Dawn Berkoski

As I descended into the catacombs beneath the Igreja de São Francisco in Porto, Portugal, where the hollowed remains of Franciscan friars reside near holy relics and one-of-a-kind pieces of art, I realized the real treasures were hidden underground.

Built in the 14th century, the Church of Sao Francisco has hauntingly beautiful gothic architecture. I could picture friars in their coarse brown habits, taking vows of poverty and abstinence, showing their devotion to patron saints like St. Francis of Assisi and the Virgin Mary.

Upstairs in the main chapel, though, is a different story. It started in the 18th century when elaborate Baroque decor was added. Now, gold dust glitters over ornate wood carvings. Gilded cherubs peer down from twisted Solomonic columns. The walls, nave, roof, and altar; everything glistens as if King Midas paid a visit.

Unfortunately, no photos were allowed in that area, which would normally dampen my spirits. But perhaps because I started in the catacombs, I didn’t mind.

Walking among the deceased, witnessing the unadorned, ancient bones in the subterranean, the simple glass covering them, the numbers marking the plain graves under the floorboards, the modest, humllis roots of the Franciscan Order, I found something more fascinating than all that glitters.

Those keepsakes that I thought were precious, memories of loved ones and grief unprocessed. Maybe it was time to let them go.

Maybe it was time to open a new door.

Dawn B~