Orange Trees and Cypress Wood

There once was a temple atop the Aventine in Rome, dedicated to Juno Regina. It was built by the great General Quintus Caecilius Metellus, after he subdued the Macedonians in 148 BC, and added “Macedonicus” to his name. But by the time Christianity began to spread, in the 1st century AD, Juno’s temple had fallen into disuse. A wealthy woman named Sabina had a house near the temple. She was a Christian, and her home became a titulus, or house-church, a common arrangement for worship before Constantine legalized Christianity.

Sabina was long dead when, in 425 AD, a Christian Bishop named Peter of Illyria built the Church of Santa Sabina on the site of her old house. Eight centuries later, the church was given to the Dominicans. They say that St. Dominic brought a sapling orange tree from his native Spain, and planted it in the cloisters. When the first tree died, a new one grew from its decaying trunk, and you can still see it there through a hole in the wall of the narthex, the church’s enclosed porch. I’ve seen the hole, and the orange tree through it. The miraculous regrowth must have been repeated over many generations.

St. Dominic's Orange Tree, Santa Sabina, Rome — The St. Dominic orange tree

There is an orange grove next to the church, planted long ago by monks in their monastery garden. It’s now a park, the Giardino degli Aranci. The trees shade a grassy lawn, often dotted with bright fallen fruit. A gravel path through the grove leads to a stone terrace, with inspiring views of the Tiber, ruins of the Forum Boarium, the Victor Emmanuel Monument, and the dome of St. Peter’s.

The church is an elegant structure, a grand sight seen from the park, though the lovers embracing among the oranges pay little heed. Inside, the fine fluted columns, with Corinthian capitals, that divide the aisles from the nave, are gifts that Juno and Metellus unwittingly bequeathed to Christianity. Once, the whole interior was covered with mosaics to rival the famous monuments of Ravenna, but they are gone, except for an inscription in blue and gold tesserae, that tells how Presbyter Peter founded the church.

The relative bareness of the interior imparts a grace, quietness, and dignity to the space; and abundant light from the 9th century clerestory windows prevents the gloom that inhabits many old churches. It’s a peaceful place, good for rest and contemplation. There are a few visitors, of course; from time-to-time a small guided group will arrive, too. It is interesting how often the guide fails to point out the most remarkable feature of the church, something quite as astonishing as Dominic’s deathless orange tree.

Cypress wood door, Santa Sabina, Rome — The Cypress-wood door

There is a great double door of dark wood in the narthex, as old as the church. It glows with the varnish of time. Once it held 28 carved panels, with sacred stories told in relief; 18 still remain to us. One panel, in the upper left corner, showing the Crucifixion of Christ, is believed to be the oldest such image known to exist. The magnificent door is the work of several artists, who might think it a miracle indeed that we are still moved by their work, carved from cypress, after 16 centuries.