The Bible’s full of stories where God works miracles through physical objects connected to holy people. That’s the short answer. If you come from a Baptist or non-denominational background here in Southeast Texas, this might sound strange at first. But Scripture actually gives us multiple examples of what we’d call relics today.
The most dramatic one’s in 2 Kings 13:20-21. A dead man gets thrown into the prophet Elisha’s tomb, touches Elisha’s bones, and comes back to life. Just like that. The prophet’s been dead for who knows how long, but his bones still carry God’s power. This isn’t magic. It’s God honoring the holiness of someone who gave their whole life to Him.
In the New Testament, you’ve got Acts 19:11-12, where handkerchiefs and aprons that touched St. Paul’s skin healed the sick and cast out demons. Think about that. Not Paul himself, his laundry. God worked “extraordinary miracles” through cloth that had contact with the apostle’s body. A few chapters earlier in Acts 5:15, people brought the sick into the streets hoping Peter’s shadow would fall on them, and they were healed.
Then there’s the woman with the hemorrhage in all three synoptic Gospels. She touches the hem of Christ’s garment and gets healed instantly. Jesus even says, “I perceived that power went out from me” (Luke 8:46). His own clothing became a channel for divine healing.
The Old Testament gives us the Ark of the Covenant, which contained what we’d call relics: the stone tablets, Aaron’s rod, a jar of manna. These physical objects from Israel’s history were so holy that the glory of God rested on the Ark. You couldn’t touch it without permission. It sat in the Holy of Holies, the center of Israel’s worship.
So why does all this matter? Because when God became man in Jesus Christ, He didn’t just put on flesh like a costume. The Incarnation means matter itself can be sanctified. Physical things can carry spiritual grace. This isn’t some weird medieval invention. It’s right there in how God chose to work throughout biblical history.
St. Paul tells us our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit (1 Corinthians 6:19-20). If that’s true while we’re alive, why would it stop being true after death? The saints didn’t just have holy souls. Their whole person was being transformed by God’s grace, body included. We believe in the resurrection of the body, not escape from the body. That distinction matters.
The early Church got this immediately. During the persecutions, Christians would risk their lives to collect the remains of martyrs. They’d celebrate the Eucharist over their tombs. By the time of the Seventh Ecumenical Council in 787, the practice was so universal that the Council declared anyone who rejected the veneration of relics should be deposed from office or excommunicated if they were laypeople.
We still put relics in our altars today. Every antimension, that’s the cloth the priest unfolds on the altar for the Eucharist, has relics sewn into it and depicts Christ’s burial. You can’t serve the Divine Liturgy without one. This connects every Liturgy to the saints who’ve gone before us, to the martyrs who died for the faith, to the physical reality of the Incarnation.
Does this mean we worship relics? No. We venerate them the same way you might kiss a photo of your grandmother or keep your grandfather’s Bible. But it’s more than sentiment. We believe the saints are alive in Christ, and their relics remain connected to them. When God works a miracle through a relic, He’s honoring the person whose body it was, showing that their life of holiness still bears fruit.
If you’re visiting St. Michael for the first time and you see people venerating relics, don’t let it throw you. We’re doing what Christians have done since Elisha’s bones brought a dead man back to life. We’re recognizing that God chose to work through matter, and He still does.
