Statue of Limitations

One thing I always marvel at when I play for Italian feasts, is the way people react to statues of various saints. I'm Catholic and Italian myself, but I was always taught that the statues and icons we use in our services are symbols, representations of Jesus, Mary, or saints with no inherent power in themselves. A common misconception among people outside my faith seems to be that we pray to statues themselves like some Golden calf. People make the mistake of confusing religion with magic, but I notice people on both sides of the issue make that mistake.

A feast celebration generally consists of parishioners carrying a statue of their church's particular saint through the neighboring streets, while the band follows the procession playing music. In some communities, people pin money to a sash on the saint. Some are making charitable donations, but I'm sure others believe they're paying money to have their prayers answered. As Catholics, we're taught that saints are examples of how we should behave, and through their selfless lives have earned a favorable position in heaven. When we pray to a saint, we're not asking him or her to answer our prayers, though some people take this approach. It should be a prayer of intercession, asking them to speak to God on our behalf, as He is the only one who can ultimately decide our fate. Superstition does get thrown into the mix, and passed down from generation to generation. If my parents lose something and pray to Saint Anthony to help them find it, I can guarantee it's something they picked up from my grandparents, and not their priests.

I played a gig on Saturday afternoon in a particularly nice section of Queens. It was very hot, but the tree lined streets offered welcome pockets of shade along the way. Waiting inside the parish center for the start of the ceremony, I noticed a woman walk up to the statue of Padre Pio, place one hand upon its head, and close her eyes. Her knuckles tensed and her eyebrows wrinkled, as she focused intense concentration as though she were trying to levitate something with her mind or disapparate to Hogwarts. Another woman walked up to the statue while the first was doing this, placed her hand on its arm, and took on a similar action.

We lined up outside as the priest began the ceremony. He took a microphone from a kid with a backpack harness consisting of amplifiers, poles, and a pair of elevated megaphones rising from each shoulder. The poor guy looked like a rejected contestant on ”Who Wants to Be a Superhero?” The priest led the crowd in a prayer, and said a few words about the ceremony, and the example that saints are to us, and what the statue represents.

Most of the time, a procession isn't all that different from a parade. You have your spectators, who remain stationary on the sidewalk or walk along it, and you have the participants, who proceed down the street in an orderly fashion. In communities more passionate than others, the spectators will spill into the street, even pushing and shoving as they vie to be as close to the statue as possible, reaching out their hands to grab whatever power or energy they think might surround it. I'm not questioning the way people embrace their beliefs. A few years ago, when I found myself half conscious in my cubicle after ignoring symptoms for weeks, I called out to God and pulled myself together long enough to phone my parents, and get a ride to the doctor. Sometimes human intervention is needed, but that doesn't detract from spirituality. If we're all created by God, then a surgeon's skill is an extension of the Creator's will. I don't think you can touch an idol and be healed instantly. I don't believe that's how it works.

I think of a familiar story I heard again recently when Jaden Smith's character shares it in The Pursuit of Happyness. Basically, a drowning man turns down rescue from two ships consecutively, explaining that he's waiting for God to save him. When he ultimately drowns and arrives in heaven, he asks God why he didn't answer his prayers and help him. The Lord replies that he sent two ships, and the guy ignored both of them.

Again, I don't wish to criticize people who approach their beliefs differently than I do. What I couldn't help noticing though, is that as we walked down the street in formation, the crowd surged and pushed into our ranks. People stepped in front of me. One couple jumped and looked visibly upset and surprised when I started playing music. Eventually one of the church officials came over, and asked the herd to let the band through, and stay alongside the procession in an orderly fashion.

Maybe it has nothing to do with faith veering into the close neighbor of superstition. Perhaps what I was really witnessing was the basic impatience and selfishness in human nature. I see it every day. People cut me off in traffic, let elevator doors close, or let other doors slam in my face without even making a gesture of attempting to hold them. People cut in line at movie theaters and push ahead in restaurants. People honk their horns when they want to make a right turn at a red light, even though my signal isn't flashing and I'm clearly going straight. Most people don't even signal. Adults behave more like children than children.

It's ironic seeing that behavior at a ceremony celebrating the life of someone who wasn't selfish, whose life is supposed to be an example and a guideline for the way we should treat each other. If people stopped and understood the limitations of a statue, and saw beyond to the practices of the person or deity that item depicts, it might give them pause. If I ever saw that happen with a large group, it would truly be a miracle.