The Shroud of Turin—Santa Sindone

A blog post by Trish Irvine, Spring 2010

Turin, Italy has the great privilege of housing the Holy Shroud of Christ, or as they call it in Italy the “Santa Sindone.” This year, from April 10^th-May 23^rd the Shroud is on display. The last time the Shroud was on display was 1998. With that in mind, it is quite a feat that I happened to be studying in Austria during the time of its exposition. Even better was that our final four-day break fell perfectly for going to Turin to venerate the Shroud. On only the second day of display, we were able to see with human eyes the Shroud of the God-man.

When we walked into the church I was surprised to see the Shroud so clearly. We had reservations for a later time to see the Shroud closer, but as it was we could get a good view. Despite the many signs that forbid taking pictures, people held up their cameras and phones, snapping and flashing for a keepsake to take home with them. Honestly, I was a little disappointed at first. ‘This is it?’ I thought as I looked at what seemed to be the exact same as the replicas I had seen before. Slightly unimpressed, I thought that at least I could say I went pretty close to the Shroud.

As the time drew near for our viewing of the Shroud we headed to get in line. It was unbelievable how many people were there, waiting to enter the church to see the Shroud of Jesus. The line stretched for what would have been blocks if it wasn’t a park-like area. Now we began to wonder if we would be able to even get through the line before we had to leave to board our train for Austria. We were meeting a few people there who were already in line and had been waiting for twenty minutes. Some of the group decided they would rather sit and pray in the church before the Shroud then spend the time in line to get a few minutes close to the Shroud. As a last effort before giving up, we asked some workers if we could join the rest of our group in line and they let us. Somehow I just felt that God wouldn’t let us come all the way to Turin only to let the reservations go to waste.

We prayed a rosary as we waited and it began to feel like a mini-pilgrimage to the Shroud. As we drew closer they began displaying famous pictures and paintings of the Passion of Christ followed by a brief walk through a museum with beautiful chant music resounding. A few minutes before we saw the Shroud they put us in a room with a large screen and began showing us a simple movie about it. There were no spoken words, only short subtitles in about eight different languages that told which part of the Shroud they were zooming up on. When the movie concluded I understood more fully what I was about to experience. The build up to seeing the Shroud again was critical as I turned from a tourist to pilgrim. The wait, even if it seemed inconvenient, was necessary to prepare my heart to truly appreciate what I was about to see.

The seemingly endless line opened into the church and it was racing towards the Shroud. However, I am extremely fond of Bl. Pier Giorgio and his tomb was on a side altar a little ways before the Shroud. I stopped with a friend to pray before his tomb. The gate was open and I pressed my rosary to the step before the tomb. Yet my heart desired more. I asked a worker if I could touch my rosary to his tomb. She told me that there were alarms that would go off if I did so. The lady was very kind, though, and gently pressed my hands, telling me that I could pray there. We then continued toward the Shroud. There are three lines to see the Shroud, with the front line being primarily for those with wheelchairs or strollers and the other two being for the rest of the pilgrims. Yet by some miracle, we found ourselves in the front line not knowing how we managed it. As the lady led a prayer in Italian, I was in the middle, directly before the Shroud, just about as close as one can possibly get.

I stood, gazing at the Shroud and finally being able to understand the beauty of the event I was experiencing. This cloth was as old as the Church I am a part of and this cloth touched my very Lord. The Eucharist is Jesus Himself, but there was something so beautiful about seeing that which was wrapped around the physical body of Jesus. I gazed at the portion of the Shroud that touched Christ’s face. It is the closest I can come in this life to knowing what Jesus looked like. I could’ve stood there for so much longer, striving to understand the vastness of the gift I was receiving. The people in line behind us wanted to see as well, however, and we were quickly ushered out.

How does one explain the joy of being before the Holy Shroud, the Santa Sindone? Someone later mentioned that Mary touched that cloth as she wrapped Christ in it. That added another element to it that I hadn’t considered. The Shroud isn’t simply a nice idea, it is a piece of history preserved for all of the doubting Thomas’s of today and for all of us who often fail to dive into understanding God’s gift. Christ’s blood is on that cloth, but I receive Him in Mass. How contrary we are. We will stand in line for 1 ½ hours to see that which touched Christ and yet we insist on using many extraordinary ministers of Holy Communion so that we can quickly receive Jesus before carrying on with our day. The more holy places I go to and the more wonderful things I see, the more I am reminded of the blessing of the Eucharist. If only I could be as joyful to receive Him as I am to see things that are beautiful but of far less importance. Yet even in this ‘failing’ it is a sort of gain as well because as I encounter these manifold beauties, I fall more in love with the Author of Life.

I dislike throwing around extremes and absolutes such as “This changed my life forever” or “This was the best thing I ever did.” I’m not sure I could posit that. However, I can honestly say that seeing the Holy Shroud of Jesus Christ was amazing and helps give more meaning and depth to my spiritual life. Sometimes I think about how both Jesus and Mary were brought bodily into Heaven and how people may think it is rather “convenient” that the bodies of two of the main people in the Christian faith disappeared. Yet we have this cloth with the imprint of a man. Studies say that the imprint seems to be made from some form of radiation (the resurrection?) and that the person who was wrapped in it stopped bleeding and later began again. This cloth was that which enshrouded my Savior. And I was able to stand before it and pray. How can I not be different?