Relics, in their quiet presence, serve as markers of our shared faith journey. They remind us that faith, though it may dim, can be reignited. The relics I once pursued are now relics of my past, yet they remain beacons of continuity—a reminder that, even in seasons of doubt, a flicker of hope can carry us through.
Growing up in the Philippines, I was deeply drawn to the visible expressions of Catholic devotion. From a young age, I was fascinated by religious symbols, especially relics—sacred objects that seemed to hold pieces of the divine, connecting me to saints and their miraculous lives. However, my fascination with relics was not always balanced with understanding. As a young person, I was guided more by a desire for the tangible than by a grasp of the deeper meanings they held. My journey, marked by zealous faith, entry into the seminary, eventual departure, and now a more subdued spirituality, has revealed the complex beauty and challenges of faith. Today, I see relics as both reminders of my past devotion and testaments to the enduring, though sometimes flickering, light of faith within.
The Allure of Relics and My Early Missteps
Growing up in a devout Filipino family, I was surrounded by stories of miracles, saints, and the power of sacred objects. Relics, in particular, captivated me. They were symbols of God’s grace manifested through holy lives, and they represented a tangible link to the saints’ lives. For years, I collected devotional items and relics, believing they held blessings and divine protection. This attraction was shaped by a Filipino cultural context that treasures sacramentals and expressions of faith, but it was also influenced by a youthful misunderstanding of the role of these sacred objects.
Looking back, I now see that my fascination with relics mirrored a historical trend. During the medieval period, the demand for relics led to widespread forgery and commercialization, as people sought out relics not always for their sacred value, but for prestige, wealth, or protection (Geary, 1990). I can relate to this, as my younger self sometimes saw relics as tokens of luck rather than as reminders of faith. Scholars like Patrick Geary (1990) and Robert Finucane (2011) have documented how the fervor for relics during the Middle Ages was at times tainted by fraud, driven by a desire to harness the relics’ perceived power rather than their true purpose.
Entering the Seminary and Rediscovering the Sacred
My understanding began to change when I entered the seminary. Guided by spiritual mentors, I immersed myself in studying Church teachings on relics, which emphasize that relics are not magic charms, but sacred symbols that lead us to a deeper connection with the saints and God. As St. Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274) teaches in his Summa Theologica, relics are worthy of reverence because they are connected to holy people who served as “temples of the Holy Spirit” during their lives (Aquinas, 1274). This new understanding shifted my focus from possessing sacred items to contemplating their spiritual meanings.
The stories of saints like Saint Helena, who revered relics not for their own sake but as instruments of faith, inspired me. Saint Helena, credited with discovering the True Cross, saw relics as means of spreading the faith rather than as trophies (Brown, 1981). In my seminary studies, I also learned about the role of anamnesis, or remembrance, in relic veneration. Through anamnesis, relics serve not as items of power but as vessels of memory that connect the faithful to the lives of saints. This perspective reminded me that relics call us to remember, to emulate, and to stay connected to a faith tradition that extends beyond our individual lives.
Losing Faith and the Flicker of Hope
Eventually, however, my path took an unexpected turn. I left the seminary, and with that departure, I lost not only my direction but also my sense of the sacred. The relics that once filled me with awe and inspiration became symbols of what I felt I had lost. My enthusiasm faded, and my connection to faith became tenuous, dimming to the faintest ember in my heart. The zeal and clarity that once marked my spirituality seemed to vanish. I entered a season of profound disconnection, where the symbols of faith felt more like remnants of a past life than sources of inspiration.
Yet, even in this time of distance and doubt, a small, flickering light remained within me—an ember of hope. I believe this ember is a kind of grace, a quiet but persistent reminder that faith, however muted, is never fully extinguished. While I no longer possess the same enthusiasm I once had, this small spark keeps me tethered to the possibility of belief and to the continuity of a journey that began long ago. And here, the relics that once held so much meaning for me remain as relics of my past—a testament not only to a faith I once felt intensely, but to the endurance of that faith through struggle and transformation.
Relics as Symbols of Continuity in Filipino Faith
In Filipino culture, our connection to sacred objects is part of a broader cultural identity that values utang na loob (debt of gratitude) and bayanihan (community spirit). These values teach us that our lives are intertwined with those who came before us and those who share our faith today. Relics, when properly understood, are not simply objects but reminders of this continuity. They represent the lives of saints who, like us, faced challenges and doubts but remained faithful. In times of hardship, relics remind us that our faith is part of a larger, enduring story.
For Filipinos, relics resonate with our cultural need for connection—to the divine, to our ancestors, and to one another. By viewing relics not as personal trophies but as symbols of shared heritage, we can foster a more authentic spirituality that honors the saints’ lives rather than just possessing their remnants. Relics serve as reminders that, like the saints, we too are part of a living tradition, even if our faith is not always strong. As Filipino Catholicism treasures the visible and tangible aspects of faith, relics offer a sense of continuity that can endure even when personal devotion wavers.
A Reflection on Faith and Continuity
Today, I see relics as markers of both the faith I once held passionately and the hope that persists despite life’s hardships. Though my connection to relics has changed, they still offer a quiet reminder of my journey and the saints who remain examples of faith even through times of doubt. These objects stand as witnesses to the continuity of faith, a continuity that holds space for both zeal and hesitation. They remind me that the faith I once practiced with fervor is still within reach, waiting to be rekindled.
In theological terms, relic veneration is an act of anamnesis—a practice of remembrance that connects our lives with those who have gone before. This remembrance does not demand unwavering enthusiasm; instead, it gently calls us to stay open to grace, to hold onto the ember of hope that faith can be reignited. Reflecting on my journey, I understand that relics are not merely sacred items but symbols of perseverance. They tell us that, despite moments of loss and struggle, faith endures.
Through these reminders, I am learning that true devotion goes beyond mere possession or zeal. It is found in the quiet moments of remembrance, in holding onto a flickering ember of hope. While I may no longer seek relics with the same fervor, I am grateful for the grace of continuity they offer—of a faith that persists, however quietly, through every season of life.
References
Geary, P. J. (1990). Furta Sacra: Thefts of Relics in the Central Middle Ages. Princeton University Press.
Aquinas, T. (1274). Summa Theologica. Translated by the Fathers of the English Dominican Province. London: Burns, Oates & Washbourne.
Brown, P. (1981). The Cult of the Saints: Its Rise and Function in Latin Christianity. University of Chicago Press.
Council of Trent. (1563). Canons and Decrees of the Council of Trent.
Finucane, R. C. (2011). Miracles and Pilgrims: Popular Beliefs in Medieval England. Palgrave Macmillan.
