Dry, Dry Bones

“Put them in fear, O LORD; Let the nations know that they are but men.” -Psalm 9:20

The valley of bones. That is about all I could think of as we walked through the remains of the Roman Forum, that once proud seat of authority that held sway over all the known world of its day. We walked on the streets where proud Caesars once walked, where orators like Cicero held audiences in awe, and where legions tramped proudly on their arrival home from fresh victories across the seas. This was the equivalent of our National Mall in Washington, D.C., our sacred stretch of green that stretches from the Capitol, past the Washington Monument, over the reflecting pool, all the way to the Lincoln Monument. Only in Rome, everything was more concentrated as a result of the lack of motorized transport. One could easily walk from the Coliseum to Palatine Hill, from the Circus Maximus to the Pantheon, and from the Baths of Nero to the Senate House. The streets were all paved, unlike many great cities even as late as the 18th century. And the buildings were massive structures made of solid stone and marble. Caesar Augustus boasted that he had found Rome brick but left it marble. We have ample evidence of this and many descriptive passages to chronicle the glory that was Rome. Modern re-creations of the complex of temples, baths, palaces, government buildings, and entertainment venues that was Rome at the height of its glory leave one aghast at this concentration of wealth and beauty. There was never a city like it or surpassing it since. One could walk for blocks and blocks, miles perhaps, and see nothing but majestic marble monuments on par with the Parthenon in Greece in terms of costly grace and beauty.

And the Romans built everything to last. Thousands of miles of roads were constructed of four different layers in order to meet a construction standard of endurance for 100 years. Many have lasted 2000 years and are still in use today. Their engineering miracles are best seen in their system of aqueducts that brought fresh water into the heart of their cities. There were at least seven separate aqueducts that supplied Rome with its plentiful water supply that made its sanitation standards unequalled until the 19th century. Some of these are still operative today. Everything they constructed seemed to be built with an unequalled ability to endure. Much of the Coliseum still stands today even after 2000 years of invasions, erosion, neglect, outright theft, and predations of nature. Yet its foundations are secure holding up thousands of tons of walls and floors. We wandered its halls and passageways and marveled at its similarity to a modern stadium long before football, soccer, or baseball were even a thought.

So what had reduced this proud city, this cradle of an empire, this forum that concentrated the opulence and power of the world’s rulers for hundreds of years to a marble scrap yard; a valley of bones? Oh, how the mighty are fallen. It surely would have been thought absolutely impossible in the second century that this palatial setting would ever disappear under tons of debris and become a market place for farm animals, despoiling the very ground, and a refuge for the homeless and the criminal sort. Nor would it be thought that the proud Roman race would totally disappear in the sea of crisscrossing currents of humanity.

Their forum is dead, their language is dead, and their bloodline is untraceable. The mighty buildings of stone and marble are gone with the exception of a few which were saved in large part because of their later use as Christian churches, another triumph of a once sworn enemy. Walking among this valley of bones produced no thrill of triumph over a pagan foe, no urge to tramp up and down upon the ruins of a city that once enslaved the world. It produced, rather, an intense feeling of humility that bore witness to the transient nature of accomplishment, even when carved in tons of marble. What took ages to build was destroyed in a matter of days and years. There is no room for the boasting of man in kingdoms or monuments of grandeur. They do not last. These ruins testify mightily to the frailty of man in the flesh, even at his finest. “No man can lay a foundation other than the one which is laid, which is Jesus Christ.” (I Cor. 3:11) No one.