In the Roman Catholic tradition I grew up in, objects could be suffused with sacredness. Sacred Heart Church was full of statues you could kneel in front of to pray, as if the Virgin Mary and St. Joseph resided in the plaster and stone. Many of us wore medals on chains around our necks—there was a common belief that, if you died wearing a St. Christopher medal you went to Heaven, no questions asked. It was a religion of rosaries and relics, in which water could be made holy through a priest’s blessing, and even a tortilla scorched with the face of Christ could become sacred.
I was horrified when, at ten or eleven, I learned that my Protestant friends found these objects grotesque—even evil. Like many Catholics, I began to protest that the objects themselves had no value. That we didn’t pray to the statues, but to the saints they represented. That the medals were just symbols, the blessings merely rituals. My friends didn’t buy it. And yet, it seemed to me they had their own sacred objects—crucifixes, Bibles, pictures of Jesus. They were just subtler about it.
This week at Writing as a Sacred Path, I’m exploring the objects that fill our world, what they mean to us, and ways we can weave them into our writing. Yesterday’s post focused on material possessions. Today, I’m looking at sacred objects.
If you practice a particular religious path, or if you once did, take a close look at the objects held sacred in that tradition. Ask yourself these questions:
1. Where does the sacredness come from? In some traditions—like the Roman Catholicism of my youth—a priest can imbue sacredness through a blessing. In others, objects are sanctified by how they are used and what they represent. Among pagans, magical objects like the athame (ceremonial dagger) and the pentagram are believed to have the power to actually alter the fabric of the Universe. In Judaism, objects like the Mezuzah—a container holding scripture that is attached to a doorpost—carry the weight of thousands of years of tradition.
What are the objects of your tradition? What makes them special? What endows them with sacredness?
2. What feelings do the objects bring up for you? A sense of awe? Of comfort? Of community? If you are currently following a religious path, your feelings are likely to be positive toward those objects—but there are exceptions. I once knew a Shinto priest who found one of the statues in his shrine to be quite terrifying. If you have left a path, your feelings may be very complicated. For me, the rosaries and missiles of the Catholicism I no longer practice are pleasant reminders of a path that gave me a strong foundation for my spiritual growth—but I know a number of lapsed Catholics who are angered or disgusted by them.
3. How do you use these objects? Are they symbols? Tools? Items of worship? Do you keep them for their beauty, their memories, or simply out of habit? Sacred items are used in many unexpected ways. Non-religious Jews often have Mezuzahs on their doors simply to honor their tradition, and I know a number of non-Buddhists who have Buddhas in their living rooms because they look peaceful. In an interesting essay in The Whirlwind Review, writer Jim Pahz talks about the religious medals collected by his father, who isn’t and never has been Catholic.
You can do this exercise even if you have never followed a specific spiritual path by considering the sacred objects of another tradition. Think about how it makes you feel to see others use or keep them. Annoyed? Amused? Respectful? Curious? Explore those feelings. See where they lead.
Excellent! It’ll help one of my scenes.
So pleased you found it useful!