 Know
what a finial is? Sounds like a piece of beautiful pre-Vatican
II altar paraphernalia, or a papal vestment, doesn’t it?
Actually, you probably see finials every day. They’re
the ornamental doohickeys that screw lampshades onto lamps.
I know this, because my wife knows this. She bought us
a new finial recently. It features a molded image of the
Holy Family at the Nativity and, in case you’re wondering,
I like it, too.
Why would anyone want to own such a thing? Well, as it
happens, we have an entire collection of Nativity renderings
— some admittedly unusual — that we put out every Christmas.
With the addition of the finial, we’ve decided to call
it quits for awhile . . . a long while . . . before we
veer into a level of eccentricity that might one day shame
our son in the eyes of his neighborhood friends.
I don’t remember exactly when it was but, somewhere along
the way, my wife and I developed a taste for what might
be called “faith-based accents for the home.” Nice ones,
mind you, not glow-in-the-dark statues, 3-D Bible scenes,
and eyes-that-follow-you holy pictures (with all due apologies
to manufacturers and devotees of glow-in-the-dark statues,
3-D Bible scenes, and eyes-that-follow-you holy pictures).
It’s not just the Nativity scenes. We’re reining in sacred
image acquisitions across the board. Why? 1) It’s a habit
that can get easily out of hand. 2) We’re not rich. 3)
If we put all our everyday and seasonal stuff out at one
time, you’d think we were running a Mom & Pop religious
goods store out of our home.
How much stuff could I possibly be talking about? Let’s
start outside. In front of the house, we have a plastic-that-looks-like-granite
St. Joseph. Out back, we have a plaster-that-looks-like-plaster
St. Michael. Then, there’s inside . . .
Sidelight window: Stained-glass Jesus.
Front hall: Our Lady, John Paul II, Holy Spirit, St. Michael.
Living room: Our Lady, St. Michael, the Annunciation.
Family room: house blessing, crucifix, St. Joseph.
Our son’s room: crucifix, St. Michael, St. Joseph, guardian
angel prayer, holy water font.
Our room: crucifix, Sacred heart, Immaculate Conception,
Madonna & Child, St. Joseph prayer.
Kitchen: Holy Family refrigerator magnet, St. Michael
refrigerator magnet, guardian angel refrigerator magnet,
Divine Mercy refrigerator magnet, standard-issue parish
calendar sponsored by a local funeral parlor.
Okay, so the calendar was a freebie. I just wanted to
bring it up. What is it with funeral parlors and calendars,
anyway? I mean, how handy does your local mortician’s
phone number really need to be? How come pizza parlors
never sponsor these things?
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I
don’t remember exactly
when it was but, somewhere along the way, my wife
and I developed a taste for what might be called
“faith-based accents for the home.” Nice ones,
mind you, not glow-in-the-dark statues, 3-D
Bible scenes, and eyes-that-follow-you holy pictures.
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Anyway, back to all those other things I listed. That’s
just the stuff we keep around for every day. And I’m sure
I missed a few things. Christmas and Easter each have
their own additional accoutrements. As a matter of fact,
it takes us until St. Patrick’s Day to finish putting
away that Nativity collection.
Yes, I’m kidding. It actually takes us until St. Joseph’s
Day. (For those of you without a handy funeral parlor
calendar, that’s two days after St. Patrick’s Day.)
Now, am I under the impression that just having this stuff
around makes me a better Christian than you? No.
My faith is as woefully deficient as the next guy’s.
But that being the case, it’s nice to see ideals of faith
around the house ... and physical statements of my family’s
beliefs.
Statues and pictures are also apologetics tools of a sort.
They’re quiet, but they can start conversations for the
conversationally inclined. They can also make self-evident
statements of faith for less vocal believers.
And, truth be told, they can make you feel pretty good
about yourself from time to time, woefully deficient faith
notwithstanding. For instance, our stuff got us good marks
on a recent homily checklist.
Don’t you love scoring high on a homily checklist? You
know what I mean. The priest lays out a bunch of things
you ought to be doing, and you’ve got most of them covered.
It’s a great feeling.
I can’t speak for women, but for men, I think the whole
checklist thing is an echo of childhood baseball card
collecting. Not baseball card investing, treating the
things like stock certificates the way they do these days.
I’m talking about collecting, trading, and pitching ’em
against walls in competition with fellow collectors.
Every once in a while, in a pack of baseball cards, you’d
get a checklist for a particular series of cards, to figure
out what you had and didn’t have (need him, need him,
got him, got him, need him, need him, got him). Just having
the checklist was a big deal. Completing it was an experience
bordering on cosmic.
I got that joyful checklist feeling at Mass recently.
Our pastor was talking about signs, the miracles of Jesus,
and our own personal signs of faith. Among the latter
were a number of faith-based accents for the home, just
like the ones we have.
We left church feeling pretty good that day. I patted
myself on the back for at least displaying my faith, if
not demonstrating it more often. Then, in true Irish Catholic
fashion, I followed that up almost immediately by questioning
whether anything other than smug self-approval ever came
from having this stuff around the house. I consulted my
wife, and here’s what we came up with.
A passing neighbor once asked where she, too, could get
a plastic-that-looks-like-granite St. Joseph. Perhaps,
right now, the pleasant and exemplary memory of St. Joseph
is being brought to mind outside her house as well.
When we sold our house in that neighborhood, the buyers
asked about the Nativity scene we had outside at the time
(must have been around St. Joseph’s Day). They wanted
one just like it, so we just left them that one as a gift.
That Nativity is still making its annual statement in
front of that house, even though we’re no longer there.
A Divine Mercy decal on the window of my car drove home
the concept of Catholic devotion to Jesus to a Protestant
co-worker. I think, to her surprise.
A neighbor across the street from our new house commented
on the stained glass Jesus in our sidelight window, connecting
to us as Christians as well as neighbors.
Anyone setting foot in our house — family, friend, or
tradesman — will leave knowing that they’ve visited a
seriously Catholic home. And that we’re as gung-ho about
our team as any family with a lot of sports memorabilia
around the house is about their team.
In general, when everyday hassles and less-than-Christian
thoughts interfere with life, a chance glance at a sacred
image is a great way to ease the mind and focus on what’s
truly important in life. In our house, opportunities for
a chance glance are pretty frequent.
There’s something else we’ve noticed happening.
Whenever our toddler son sees an image of Jesus, Mary,
or the two of them together, he either waves to them or
blows a kiss. And not just when we’re at home.
If having this stuff around the house is helping to foster
that kind of affection for the Faith in him, I’m thinking
“mural for his bedroom.”
We’ll just have to explain to him how a certain amount
of eccentricity keeps life interesting ... and that the
other kids in the neighborhood are just jealous.
Jim Moore is a writer and playwright in Kansas City,
Kansas. His email address is jimmoore@rocketmail.com.
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