buried — an extraordinary discovery made by archaeologist Giovanni Battista de Rossi in 1854.
When you descend the narrow stairs into these galleries, you immediately feel the coolness and the humidity. The air smells of damp stone and of time. Pale lights reveal niches (loculi) carved into the tufa walls, some still sealed, others open, showing the void where a believer’s body once lay. On the walls, ancient graffiti: the anchor (hope), the dove (peace), the fish (ichthys), the Chi-Rho (the monogram of Christ). These are the oldest known Christian symbols, and they are not in museums — they are here, in the darkness beneath the ground, exactly where those people drew them 1,800 years ago.
The Catacombs of Santa Domitilla
Not far from San Callisto lie the catacombs of Santa Domitilla, probably the oldest in Rome. Domitilla was a Roman noblewoman, a granddaughter of Emperor Vespasian, who converted to Christianity — or at least sympathised with it; historians debate the nuances. The land on which the catacombs were dug belonged to her, which reveals something fascinating: as early as the 1st century, the Christian faith was penetrating the very highest circles of Roman society.
These catacombs contain some of the oldest Christian frescoes in the world, including a depiction of the Last Supper from the 2nd century and images of Daniel in the lions’ den and Noah in the ark — Old Testament scenes used as symbols of salvation.
The Catacombs of Santa Priscilla
On the Via Salaria, in northern Rome, you find the catacombs of Santa Priscilla, which contain what many art historians regard as the oldest known image of the Virgin Mary with the Christ Child — a fresco dated to around AD 230. Here too is the celebrated Cubiculum of the Velatio, with a remarkable fresco showing a woman in three distinct scenes, interpreted by some as the image of a believer at key moments of her life of faith.
“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
— Romans 8:38-39
Paul wrote these words precisely for the Christians in Rome — the very same Christians who, a generation or two later, would be buried in these catacombs. When you read Romans 8 in natural light, on a white page, it is powerful. But when you recite it in your mind while standing in the catacombs where those original recipients found their rest, the words carry an entirely different weight.
The Colosseum: The Arena of Martyrs
The Colosseum — or the Flavian Amphitheatre, as the Romans called it — was inaugurated in AD 80 by Emperor Titus. It could hold between 50,000 and 80,000 spectators. It was the venue for public games: gladiatorial combat, exotic animal hunts (venationes), public executions (damnatio ad bestias) and, yes, the martyrdom of Christians.
It must be said that historians still debate the scale of persecutions specifically in the Colosseum. Not all persecutions took place here, and not all arena executions involved Christians. But Christian tradition, supported by the testimony of patristic writers and indirect archaeological evidence, ties this place inextricably to the blood of martyrs. Tertullian wrote at the end of the 2nd century: “The blood of martyrs is the seed of the Church” (Semen est sanguis Christianorum). And the Colosseum was, without question, one of the places where that seed was most visibly sown.
Persecution Under Nero: AD 64
The first great wave of persecution came under Emperor Nero, after the Great Fire of Rome in July AD 64. Tacitus, the pagan Roman historian, records in his Annals that Nero, suspected by the populace of having ordered the fire himself, redirected the blame onto the Christians — “a class of people hated for their abominations.” What follows is a harrowing passage: Christians were dressed in animal skins and torn apart by dogs, crucified, or turned into living torches that illuminated Nero’s gardens at night.
“For it seems to me that God has put us apostles on display at the end of the procession, like those condemned to die in the arena. We have been made a spectacle to the whole universe, to angels as well as to human beings.”
— 1 Corinthians 4:9
Paul wrote these words metaphorically, but for the Christians of Rome under Nero, they became literal. They truly were made a spectacle — a show — for the entire Roman world.
Christian tradition places Paul’s martyrdom precisely in this period, around AD 64-67. As a Roman citizen, Paul had the “privilege” of a swifter death: beheading. The traditional site of execution is on the Via Ostiense, at Tre Fontane (Three Fountains), where today a Cistercian monastery stands. Legend says that with each bounce of Paul’s severed head, a fountain sprang from the ground — hence the name.
Peter and the Inverted Cross
Peter, who was not a Roman citizen, was condemned to crucifixion. The tradition recorded by Origen and Eusebius says that Peter asked to be crucified upside down, considering himself unworthy to die in the same manner as his Lord. The traditional site of crucifixion is on Vatican Hill, the very spot where the basilica bearing his name would later rise.
Dig deep enough beneath the altar of St. Peter’s Basilica and you reach a Roman necropolis from the 1st-2nd centuries, discovered during excavations from 1939 to 1949, ordered by Pope Pius XII. There, beneath a simple monument called the Trophy of Gaius (mentioned by the priest Gaius around AD 200), bone remains were found which Pope Paul VI declared in 1968 to belong to St. Peter. Archaeology cannot confirm this with absolute certainty, but the convergence of evidence — location, dating, unbroken tradition — is remarkable.
“Very truly I tell you, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.”
— John 21:18
Jesus spoke these words to Peter on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, after the resurrection. The evangelist John adds: “Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God.” When you stand in the necropolis beneath the basilica and consider that this very place is where those words were fulfilled, the distance between the biblical text and physical reality collapses to zero.
The Constantinian Basilicas: When Faith Emerged from the Catacombs
Everything changed in AD 313, when Emperors Constantine and Licinius issued the Edict of Milan, granting Christianity tolerated status within the Empire. Constantine, the first Christian emperor (or, more precisely, sympathiser of Christianity — he was baptised only on his deathbed in 337), initiated a building programme that transformed the landscape of Rome.
St. Peter’s Basilica
The first and most important was St. Peter’s Basilica on Vatican Hill, built between approximately 326 and 333. Constantine ordered the covering of the pagan necropolis on the hill and the levelling of the terrain — an enormous engineering operation — precisely so that the altar of the new church could be placed directly above Peter’s tomb. The current basilica, built during the Renaissance between 1506 and 1626, stands on the same foundations, and the papal altar is positioned exactly above the same crypt.
The Basilica of St. Paul Outside the Walls
On the Via Ostiense, a few kilometres from the city centre, stands the Basilica of St. Paul Outside the Walls (San Paolo fuori le Mura). The name “outside the walls” refers to the Aurelian Wall, built in the 3rd century, beyond which Paul’s tomb lies. Beneath the basilica’s altar, a marble slab engraved with the inscription “PAULO APOSTOLO MART(YRI)” — “Paul, Apostle and Martyr” — marks the traditional burial site.
In 2009, Pope Benedict XVI announced that scientific studies on the sarcophagus had revealed bone fragments carbon-dated to the 1st-2nd centuries AD, along with traces of purple dye and gold. It is the closest to scientific confirmation that we have.
“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day.”
— 2 Timothy 4:7-8
Paul wrote these words from prison, probably in Rome itself, shortly before his execution. They are the words of a man who knows he is about to die and who, instead of lamenting, takes stock of his life with a serenity that takes our breath away even today.
The Basilica of San Giovanni in Laterano
The cathedral of Rome is not St. Peter’s Basilica, as many believe, but the Basilica of San Giovanni in Laterano (St. John Lateran) — the first church built by Constantine in Rome, on land donated by the Laterani family. The inscription on the facade says it all: Omnium urbis et orbis ecclesiarum mater et caput — “Mother and head of all the churches in the city and in the world.” This is the oldest Christian cathedral in the world still in use.
The Mamertine Prison: Where Paul and Peter Waited
In the Roman Forum, at the foot of the Capitoline Hill, stands the Carcer Mamertinus (Mamertine Prison), one of the oldest prisons in the world, dating from the 7th century BC. Christian tradition holds that both Peter and Paul were imprisoned here before their executions.
The prison consists of two superimposed chambers carved from rock. The lower chamber, called the Tullianum, was a dark, damp space with no windows, into which prisoners were lowered through a hole in the ceiling. Here, according to tradition, Peter caused water to spring from the rock and baptised the guards — a beautiful legend which, whether literally true or not, tells a deeper truth: that not even prison walls can stop the Gospel.
“But God’s word is not chained.”
— 2 Timothy 2:9
The Basilica of San Clemente: Three Layers of History
If you want to understand how Christian Rome was built — literally, layer upon layer — visit the Basilica of San Clemente, just a few steps from the Colosseum. This church is a unique architectural palimpsest: the current basilica, from the 12th century, is built over a 4th-century basilica, which in turn is built over a 1st-century Roman house containing a mithraeum — a sanctuary of the cult of Mithras.
You descend below street level and travel backwards through time. First level: the medieval basilica, with dazzling mosaics. Second level: the early Christian basilica, with 9th-century frescoes that include some of the oldest inscriptions in early Italian. Third level: Roman walls from the time of Nero and an altar of Mithras, Christianity’s chief rival in the early centuries. You can hear water running — an underground stream that has flowed beneath the city’s foundations for two thousand years.
San Clemente is Rome in miniature: layers of faith, one upon another, each generation building on the foundation of the one before.
What Christian Rome Teaches Us
Christian Rome is not a museum. It is a testimony. Every catacomb, every arena, every basilica says the same thing: that ordinary people — slaves, soldiers, nobles, mothers, children — believed that Jesus of Nazareth rose from the dead, and were willing to die for that conviction. Not for a political ideology, not for a territory, not for an ethnicity. For a Person.
When you stand in the Colosseum and consider that right there, on the sand of the arena, a believer chose death rather than throw a grain of incense on the emperor’s altar, the inevitable question is: what did those people have that we do not? Or perhaps, more accurately: what did they know?
They knew what Paul had written to them in his Epistle to the Romans, a letter composed precisely for them:
“Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?”
— Romans 8:35
Their answer was: nothing. And Rome — the entire empire — was changed forever.
If you visit Rome, I invite you not to settle for selfies on the surface. Descend into the catacombs. Stand in silence in the Colosseum arena. Touch the walls of the Mamertine Prison. Let these places speak. And perhaps, just like Paul on the Via Appia, you will thank God and take courage.
