Relics: Dusty, Dead and Bizarre

…the name of the God of Jacob defend thee. Psalm 20:1b

“I was once goaded by a poor silly Irish papist to try it, who told me, in his consummate ignorance and bigotry, that if a priest would but give him a drop of holy water, and make a circle with it around a field full of wild beasts, they would not hurt him. I retired in disgust at the abominable trickery of such villains, reflecting what a fool I am that I cannot put such a trust in my God as this poor deluded man puts in his priest and a drop of holy water.” Joseph Irons

A couple of weeks ago, we were in a different part of the city looking about at where the company I work for is moving to at the end of July. Since we were over there, as is Ed’s custom, he wanted to drive about for no particular reason at all. So, he told me to plug something into my GPS and off we went to find this huge Catholic church he had once taken his father to for a tour. Now a “huge Catholic church” is nothing abnormal in Pittsburgh – there are tons of them – but this one is unique. For, gathered inside Saint Anthony’s stone walls, are 5,000 “Christian” relics.

Just to put this in perspective for those of us who are not Catholic and think collecting dusty bones, teeth and sticks one can’t possibly prove belonged to anyone and is rather a disgusting hobby except for in the realm of science, this is the largest collection of relics outside the Vatican. That’s a pretty big assortment of dead things.

My first sarcastic response was the church was aptly named. For isn’t Saint Anthony the saint of missing things? Apparently, that was another St. Anthony. (How do these Catholics keep all these saints in order? If it were me, I’d be praying to the wrong one all the time and then wondering why my prayers weren’t being answered.) My second response was just how disgusting such a collection is. Who wants to see dry bones and teeth? And lastly, no one can possible prove that that splinter was a part of Christ’s cross and not the thief’s hanging next to him. Or that all those skulls belonged to one saint over another (or to, bluntly, no saint at all). DNA testing isn’t possible since those people didn’t know their blood type let alone their body’s unique chemistry, and no one kept dental records of these martyred people to prove whose teeth is whose.

I don’t think I was properly awed at the collection this Father Suitbert Mullinger of Belgium gathered during this lifetime. With strains of Catholicism embedded in his DNA, I think Ed found my responses a bit sacrilegious. But to me, visiting this museum and bowing down to dry bones would be akin to visiting the Carnegie Science Museum and offering sacrifices to the skeleton of the dinosaur. It’s worshipping the creature over the Creator. And this guy who went around the world collecting this stuff wasted his entire life. And when he entered eternity…well, I’m sure he was surprised that God wasn’t interested that he “….builded sepulchres of the prophets, and your fathers killed them.” (Luke 11:47).

Growing up, I knew what relics were. My grandmother had tons in her house. Pictures of Jesus with weaved palm leaves hung about them. Little containers marked with tape and ink “holy water” in the cupboard next to her flour, Tylenol and marshmallows. Fancy strings of beads with crosses. Even though I came to understand the trappings of her religion, I never understood how she could respect them. What good was “holy water” if you kept it in a bottle? Palm leaves wither and don’t make for attractive décor. And why did I need a fancy necklace to pray – or, rather, chant to a dead Mary?

At St. Anthony’s here in Pittsburgh, poor deluded people walk through its doors nearly every day of the week. They bow, and pray, and cry before chips of the bones of each of the Apostles (so claimed). And, sadly, some even declare that a tooth has healed them from some wretched disease. They stand in awe of nothing but the trappings of dead men and lying religious leaders. It makes me sad. And it makes me angry.

But it also makes me thoughtful. No, I don’t believe that an ankle bone from St. What’s-his-Name can heal my sore knee. So, then, what do I trust? I say I trust God. And I do. But do I trust God as ardently as the woman who claims the piece of Mary’s veil healed her cancer? That is a question worth meditating on.