The Hand of Glory

So, I'm sort of obsessed with relics right now, specifically Catholic ones. Now, I'm not Catholic, and my views on organized religion are tenuous at best, but still I just find myself fascinated with the traditions and customs of religions, and Catholicism totally has some of the coolest of them. I read in a Catholic wedding over this past weekend and at the last minute found out that I had some extra responsibility:

Church lady: "Since you'll be reading first, it'll be your job to carry in the gospel"
Me: "um....I got the spirit?" (this was not me being facetious)
Church lady: "Just remember to be serious. This is the word of our lord"
Me: "Wait, what am I doing?"
Church lady: "You'll be entering the church behind the bearer of the crucifix, and carrying the Word"
Me: "....the bible?
Church lady: (clearly giving up): "yes."
Me: "How high do I carry it? chest level?"
Church lady: "higher. Like above your head".
Me: "Really? ...for how long?"

I really wasn't comfortable with this. Not because of my own beliefs or anything like that, but because I really don't want to seem disrespectful to any religion that wasn't made up by a power-mad science fiction writer. So I was truly just trying to get it right.
But it got me thinking about relics and just the whole notion of a revered man's skull protecting a church, or a dead bishop's toenail acting as a talisman to ward off evil. I mean, that's pretty awesome.
and the devious history! Like any semi-legal and impossible-to-trace black market goods, the world of unofficial church memorabilia is awash with fakes, frauds, and impostors. There were up to 18 different specimens of Jesus' foreskin floating around, depending on who you ask. Joan of Arc's bones turned out to be a housecat. Go ahead and try ad counting the pieces of the true cross (I have 12).
But my favorite of the stories I've read in the past couple of days is the case of St. Nicholas' fingers, which were stolen to Italy in the night to protect them from an approaching Muslim army*. Yeah, so the next time you talk to your kids about Santy, remember to note that his fingers are hundreds of miles away from the rest of his also scattered remains. Oh and apparently his bones sweat Manna.
So, in a pretty creepy rash decision I've decided that as we make our way across the country this summer, I wanna go relic hunting. I can't even begin to describe how shocked I am to find out that I spent 5 years living down the street from the largest single collection of relics outside of the Vatican. Oh, but I shall see it. St. Mary's Academy's collection in Kansas? I SHALL SEE IT. St. John Neumann's preserved remains in...Northern Liberties? DONE. I even got a checklist. Weird and morbid and probably not even real. Life is beautiful.

The more I think about this though the more I'm coming to the conclusion that the idea of relics is still very much alive. We still have Lenin and Walt Disney and Mao. We have Madonna's fictional pap smear and I'll bet you there's some sick fuck out there trying to pawn off Curt Cobain's dried anus or some shit. No, they don't protect us from demons, or create sanctuary around a town. But they provide peace of mind for someone, and I guess that's all they ever really did to begin with. In a way, I would guess this makes Cynthia Plaster Caster a new apostle.

some music in an hour or so after I watch Lost.

*Which begs a much larger question; Namely, how did a Turkish priest become the patron saint for Russia and the poster boy for American cola/consumerism?