In a city of just over three million people there are over three hundred churches, many of them dating back five hundred years, and some of those a thousand years more. Rome was and continues to be a religious capital on the order of Jerusalem or Mecca. Washington DC has politicians and lawyers; Rome has priests, monks, and nuns.

Saint Peter's Basilica is Rome's Wailing Wall or Dome of the Rock. A Renaissance construction, it dwarfs everything around it all the way to the tall apartment buildings in the suburbs. Its dome pierces the skyline and almost conquers it completely if it were not for the nearby Janiculum Hill. Inside it is even more massive – you have no choice but to feel like a flea on the cosmic blanket that is this church. Its easy to assume that it had to have been built by giants in some previous age. I was there last Friday, sitting in a chair to the right of the main aisle, listening to mass.

The Pope was there, of course, with a retinue of cardinals in their typical red suits. He was in his plush red throne, reserved only for the rump of his Holiness, at the front of the basilica beneath a massive bronze and gold canopy (a Bernini masterpiece of the 16th century) – he too was only a white speck of a figure in the church's wide landscape.

The mass, as it turned out, was a special traditional mass held only on Good Friday and only special days of the year. Much to my surprise, it ended up being two and a half hours of Latin chant instead of readings in Italian. Though my patience wore thin as the sun set on the other side of the dome's massive windows, the experience was unique. I could imagine the farmers and merchants of the Middle Ages, the nobles and scholars of the Renaissance attending mass in this space and being awed by its unearthly perfection, its colossal size, and its spiritual aire.

Its all very impressive and special, yes, but if you're an Italian its just part of everyday life. The Pope is a celebrity beloved by all Romans, but really a lot like the next door neighbor, a beloved member of the community. In such a tightly knit city, God's chief earthly representative becomes as close to everyone as the fishmonger or the fruit vendor down the street. That does not mean they lack reverence for the man or the other clergy. Much to the contrary. When Pope John Paul died, Romans swarmed Saint Peter's Square and held vigils for days well before the media or the pilgrims arrived. Then when Pope Benedict was elected, the Romans all dropped their work, closed their shops, and went as fast as their feet and mopeds could take them to the Square.

I remember a story from weeks ago: I was walking by the Vatican one night when I saw ahead of me two police cars parked along the side of the road. As I approached, I made out five uniformed policemen. At the moment I passed, a cardinal complete with red hat appeared and was greeted by the policemen. I walked in silent awe as the policemen each in turn bowed and kissed the cardinal's hand. Then they chatted like old friends until I was well out of sight.