Memories of Bayou Teche

From one of my 2005 journal entries:
"Sweltering heat. Rotten wood, warped flooring and artificial altar flowers in old St. Catherine Church. Flies buzzing bowls of condiments at a near-empty food shack, the only 'diner' in town. A Main Street so empty of businesses it looks like a ghost town. Shacks like houses of cards along Bayou Teche.

This commemorative edition was
recently published, including beautiful,
historic lithographs.

Vivid memories remain of my visit to Arnaudville, Louisiana in 1992, when I visited Catholic Extension subsidized missionary Sister Mary Bordelon. Talk about hidden poor. In this Cajun town of about 1,400 people less than 50 miles north of the Gulf of Mexico, dwelled the 'River Rats.' On a sunny day 13 years ago I met them, and still shudder that some locals likened fellow townsfolk to rodents. So-called 'River Rats' rented shacks along Bayou Teche, a spot romanticized by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in his poem 'Evangeline.' The reality I saw was three- or four-room homes weathered gray and roofed with corrugated tin, elbowing each other in a wobbly row, along a curbless, cinder road.

An image of Arcadia, from the reprinting of Evangeline, shown above.

'You want anything fixed, you do it yourself!' one resident told me, about how her landlord seldom dropped by. 'But when rent's due, you can bet he's here!'

Outside, two children rode double on a bike. A teenager lounged against a doorway. A middle-aged man hunched on a lawn chair, nowhere to go and no way to get there. Then I met a 'hidden hero.' Amidst gray boards, cinders and bayou green, one screen door creaked open and a young woman named Cytina beckoned warmly, scarlet and blue ribbons flashing joyfully in her hair. Sister Mary and I stepped inside, and three was quickly a crowd in the shoebox-sized living room. Sweat beaded our foreheads as we chatted. Furnishings were spare: a sagging couch, a table, an old dresser against one wall. Nearby hung pictures of three brothers who died fighting for America in Okinawa, Korea and Germany. From a side bedroom came gentle murmuring. There lay Cytina's elderly mother, suffering after a stroke. She prayed constantly, statues of the Blessed Mother and Sacred Heart nearby.

Population of Arnaudville, LA, July of 2009 was 1,401. Estimated median household income averaged $21,204.

At 28, Cytina was like a glowing ember amidst a spent campfire. She leaned forward eagerly when Sister Mary told her a new choir was forming at church. She clutched a novena book and spoke of getting more involved at the parish. Her eyes were deep and expressive. Her smile enlivened her pretty face. When she was a girl, doctors told her she had sickle cell anemia and might never live to be 21. Then a 'walkin' man' visited town, peddling 'blood-building' tonics to poor African-Americans. Cytina was convinced his tonic cured her.

She blinked away tears and said, 'Here I am at 28! God must want me here. Now I want to be a nurse to help others.'

Intersection of Bayou Teche and the
Atchafalaya River. Photo by U.S. Army
Corps of Engineers.

It seemed a pipe-dream. After losing three babies and the break-up of her marriage, Cytina had returned to the poverty of her childhood home. Now her address made her an undesirable. In fact, a 'River Rat.' 

People in town ask why these people don't work, Sister Mary told me in her gentle voice. 'But they have no cars and no way to get anywhere.' Today I recall those words as hurricanes rampage through the Gulf Coast. Evacuate? For the poor, mobility is a luxury. 

'With how the world's going, I am praying more,' Cytina told me thirteen years ago. 'I want to help make things better.' At 41, does this bright-eyed woman still dream of helping others? Or have cruel winds of circumstance and nature dimmed the light in those eyes?

'With how the world's going...' Sometimes it keeps me up at night...all the Cytinas hidden along all the bayous and cinder roads of the Gulf Coast. Countless hidden heroes are struggling to weather yet another misery, in already stressed lives.

People are strangers until you're introduced. Sister Mary introduced me and now a piece of my heart has been buffeted by the winds of the 2005 hurricane season. At night in my comfortable bed in suburban Chicago I wonder, where is Cytina now? Dear God, where and how are all the Cytinas?"

Sent by EXTENSION Magazine to Cajun territory, I saw pristine grounds, and an innovative and gracious approach to learning at Grand Coteau's historic Academy of the Sacred Heart, founded in 1821. I toured New Orleans' French Quarter, and boarded a fishing vessel for a shrimp fleet blessing. I was hosted for dinner by a family whose gorgeous home rivaled those found in any upscale suburb. But I also was privileged to visit with the hidden poor on remote crawfish farms, within the Atchafalaya Swamp, and along the banks of Bayou Teche. "Poor" is such a relative term. I was captivated by these people's rich faith and culture, strong family and community ties, their warmth and humor.  


Different faces of those I had met haunted me at night after Hurricane Katrina hit in 2005. I worried over their possible fates. I wrote the above reflection about Cytina and Sister Mary Bordelon in my journal, then asked colleagues at The Catholic Church Extension Society if they would like to use it in some way (I was freelancing for Extension Society at the time). They offered the piece on Extension's web page under its "Hidden Heroes" section. 


I later learned that Arnaudville is on high ground, so escaped catastrophic flooding. But the Cytina I met there, stranded without a car or job and with an ailing mother, represents to me countless hidden poor throughout the region. Click on this link to see the stretch of homes I visited where Cytina lived: http://www.catholicextension.org/bordelon/. The photo was taken during my visit to Arnaudville in 1992.


Today, Arnaudville's described online as a "great little town to raise children," and a charming place with lush trees and quaint shops. One of the oldest remaining towns in St. Landry Parish (settled late 1700's), it serves up a thriving Cajun culture, let loose in gatherings like the Etouffee Festival, held each April. After Hurricane Katrina, the town opened its arms to artists and musicians who needed a new cultural home, so a revival was sparked. A new cultural arts center established there in 2005 was attracting visitors from around the world, until it burned down four years later. Residents are determined to rebuild, an uphill battle since many struggle financially. With Lafayette just 14 miles away, jobs are to be found in factories, retail, and health care, for those who have a car and can afford the gas. But I can't even imagine the impact high gas prices are having upon this population. In 2009, more than 23% of Arnaudville residents fell beneath the poverty level. 

Tonight, Louisiana is again suffering, as 3,000 square miles of farms are flooded by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers to try to divert worse flooding from more populous cities like Baton Rouge and New Orleans. People of Louisiana, you have had much to bear. I remember one crawfish farmer telling me about Cajuns' infectious "Joie de vivre." May you never lose your joy.

On the Art of Investigative Journalism and Living

Investigative journalists should aspire to
shed light in the darkness.

I had a dinosaur moment two days ago, when the way I learned and lived my chosen profession of 20-plus years was described as nearly extinct -- or, at least, on the endangered species list. 

Jennifer Lahl, Producer of the award-winning documentary Eggsploitation was describing on Relevant Radio (950 AM WNTD, Chicago) her research into the practice of targeting female college students for egg harvesting. 

On college campuses across our nation, ads promise young women thousands of dollars for contributing their eggs to fertility clinics. Women with high SAT scores and the "right" color skin are a hot ticket item for this industry.

Lahl, President of the Center for Bioethics and Culture Network, suspected a scam. Some ads offer upwards of $100,000 for egg harvesting. There had to be a catch. 


Thankfully, Lahl wouldn't let the matter rest, and did some good, old-fashioned investigative journalism. She found female donors had suffered horrific side effects after undergoing ovarian hyperstimulation procedures used in egg harvesting. Many of these young women, sacrificing their bodies for profit (often to earn funds for repaying student loans), became permanently infertile. Others suffered strokes, comas and even death. Lahl publicized her findings in a documentary awarded "Best Documentary" this year at the 13th Annual California Independent Film Festival.

Relevant Radio asked Lahl how such abuses could persist and why this story wasn't covered by media.

This is where references to journalism came to the fore, and I perked up my ears even further. In the old days, reasoned Lahl, more investigative journalists dug deeply for stories. She described our modern era of pared down staffs and budgets. Desk journalism prevails, where stories for broadcast and print media are churned out at a frenetic pace. Imagine the scenario: some helter skelter browsing on the internet, a few phone calls, and voila, another deadline met.

With such an approach, many stories begging to be told are slipping through cracks. If the public remains ignorant of certain inhumane conditions and injustices, won't more  injustices flourish? On the flip side, many an inspiring development will go unreported, if no one is taking time to glean the details. 

Nothing beats getting out there in the world to chase down stories first-hand and in-depth. Every time I've ever left my desk for this purpose, I've returned with renewed passion and greater insights about the topic, and enough material to generate several articles. The whole, unadulterated truth is always so much richer than initial perception. 

Thank heavens, good investigative journalism conducted out "in the field" is not yet extinct, even if it is, in some ways, tottering on weakened limbs. Foreign and war correspondents, and those heading into disaster areas, are still active and unfathomably brave. Both secular and religious journalists still venture into the unknown, and are kidnapped, harassed, beaten and killed, all in the line of duty. 

"An investigative journalist is a man or woman whose profession it is to discover the truth and to identify lapses from it..." (De Burgh, Wikipedia) 

These people are heroes, providing a vital service at a time when synthetic pursuits of reality abound. At their best, when they are anchored in truth and fleeing fabrication, journalists help us never lose sight of "The Real." They stir us to stay informed and get involved in everything from charitable causes and a deeper faith pursuit to politics and community life.

In my own life as a writer, I've had to learn to be flexible to survive and produce. Digging out stories has taken me into every possible setting: from the cardinal's mansion in Chicago to interview the late Cardinal Bernardin and St. Peter's Basilica in Rome to grasp the hand of Blessed John Paul II (I did not interview him, but was in a special audience), to an abandoned shell of a building in the mill town of Lawrence, Massachusetts, where I viewed remains of a dog sacrificed in a satanic ritual. 

The pursuit of a good story has taken me to awards dinners and Indian powwows, Cajun shrimp fleet blessings and soup kitchens. It's been a real life of, well, living! Being blessed to have these experiences and share them with others through the written word has been one of the greatest joys of my life.

The media has "an enormous positive potential for promoting sound human and family values, and thus contributing to the renewal of society." 

-- Blessed John Paul II, on The Media and the Family: A Risk and a Richness, written for 2004 World Communications Day, January 24, 2004

Heaven knows, journalists don't go into the profession for money. They feel commissioned. And the world needs dedicated, ethical, talented, investigative journalists. Thanks to Lahl's investigations, the egg-harvesting industry must be shivering a bit in its boots. Her documentary is showing on law school campuses such as Harvard, Fordham and Yale, in other community venues across the nation, and even overseas. Informed women are being spared the horrific consequences of having their bodies invaded and their fertility destroyed. 

What other darkness is out there, waiting to be brought to light?

As readers and viewers of media, we should not be content with hastily written blogs and tweets. We deserve and should demand meaty, fully-researched stories. And every one of us needs to become investigators and pursuers of Truth in all its fullness, no matter our professions.

I heard something amusing two nights ago at the library. A father was chatting with his two young children about too much screen time. 

"For every one minute you spend watching Phineus and Ferb on television," he said, "you get ten minutes dumber!"

Humorous approach, with underlying truth. Thank heavens for the internet and its vast resources. I wouldn't want to do without it. However, journalists should do their initial research, then be free to leave the comfort of their cubbyholes and screens to venture forth and do some vigorous, face-to-face, investigative digging. 

But people of every age and profession must also push those screens aside and get out into the world. We should remember each day to investigate. Explore. And return to loved ones to report.

How incredibly valuable to go on location, into whatever wide variety of settings Providence calls us, to dig for the Truth of it all.

Happy Second Sunday of Easter, Feast of Divine Mercy, and Beatification Day of JPII!

"In the midst of the assembly I will praise You"
Psalm 22:23

Happy Easter!
Dear mother earth, who day by day
Unfoldest blessings on our way,
O praise Him! Alleluia!
The flowers and fruits that in thee grow,
Let them His glory also show.
O praise Him! Alleluia!
Allelulia, alleluia, alleluia!
-- St. Francis of Assisi, 13th Century

Even city lots bloom forth and show His glory...
All creation, praise His Holy Name!


The Season of Easter, or Eastertide, lasts seven weeks, from Easter Sunday until Pentecost Sunday.

Our neighbor's daffodils -- pristine 
and perfect.

We call ours "afrodils" for obvious reasons! Does
anyone know the official name for this variety?

Delicate sunset colors...

I love these pansies, given to me by friends,
for teaching a class.

"Just as the sun's rays in springtime cause the buds on the branches of the trees to sprout and open up, so the radiance that streams forth from Christ's resurrection gives strength and meaning to every human hope, to every expectation, wish and plan."  

-- Pope Benedict XVI, given on Easter Sunday, 2011, from the balcony at St. Peter's Basilica, during his Urbi et Orbi (to the city and the world) message.

"Those who seek the Lord shall praise Him:
'May your hearts be ever merry!'" Psalm 22:23

It's All About Mercy...

Since this is Divine Mercy Sunday, and the day on which Pope John Paul II will be beatified in Rome, I have a great, true story for you. Sixteen years ago, I joined a group from Chicago traveling to Rome to attend the Mass in which Monsignor Edward J. Slattery was elevated to Bishop. (He now serves the Tulsa, Oklahoma Diocese.) Our group was granted a private audience with Pope John Paul II. Amongst us was a judge who was greatly struggling with the idea of mercy as regards to her profession. Of course, the Holy Father had no human way of knowing this woman's struggles, but at some point during the audience he drew near, gazed intently into her eyes, and urged her to "Mercy, mercy, mercy." 


Pope John Paul II instituted the Second Sunday of Easter as "Divine Mercy Sunday," during the Mass of canonization of St. Faustina Kowalska on April 30, 2000, the year of the Great Jubilee. The Holy Father later died on the vigil of the Feast of Divine Mercy, six years ago. 

The bestselling diary of Saint Faustina tells how Jesus came to this nun in prayer, shortly before the outbreak of World War II. 

"I am sending you with My Mercy to the people of the whole world," Jesus told her. "I do not want to punish mankind, but I desire to heal it, pressing it to My merciful Heart..." 


Attending Divine Mercy devotions on this Second Sunday of Easter is an amazing way to renew one's faith and start fresh during this joyous season! Praise Him for His enduring mercy...

Photos (except book cover) by Marianna Bartholomew

Spinach-planting Time

"Time to plant spinach," a friend reminded me last week while we waited for our kids to finish fitness class. That's all I needed to launch me into hours of gardening frenzy.

Three years ago, I was a shareholder of Angelic Organics Farm in Caledonia, Illinois. How I loved collecting weekly boxes overflowing with familiar and exotic vegetables. (Ever eat kohlrabi or fennel?)

Then my husband suggested we expand our small garden on our suburban lot to sustain our own little "farm."

Planting and weeding organic vegetables was springtime status quo around my house... 

Growing up, my family organic gardened, and I have distinct childhood memories of facing dreaded mounds of zucchini on my dinner plate and bitter, green grapes Mom sweetened and jelled.

Successes were many, however, including sweet, juicy tomatoes, spicy-hot scallions and radishes, piquant swiss chard and tart, pink rhubarb we slathered with sugar and oats for "rhubarb crunch."

Through the years, I've had variable success with my own gardens. I still regret leaving behind nearly a dozen perennial herbs at our previous home, around twenty miles south, in a micro-climate particularly suited to herbs.

We've had years when our tomatoes multiplied and bore heavily on the vine through November, and years when foliage flourished and vegetables played coy (we amended the soil with too much nitrogen.)

"Square Foot Gardening" divides tasks into manageable, bite-sized portions.

Last year, we started "Square Foot Gardening," dividing tasks into manageable, bite-sized portions. I harvested more than 30 varieties of veggies from raspberries and gourmet lettuce to heirloom tomatoes and pumpkins. We paid miniscule produce bills for months.


How do we cram such abundance into a narrow, city-sized lot?

We have three raised beds, each divided into 16 little compartments. We fill each unit with a mix of 1/3 peat, 1/3 compost and 1/3 vermiculite. When I plant, I work just a couple squares a day, until, voila! My garden is seeded.

I admit I groaned when my friend said it was spinach-planting time, because, no matter how much I come to enjoy it each year, gardening is still a lot of work. Also, spring definitely roared in like a lion this year. It was hard to dislodge myself from my nice, warm house, to muck around in the dirt. 


But all I had to do was don my old jeans and beat-up gardening clogs, and put hands to the soil, and my grumbling disappeared. My boys joined me, as we raked up debris, clipped overgrowth and anchored stone pavers to delineate planting beds.

One beautiful spring morning a few days ago, a bird full-throated warbled from a nearby bush and the skies smiled blue upon us. One of my sons planted peas, and then dug up handfuls of worms to relocate to our raised planting beds -- gardening at its best!

It seemed arctic cold today, and yet the planting season has commenced...

Today, temperature highs reached only the lower 40's and it sleeted much of the day. It was blustery and c-o-l-d. But the planting season has commenced, and I couldn't resist a quick dash out to the garden to gauge my seedlings' progress. So far, I have a nice thatch of chives and Egyptian scallions, fragrant spearmint quirling up through the earth, and ten or so spinach seedlings shivering in the breeze.

Of course, I also have dandelion greens, although I have to remind myself these are potential food, not just worthless weeds.

Two weeks ago, my garden patch looked grey and barren, criss-crossed by scraggly skeletons of dried squash vines – a fitting Lenten landscape. As Easter approaches and spring rains pelt, the whole plot is washing clean and furling into life.

It feels good to add my own special touches, to sow and water, and direct my kids’ hands to the earth.

Prayer of the Christian Farmer (or Gardener)


O God, Source and Giver of all things,

Who manifests Your infinite majesty, power and goodness

in the earth about us, we give You honor and glory.

For the sun and rain, for the manifold fruits of our fields,

for the increase of our herds and flocks we thank You.

For the enrichment of our souls with divine grace,

we are grateful.

Supreme Lord of the harvest,

graciously accept us and the fruits of our toil,

in union with Christ Your Son, as atonement for our sins,

for the growth of Your Church,

for peace and charity in our homes,

for salvation to all.

Amen. 


Prayer Source: Novena in Honor of St. Isidore: Patron of Farmers by National Catholic Rural Life Conference

Image courtesy of http://www.clipartheaven.com/

Did you know? Amount of trash thrown out by average person annually averages 1,500 pounds. Amount of trash thrown out by person who composts: 375 pounds.

Clip art (except trash can and produce border) courtesy of "Designed to a T""

On Tolkien's Desk, Lewis's Wardrobe and Relics, Both Secular and Sacred

J.R.R. Tolkien's cover design and signature.

Film director Peter Jackson (of Lord of the Rings

fame), plans to start filming "The Hobbit" 

tomorrow, featuring an all-star cast, including 

a reappearance of Elijah Wood as Frodo. 

I'm longing to revisit J.R.R. Tolkien's desk on which he wrote the Hobbit and C.S. Lewis's elaborately-carved wardrobe that inspired his imaginings of a passage into mythical Narnia.

Wheaton College's Wade Center

There's talk of yet another Narnia movie
in the works, adapted from C.S. Lewis's 
book "The Magician's Nephew."

Both artifacts are displayed in Illinois, in Wheaton College's Wade Center. I brought my children here about a year ago, and stood transfixed by


Tolkien's little eight-drawer student desk. I imagined the aging Catholic author, who looked like a Hobbit himself, dipping his quill pen to create his epic personification of good versus evil. 


I gently swung the elaborately carved wardrobe door (we're allowed!) and knew C.S. Lewis had touched the same weathered panels. I felt goose-bumpy awe being in such close proximity to objects used daily by these visionaries. (Click on this link for images of desk and wardrobe: 
http://www.jeremyyoder.net/tolkiensdesk.htm).

My great-great grandmother's Pennsylvania
Dutch shawl.

Antiquities always stir in me deep curiosity and reverence. In a cedar chest, I store a wedding shawl worn four generations ago by my great-great grandmother. I study the rich paisley patterns, and imagine the young woman who draped her shoulders with  the luxurious cloth for her nuptials.


Perhaps it's no surprise, in a world where we frame photos of loved ones, scrapbook memories, and pay memberships to historical museums, that the Church has always cherished its relics.

St. Therese of
Lisieux with
her jumprope.

We have proof of Christians venerating relics back to the 2nd Century.

Relics come in all shapes and sizes:
* Saint Helena found the True Cross, venerated today in Rome's Basilica di Santa Croce in Gerusalemme. 
* Many say Veronica's veil is housed in a tiny Capuchin church in the Abruzzi Mountains, three hours' drive from Rome. This "Shroud of Manoppello" is made of byssus, or "sea silk," an ancient cobwebby material on which no image could be painted -- and yet, Christ's face is clearly discernible. 
* Thought to be the burial cloth of Jesus, the Shroud of Turin, has been held since the 16th Century in St. John the Baptist Chapel in Turin, Italy. Scientists studying the cloth have converted to faith. Its next public viewing is scheduled for the year 2025.

This old postcard from the 
spectacular shrine of St. Anne
de Beaupre shows one of three
major relics of the Blessed 
Virgin's mother.

In an era that disparages "clutter," that proliferates reality television shows like "Clean House," in which featured families sweep into garage sales and garbage bins nearly every sentimental nick nack and prized possession to obtain sleek, fashionable living spaces, what role can relics play?


We're tactile people and some things are worth saving. In Assisi, Italy, I saw the actual silver-threaded gown St. Clare wore when she forsook her noblewoman's life for the Church. Her lavish golden curls were still preserved nearly 800 years after they were shorn. Through these and other artifacts, the impetuous young woman who clung with supernatural strength to an altar railing when her father tried to drag her away from her vocation, leapt into life for me. Like a family preserving a prized baptismal or wedding gown, is the Church cherishing its saints' relics.

I know many people who have been deeply touched by relics. A friend just wrote me from Arizona telling how she saw two thorns from Jesus' Crown of Thorns in Rome at the Basilica di Santa Croce in Gerusalemme. "When in Rome, go there!" she urged. On March 24, 2011, the Daily Mail Reporter released the news that another thorn from Jesus' Crown, once kept by Mary Queen of Scots, is going on display at the British Museum in London in an exhibit called "Treasures of Heaven."  

Contemporary people need relics, I'm convinced! I've had innumerable brushes with these blessed objects, leaving me more convicted about my faith every time. For example, abundant St. Therese of Liseux artifacts housed in The National Shrine of St. Therese in Darien, Illinois, have drawn me to a deeper feeling of connection with this saint. I helped run a Catholic Little Flowers Girls Club for nine years, and learned to love St. Therese, patroness of the club. My children and I enjoyed repeat visits to the Darien shrine, since it includes St. Therese's chair and playthings, plus her hand-drawn maps, and innumerable other items from her daily life .

The National Shrine of St. Therese in Darien, IL, offers the largest collection of this saint's relics outside of Lisieux, France. A rare oil painting of Therese, sacred vessels and a velvet tablecloth this saint handled during her time as sacristan  are on loan from France through October of 2011.

At times, the gloves of Padre Pio have circulated through area churches attended by mysterious heavenly scents and miraculous healings. My husband and I experienced a profound prayer experience when the gloves of this Italian mystic visited Assumption Church in Ashkum, south of Kankakee, about a dozen years ago.

Canada's breathtaking shrine of St. Anne de Beaupre.

Incorrupt body of Saint John Vianney 
(1786-1859), entombed above the main 
altar in the basilica at Ars, France. 
Photo by Herwig Reidlinger

On a 3,000-mile round-trip pilgrimage, my husband and I, and our three children (aged four through 12), drove up along the Saint Lawrence Seaway to the remote shrine of Saint Anne de Beaupre north of Quebec City. My family was flabbergasted at the immensity of the shrine and its three major relics of the Blessed Virgin's mother, St. Anne. These gifts were presented from 1670 A.D. through 1960 A.D., from two bishops and a pope: a portion of a finger bone, a four-inch portion of the saint's forearm, and another segment of arm bone.

We attended St. John Cantius

Church in Chicago for five years. 

One of the best samples of sacred

architecture in the city, the 
100-plus year old church is
chock full of sacred art and 
relics.

Our former church, St. John Cantius Church  in Chicago, houses impressive collections of "first-class" relics from saints such as John Cantius and John Vianney, the Curie d'Ars. Fragments of these saints' bones, plus a small particle of the True Cross and many other relics, were exhibited in a special room off the main church until the room recently closed for renovations. Scheduled re-opening is in about two years. Still on display by the elevator near the sacristy of this baroque-style church is a glass case with relics, and two large plaque reliquaries featuring 500 male and 500 female saints, including Doctors of the Church and early martyrs.


Father William de Salvo of Saint Isaac Jogues Church  in Hinsdale, Illinois, once associate pastor of my current parish, is known for bringing his vast relics collection with him to his various parish assignments. They make appearances on feast days, adding to the solemnity of the occasion.

Stone panels depict the story of the Martyrs of
Thailand, from Our Lady of the Martyrs of 
Thailand Shrine in Mukdahan Province, Thailand.

I've even found saints' relics hidden amongst collections at Chicago's Art Insitute. I offer up a quick prayer when I come upon a reliquary in such an unlikely location.


Finally, when covering a story about Catholic Extension Society's 1991 Lumen Christi Winner Agnes Ryan, the inspiring friend to missionaries and Milwaukee resident gave me a first-class relic of one of the Seven Blessed Martyrs of Thailand. The bone shard of 23-year-old Sister Lucia Khambang, killed by police December of 1940 for defending her faith, is mounted under a gold seal and signed by Archbishop Lawrence Khai of the Thare-Nongseng Archdiocese. Pope John Paul II named the seven martyrs "Blessed" the same month and year my husband and I married -- October of 1989.

Image from the Shroud
of Turin

So, while literary artifacts generate admiration from fans, and antiquities encourage reflection on the past and its peoples, religious relics touch even more deeply. They stir our imaginations and prompt us to explore stories of saints and events from our Catholic heritage. They generate awe and spur us to deeper prayer. As blessed objects, they offer us heaven's touch on earth.

Veneration of relics is "encouraged by the Church out of honor for the bodies of the saints...and to satisfy the universal instinct of mankind to treat with affection and reverence the material souvenirs of those whom we love." -- A Catholic Dictionary, Edited by Donald Attwater