The other day my almost three-year-old bumped her finger. This bump resulted in an invisible “boo boo” and a few shed tears. “Mommy, kiss it; kiss it, Mommy!” The magic medicine of a mother’s lips on a sore finger is usually all it takes for the tears to stop and my daughter to skip away happy and content. Unfortunately, this mommy had her hands full of dirty dishes and I could not provide an instant kiss and I told my daughter she would have to wait just a moment for that kiss. Her response shocked me. “That’s okay Mommy. I will just rub it on your shirt and it will be okay.” And like the magic kiss, she touched my shirt, the tears stopped, and she skipped away happy and content.
My daughter’s solution to touch my shirt brought to mind the story of a woman seeking healing from Christ. She had enough faith and believed that if she only touched his garment, a garment worn by someone holy, she would be healed. And indeed, she touched his cloak and she was healed. I began to wonder, was it faith that healed her, or the garment, or both? Is there a place for relics within worship or is some type of idolatry?
In recent news, there has been conversation regarding the Shroud of Christ and it will once again be on display in Italy. It is expected to draw over a million pilgrims seeking a glimpse of this relic. I remember walking through Vatican City several years ago and being moved by Michelangelo’s Pieta. The sculpture of Mary holding the dead Christ is truly a powerful image of suffering and a mother’s love, but this was not the only thing that caught my attention. The toes of Christ were worn away from people kissing the feet. The Pieta was placed behind glass in order to protect it from pilgrims seeking to touch this piece of sacred art. To some, the Shroud and the Pieta are sacred – set apart and made holy. To stand in the presence of these relics is to stand before something holy.
Some may refer to relics as idols and those who make the pilgrimage to these sacred objects as idolaters. I used to believe this. While in Italy, I saw the jawbone of a saint encased in glass. I did not understand the point of preserving a bone. And then I remembered stories of the Old Testament prophets and how the people preserved their bones. There were legendary stories of people touching these dry old bones and being healed. The miraculous powers of the prophets somehow carried over to their bones.
Perhaps opening our minds to the ideas of relics may help to reconnect us to our rich spiritual history. I find it ironic that we readily accept objects that connect us to our national heritage and yet shudder at the idea of embracing a relic connected to our spiritual heritage. In fifth grade, our class took a fieldtrip to Greenfield Village in Michigan. It was mostly made up of historical artifacts from Henry Ford, Thomas Edison and others from their era. One student from our group kept asking if it was “the actual” object used by so and so. She was on to something. The actual carried more meaning and importance than a replica.
I remember walking through the secret annex that hid Anne Frank and her family in Amsterdam. I could not allow myself to take pictures inside because in many ways I could still feel the presence of their story. A few days following this, I had a similar experience walking along the gravel pathways at the Dachau Concentration Camp outside of Munich, Germany. No one found it strange when I shared my powerful experience from walking through these places of history. I wonder if people would be as understanding if I shared about touching and smelling the bones of Saint Teresa of Avila and feeling connected to her and her story. Or more, would we accept that a miracle occurred after touching a garment worn by someone holy?
My daughter’s solution to touch my shirt brought to mind the story of a woman seeking healing from Christ. She had enough faith and believed that if she only touched his garment, a garment worn by someone holy, she would be healed. And indeed, she touched his cloak and she was healed. I began to wonder, was it faith that healed her, or the garment, or both? Is there a place for relics within worship or is some type of idolatry?
In recent news, there has been conversation regarding the Shroud of Christ and it will once again be on display in Italy. It is expected to draw over a million pilgrims seeking a glimpse of this relic. I remember walking through Vatican City several years ago and being moved by Michelangelo’s Pieta. The sculpture of Mary holding the dead Christ is truly a powerful image of suffering and a mother’s love, but this was not the only thing that caught my attention. The toes of Christ were worn away from people kissing the feet. The Pieta was placed behind glass in order to protect it from pilgrims seeking to touch this piece of sacred art. To some, the Shroud and the Pieta are sacred – set apart and made holy. To stand in the presence of these relics is to stand before something holy.
Some may refer to relics as idols and those who make the pilgrimage to these sacred objects as idolaters. I used to believe this. While in Italy, I saw the jawbone of a saint encased in glass. I did not understand the point of preserving a bone. And then I remembered stories of the Old Testament prophets and how the people preserved their bones. There were legendary stories of people touching these dry old bones and being healed. The miraculous powers of the prophets somehow carried over to their bones.
Perhaps opening our minds to the ideas of relics may help to reconnect us to our rich spiritual history. I find it ironic that we readily accept objects that connect us to our national heritage and yet shudder at the idea of embracing a relic connected to our spiritual heritage. In fifth grade, our class took a fieldtrip to Greenfield Village in Michigan. It was mostly made up of historical artifacts from Henry Ford, Thomas Edison and others from their era. One student from our group kept asking if it was “the actual” object used by so and so. She was on to something. The actual carried more meaning and importance than a replica.
I remember walking through the secret annex that hid Anne Frank and her family in Amsterdam. I could not allow myself to take pictures inside because in many ways I could still feel the presence of their story. A few days following this, I had a similar experience walking along the gravel pathways at the Dachau Concentration Camp outside of Munich, Germany. No one found it strange when I shared my powerful experience from walking through these places of history. I wonder if people would be as understanding if I shared about touching and smelling the bones of Saint Teresa of Avila and feeling connected to her and her story. Or more, would we accept that a miracle occurred after touching a garment worn by someone holy?
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