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On
Relics and Keepsakes
by Eryk Hanut |
A few weeks ago, while browsing Ebay, I
discovered that one could actually buy relics–or
bid on them, anyway. Sign of the times, cyber devotion,
pure greed, quintessential sacrilege, or perhaps a bit
of each. I wasn’t appalled enough not to bid–and did
so twice! Once on a piece of garment of the Saint Cure
of Ars, John-Mary Vianney. The other on a sealed theca,
containing dust of the DNA of my favorite Normandy girl,
St Therese of Lisieux. ("The theca is very
beautiful," wrote the nice man who was selling it.
"The red wax seal from the Vatican is intact–and
there is a little hook at the top–you can hang it in
your car.")
The Catholic Church has popularized the veneration of
relics (from the Latin reliquiae, meaning remains) in
the West, but it is in no way restricted to the
Christian beliefs. In fact, keeping and worshipping bits
and pieces of holy beings is a primitive instinct that
predates Christianity. It is known that many relics of
the Buddha were distributed soon after his death (and
according to the amount of his teeth venerated in
gold-leafed stupas all around the eastern world, the
Enlightened One must have had the jaw of an alligator).
Bones, hair and clothes supposedly worn by Confucius are
venerated in China and the relics of Mohammed (who cut
off the sleeve of his coat so as not to disturb the cat
who was sleeping on it) are spread out from Kabul to
Jerusalem, all over the Muslim world. Kabbir’s
worn-out sandals have their own shrine in Benares. And
Rumi’s robe (which, when I saw it, violently reminded
me of the undergarment of the Poverello, identically
displayed in Assisi), draws in its glass coffin in Konya,
Turkey, a nearly as- high daily rate of devotion as his
nearby tomb.
The Bible mentions the sacred importance of relics.
The Old Testament (2 Kings 13: 20-21) evokes those of
the prophet Elisha, and the New Testament notes the
remains of the apostle Paul, and the wonders the Lord
works through them (Acts 19:11-12).
Let’s get real, Ebay didn’t invent relic pushers:
In fact, it was one of the most flourishing businesses
during the time of the Crusades. Pieces of the
"True Cross" (which, put together would rival
all the trees of Muir woods) were brought back from the
Holy Land and sold, sometimes given, to monasteries and
prelates. King Louis IX had the genius to commission the
"Sainte Chapelle"–that extraordinary
kingfisher blue vessel in the heart of Paris–to
enclose the crown of thorns in it. (The chapel still
stands, miraculously blue–the crown was burned during
the French revolution-and surviving pieces are kept in
Notre Dame. The bush that originated them is called
Sisyphus Spine Christi. And, yes, it grows only in
Palestine).
Rome, naturally, claims ownership of many relics of
the Passion. The "Scala Sancta," or holy
stairs, an impressive 28 steps of white marble, taken
from Pilate’s palace and brought back to Italy–don’t
ask me how–by St Helena, mother of Constantine the
Great, can still be seen in the Lateran District, inside
the aptly named Sancta Sanctorum. During the Avignon
papacy, in the 1300’s, the holy staircase–the one
climbed by the Savior himself–became the subject of a
less-than- holy war–and many plots to steal it from
Rome were elaborated and aborted, but then, how actually
do you steal 28 white marble steps? Not too far away
from the staircase, in Santa Prassede, the pillar on
which Jesus was scourged, is the center of devotion for
many–who circle it on their knees mumbling strange
laments. What else biblical enough to be mentioned?
Enough Holy nails-from-the-True-Cross to fix up the
Golden Gate bridge for the next two years. (The ever
prudent St Charles Borromeo confessed that ‘the nails
were so many that they probably were copies distributed
after touching the original.) One of the the
veils of the Blessed Mother (which alas was proven by
modern science not to be 2000 years old); the sponge of
the crucifixion; the holy lance; the unavoidable Shroud
kept in Torino, which no one has able to call authentic;
and the Tilma of Our Lady of Guadalupe, in Mexico City,
which no one has been able to call inauthentic, etc….
Latter day holy men and women didn’t escape the fate
of becoming ‘objets de vitrine.’ The most
horrendous destiny of all was that of St Theresa of
Avila whose incorruptible body was progressively cut-up
from its hands, heart, eyes, hair, each time the Vatican
would order a further exhumation. The Dictator ‘Caudillo"
Franco kept her hand by his bedside all his bloody life.
I remember reading in a catalog that a "piece of
the Holy Cross" was going to be auctioned at the
Hotel Drouot, in Paris. French Clergy turned green and
the auction was cancelled at the last minute–The same
week, Mariah Carey bought for a ransom the white grand
piano that once belonged to Marilyn Monroe.
Now, do we need relics to make our faith
stronger? Are they carriers of Divine inspiration and
protection? Or just ghoulish pieces of dead people we
like to have around to protect us from tidal waves,
thunderstorm or Saxon pirates? And what can we believe
about their authenticity?
But then, what is authenticity, in this case?
The Arabs have a proverb, "It doesn’t really
matter what you worship; what matters is the intensity
of your devotion." This reminds me of the Indian
tale of the poor old woman who saved all her life to buy
a relic of the Buddha. Hearing that one was going to be
sold in a town near hers, she gave all the money to her
no-good-drunk of a son and told him to go and buy the
relic for her.
He spent all the cash on wood alcohol and girls,
found a dog’s tooth lying in the gutter, wrapped it in
a piece of golden cloth and brought it back to his
mother, deriding her for her superstitious faith as he
presented her with it. A week later, he passed her room
and saw her kneeling before her little altar. The old
dog’s tooth was ablaze with Divine light.
I bought (well, I won!) the relics of the Cure
of Ars and of St Therese of Lisieux that were being
auctioned on Ebay. We received them, surprising
ourselves with a devotion and a sense of protection that
no prayer had brought before. They now lie on the little
altar of our meditation room, next to a bottle of water
from Guadalupe, a few rocks from Stinson Beach, a small
plastic statue of the Infant of Prague–the only thing
surviving from a grand mother I never knew, and a
mother-of-pearl box containing a lock of hair of my
beloved cat Purrball, baby pictures, the framed dried
gardenia that was pinned on my jacket when I got
married. All of these items are there to remind me, not
only of how great God is, but also of what once was–and
of what will be. I don’t have any problem keeping lung
tissue of St Therese of Lisieux next to a box containing
my cat’s ashes–and I am sure Therese doesn’t
either
If we were to define love (and if we were to count
the waves in the ocean), the only word big enough would
probably be LIFE. We all keep relics–from French
saints, from Holy places–or from places we made holy
by the memories we created there. It is paradoxical if
it comes sometimes from a dead body–what a wonderful
way to transcend Death and celebrate our own unique
immortality. Very relevant at this time of Crucifixion
and Resurrection.
Love then is Life. So, don’t miss love.
© Copyright 2002 Eryk Hanut.
All Rights Reserved.
Eryk Hanut is a
writer and photographer. His latest books are "The
Road to Guadalupe" (Tarcher-Putnam 2001) and the very
recently published "The Blessings of Guadalupe"
( Council Oak books- 2002). He is currently working on a
memoir. He lives in Nevada with his husband Andrew Harvey
and his two cats Puli and Princey. You can visit him at www.erykhanut.com
and contact him through visibleinkstudio@aol.com.
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