On the Tuesday of my trip, I got on the bus in the morning and headed east, toward the Center. Crossing the Tiber, the bus passed some ruins which turned out to be the Teatro Marcello (blogged briefly on here).
After I finished with Teatro Marcello, I turned toward the Jewish Ghetto and walked through there, thinking of many things, including Elsa Morante’s devastating novel History, in which the Ghetto figures.

I exited the Ghetto and came upon a church. I had no idea what church it was, but I went on in.
It turned out to be Chiesa di S. Carlo ai Catinari, and what I saw there gave me much to ponder.
There are, of course, a ridiculous number of churches in Rome.  One’s gaze can quickly grow fuzzy in the cloud of post-Reformation Annunciations, Depositions and St. Sebastians found through every door.
(And while I’m on the subject – why St. Sebastian? It seems that his image is in practically every Roman church with far more regularity than any other (Mary excepted, naturally). Can someone explain why?)
Some of them are dustier and more museum-like than others. The art may be gorgeous, but it is unclear whether anyone ever actually prays there.
S. Carlo was not like this.
One of the side chapels was in the process of renovation, hidden by huge red drapes. In front of the the drapes, a small group of men were attempting to wrap some sort of very large panel, guided in the process by a short, squat priest in a cassock.

While I was looking around, three different men came in from the street, not to study style or sculptural detail, or even to help with the panel, but to pray.  Two lit candles at statues of Christ or the Madonna, stopping to kneel for a few minutes. The third walked back to another side chapel and lit a candle here:

She is Servant of God Rose Giovannetti. The best place to read about her in English is here, at this link on Google Books. In short, she was the daughter of Leo XIII’s lawyer, and a musician. But more than a musician, she was an active young woman (like Frassatti, a contemporary, an athlete) who also consecrated herself to God and devoted much of time to helping the poor, including war fugitives and earthquake victims. She died in 1929 of a painful skin disease.
As I said, one of the three men I saw in those few minutes walked in the door, headed straight back to this corner, lit his candle, prayed for several minutes and left.
I was struck here, as well as in other places (the rosary at S. Andrea del Valle, for example), by the presence of males engaging in these devotional acts.  I have no way to judge the outward spiritual lives of Romans, as disparaged as it may be, but what I saw in my wanderings during that week, including here, indicated that at the very least, little old ladies in black shawls are not the only folks in Rome saying their prayers.
Opposite the tomb was this:

More signs of vitality. Literally.

This was no museum.

There were other signs – candles, real candles – lit and flickering. Flyers on the bulletin boards indicating services, devotions and catechetical sessions.  People coming in and out, pushing the heavy door open, stepping out of the bustle into the quiet, listening, asking, stepping into communion with God and his friends.

Then back out again, taking what they could, back outside.

You might remember when I blogged about going to Mass at S. Crisogono in Trastevere being surprised when the priest left the Sanctuary at Communion time and disappeared into a side chapel into which we were, after a couple of minutes, invited to follow. Where, ready to receive the Eucharist, I found myself unexpectedly about to receive it in front of a body. That was the remains of Blessed Anna Maria Taigi, a mystic and woman of charity who died in 1837.

Keep your eyes open as you turn corners and open doors. You might just run into a saint. You never know.

Update:

From the comments, a priest of the Barnabite Fathers adds:

This church is staffed by the Barnabite Fathers. Thanks you so much for writing a beautiful review of the Church. The Madonna you mention (In the photo the picture is obscured) is Our Lady of Divine Providence. The sory of which can be found at the Barnabite website.
http://www.catholic-church.org/barnabites
The church truly is a gem. Another interest highlight for this church is that it was used as part of the Vatican’s escape system for Jews during WWII. Jews could be shuttled out of the nearby Jewish quarter and hidden among the seminarians going up the Gianicolo Hill to the Barnabite Studentato and vice versa. Incidentally this building is two doors down from the house of the American ambassador to the Vatican.

Thank you, Father!