The other day Menachem Wecker tweeted a fun question: question for my Catholic friends… would u be offended if non-Catholic collected rosaries (as religious art)?

First – in playing with this question – lets put it into an Eastern rite Indie setting and replace rosary with chjotki. I think it is a similar swap – the rosary is a devotional tool that guides the user through a meditation on the life and presence of Christ and the Theotokos. Chjotki are tools to guide the user in practicing the Jesus prayer.

Neither the rosary nor chjotki are “sacred” indeed if you loose your chjotki, or it is damaged you don’t get terribly upset over it – unless it was your favourite one, or had sentimental value. But you do not reverence the beads, they are not the focus of cult or devotional action so I would argue that they don’t really fall into the category of “religious” art.

Icons on the other hand are religious art. They serve a vital function in the liturgical and devotional life of Eastern Christians across the spectrum of tradition. They are consecrated in a particular fashion, and they are reverenced in public and in private. Their “meaning” and context for an Eastern Christian then is one of reverence, respect, and intimacy.

Icons are also very collectable art. You need only visit places like the Louvre, the Petit Palais, The British Museum, The Walters Art Gallery, or Hillwood House to see how collectable icons are.

I can remember the rather odd feeling I had the first time I saw an exhibition of iconography at the Smithsonian many years ago when I lived in DC. On one hand those icons were religiously important – on the other hand they were also beautifully hand crafted works of art.

Was I offended? No. Slightly awkward perhaps but not offended. Awkward because these icons had been made for a purpose – and had fulfilled that purpose – and one must pause and wonder if they do not “still” serve that purpose outside of their natural context. Does the “sacredness” of the icon somehow dissipate, after having been consecrated, reverenced, loved, and held pride of place in a believer’s home, or a community’s worship space for decades, possibly centuries because it now rests behind glass in a museum hall? Does the presence of those collected icons puncture the continuity of the “profane” with a little bit of the “sacred”? You cannot help but wonder. Especially knowing how many of these pieces of sacred art were acquired – ripped from their context in war and revolution for example.

I think that their new context is more complicated, less familiar, it breaks the flow of what one might expect of these pieces and in the context of one who seeks to become more spiritually disciplined, more aware of the central praxis of my faith – that experience of jarring, of interruption is possibly not a bad thing.

But there is another context worth considering – the context of the personal collector who is not a believer in my tradition (if at all) – in a museum icons are cared for, stored with respect, and understood for their religious, cultural, and technical contexts. A personal collector however, might only see them as valuable objects – as a statement of his or her personal refinement and wealth. They might simply be a bit of matching juju for the decor of a room. To be sure this is not a respectful approach to collecting. But how does this effect the icon, and does the presence of the icon have an effect on the collector? Not being a collector in this vein I cannot answer these questions but they are, I think worth consideration – would I be offended in this context? I honestly don’t know. Indeed I don’t know if I ought to be offended in this context – because the work of the icon, as a conveyor of the presence of the sacred is one that is by its very nature mysterious.

These are just a few random thoughts – what do you think? Is there a category of religious art that if held by a collector as “art” you would be offended?

For much of yesterday (Sunday) we pottered about in the garden. Thinning the leaf cover on the pond, watering, planting, picking, tidying. I spent the day intermitantly considering the connection between gardening and spirituality/devotion. Early reflections on Mary – for example, relied heavily on the image of the “enclosed garden” or Paradise. This was not merely a reflection on her virginity (Paradise being un-tilled, un-cultivated but naturally beautiful), it was also a statement about spirituality and transcendance. Virgins were constantly reminded not to allow anyone to lay waste to their garden (see for example Athanasius’ First Letter to the Virgins of Alexandria) – to trod on the delicate flowers, or pick the fruit – attaining spiritual progress, demands that one not allow distractions to enter the garden, as they destroy the flowering plants.

A garden – one’s own personal Paradise – is not just a metaphore. Gardens, big and small are places of beauty, serenity, inspiration, and thanksgiving. Praxis is all about “cultivating” inner beauty, serenity (clarity of mind), and thanksgiving – with inspriation as a natural by-product of the three.

A garden is a place to commune – just as Adam and Eve communed with God before that unplesant business with the snake, we commune with nature, with one another, and in the quiet beauty of our little Paradise, with God himself.

If perhaps you are reading this thinking: Ha! I live in a flat, or a city, and have no space nor time for “gardening” allow me to attempt to pursuade you otherwise.

A window box, an old file box lined, filled with compost and placed on your balcony, or in front of a big window. A Potted fig with some small flowers around the edges, what about a strawberry pot? how are these not also mini-Paradises? The possibilities are endless, and only limited by your creative use of what’s available.

Below – for example – we’ve used an old grill to grow lettuce in. It’s pretty, it’s utilitarian, and it is extremely low maintenance.

Do you have a window in your bathroom? Why not get a couple of orchids and either stand them on the window sill, or hang them from the ceiling – many smell amazing, all of them produce beautiful long lasting flowers, and benefit from the steam of your shower.

Your own little Paradise, is about joy, beauty, and refreshment – just as our practice of Christianity is. And just as there is no set form for the practce of our faith – there is also no set form for establishing your own quiet point in space for prayer, reflection, communion, and beauty.

It might be awkward to think about establishing a shrine in your home. Over the centuries since the foundation of Sacramental Christianity we have moved away from the home as the centre of our life of faith toward the church building where the focus of our rituals, feasts, functions and features now rests.

This shift, it seems, has had a negative effect on our perception of how we live within our faith. We have, sometimes unconsciously, come to seek the sacred “out there” “elsewhere” anywhere but right here in our home – among our friends and family, conducting the “mundane” rituals of life. We therefore, often view our daily routines as “profane” – any sense of their sacramentality has been diminished, largely because we no longer percieve the place where we are, now, as a sacred context. The church building has overshadowed the sacred character of our homes.

A home shrine is a feature of your home that you assemble, which has meaning for you and your family. You might go for the more “traditional” icon corner (perhaps with very un-traditional icons), you may choose a small table with a statue and a candle, perhaps a reading stand with a Gospel book, or festal icon, the possibilities are endless. Through a home shrine, your perception of where you meet God, and encounter the sacred is re-aligned. It is not “out there” but here, now.

Burning lights in honour of the saints and martyrs has been a feature of Christian devotion since the late antique period. Jerome (Against Vigilantius) pointing to the example of the woman who anoints Jesus with costly oil (Mt. 26.6-13; Mk. 14.3-9; Lk. 7.36-50), defends the offering of lights as an act of heartfelt love and devotion.

Vigilantius also accuses that the practice is a pagan form of devotion that has no place in the life of the faithful Christian. It is true, pagan households did have shrines to the gods where various offerings were made and devotions took place. Jerome’s response can be roughly summarised thus: So what if it is! The intention now, however, is to honour God and his saints.