Reflections from Itálica

Yesterday, on another fieldtrip, I went to the ruins of Itálica a few miles outside the city of Sevilla. The ancient Roman city of Itálica was built in 206 BC by a Roman general and his troops in order to protect Roman soldiers wounded after a battle. According to my profe, every soldier in the Roman army carried a few posts along with their normal gear so that if they needed to they could construct a fort quickly, which is what they did for Itálica. Obviously, they later built a real city complete with an amphitheater that seated 25,000 spectators (the third largest in the Roman Empire). It was rainy and gloomy when we were there, but as my friend Christy said, it seemed rather fitting. The rain lent a touch of antiquity and even tragedy to the place. It seems very right that it should rain while one is walking around ruins, almost as if no other atmosphere or ambiance would make sense. Standing in the middle of the amphitheater was intimidating and sobering; I could imagine it filled with people, imagine how much blood was spilled on that ground. I felt very small standing in a place that was so ancient, so other-worldly, as if my life has been nothing but an infinitesimal speck in the great span of the centuries, which, of course, it has. I found myself imagining the city at the time of Christ, imagining what that world may have been like, and thinking about the sacrificial death of Jesus Christ and the martyrs. We are in the season of Lent right now (the forty days prior to Easter), which is a season of contemplation of the death of Christ; it is a season of sorrow, but also of anticipation of the coming Resurrection. In the middle of a ruined Roman city, I was reminded that though I am small, a mere speck from the perspective of time and the universe, Christ died for me so that I may have new life which is more significant by far than any empire. And although this city was once great, perhaps even significant from the perspective of history, it is now in ruins. In a small way, I was reminded of the things in life that are truly significant, the things that will last forever, and they are not grand empires or impressive cities, but instead they are the things of the Kingdom of God. Eventually the season of my life will come to an end, like all things do, and I do not know if I will be great or significant like the Roman empire, but I do know that if I am remembered, it will not be for the sake of my own life or works, but because for some inexplicable reason God chose to work through me.