One of my colleagues has been entranced by an artist who creates shrines. I love watching him as he speaks about this art. His face lights up, his hands and arms become animated and, as he speaks, you can feel the energy change in him….and in the room. Clearly these creations lift him above the ordinary, which I believe is one of the intentions of art.

Shrines….it is not a word or concept we speak of very often in the Protestant church. I find this unfortunate. The truth is we create shrines all the time. In both of my sons’ bedrooms there are shrines…..honoring various soccer players, basketball stars…..and those that also mark the high points of their own lives, awards and ribbons lovingly and intentionally placed on a shelf, away from the clutter of their ordinary objects. Most homes have family shrines, those places where important family photos and heirlooms are arranged in a place of honor, a place of remembrance.

For me it all started with a tiny little icon painted on a small cylindrical piece of wood. Madonna and child, in diffused colors given to me by a friend who brought it back from a journey of his own, placed on a table. Then came the painting brought to me by a parishioner knowing that "you just love Mary." Soon there was another icon of a Madonna and child from another country purchased because it was so beautiful I couldn’t resist. Then, came the wooden statue of a farm woman dressed in a simple dress and white apron, arms lifted heavenward yet extending over a stalk of corn.A Grant Wood kind of Mary. Next there was my simple attempt at making a stained glass candle placed with intention right in the midst of it all. A shrine…..celebrating what? Honoring whom?

My friend was right, of course. Even as a good Protestant girl, I have always loved Mary…her fierce love of her son, her willingness to be a vessel of the Holy, her earthiness, her loyalty, unconditional love and ever-faithful presence. Mary was the one in the scriptures most like my own mother…..what is not to love? And so this shrine is the place I go to when my child or another’s is hurting, is in trouble, is lost. I go there and I light that candle created with my own hands. I light that flame and stand with all the women everywhere who have held on, stood watch, prayed throughout the night with the depth of love that comes from knowing the fragility of life, because they have carried it within their body.

So here is a question to ponder on these icy cold days……What are the shrines you have made that honor the life you live?

"Faith in not the clinging to a shrine but an endless pilgrimage of the heart." Abraham Heschel