by Francis X. Bolton
I had my throat blessed on Feb. 2. I’ll have ashes placed on my forehead on March 5 — both are sacramentals I first learned about at St. Raymond school in East Rockaway, which was then a part of the Diocese of Brooklyn. Sacramentals are usually religious symbols. Somewhere in the house, I have a bottle of holy water and I have two crucifixes in my office dating back to 1963. One, which I made for my mother, was a modern corpus drawn onto a cross of wood I stained. I took possession of it when she died. Growing up, I had a miraculous medal, a rosary, and a crucifix on the wall of the bedroom I shared with my older brothers.
I would suggest, however, not all sacramentals are religious symbols. I believe in what I call “personal sacramentals.” I have one on my desk — a small lamp. I doubt anyone would argue with the idea that we’re responsible for our own physical well-being. Given that, it is safe to presume that a doctor can’t diagnose an illness unless we describe our symptoms, nor can a mental health professional help us without first discussing our feelings.
By the same token, we are all responsible for our own spiritual lives. Our local ordinary or parish priest can only offer guidance. So, what does this have to do with my idea of personal sacramentals?
Back to that lamp on my desk.
Why on earth would a lamp be a personal sacramental? I am the youngest of six children — the older five were born within the space of about six and a half years. I came along six and a half years later. Only one sister is still alive. I had a lot of contact with a different sister, who was 10 years older than me, during the last five years of her life, and she had a small lamp on her desk next to the computer. I found it effective. Now, I have one just like it. Every time I turn it on — or even notice it — I think of her.
I recently had to replace a timer that controls an outdoor light. Although I was more aware of mechanical and electronic things than she was, it was that same sister who taught me the easiest way to adjust
the timer for daylight savings. She had a timer identical to mine. Despite now having a new timer, I continue to remember and love her whenever I adjust its on-off time as the days get longer.
These are but two of my personal sacramentals — signs that sanctify different circumstances of my life. They sanctify my memory of those I love who have gone before me. Of those who taught me what
love is. And I imagine that, like me, they too answered the question asked in Psalm 39: “And now, Lord, what is my hope?” the same way the psalmist did. “Truly, my hope is even in Thee.”
Francis X. Bolton is a parishioner at St. Saviour Parish in Park Slope.