We venerate relics because the bodies of the saints remain holy after death. The Holy Spirit dwelt in them during life, and that holiness doesn’t evaporate when they die. Their bodies were temples of God, and they still are.
This sounds strange to most people in Southeast Texas. If you grew up Baptist or Church of Christ, you probably learned that what matters is the soul, and the body is just a shell we leave behind. But that’s not what the Church has ever taught. Christianity isn’t about escaping the body. It’s about the body being redeemed, transfigured, made holy.
The Incarnation changes everything. When God became flesh in Jesus Christ, He didn’t just visit matter like a tourist. He united divinity with humanity, and that includes our physical bodies. St. Paul calls our bodies temples of the Holy Spirit. He wasn’t speaking metaphorically. The saints took this seriously. They fasted, they kept vigil, they trained their bodies in prayer and discipline. Their flesh became saturated with grace.
And then they died. But death doesn’t undo what grace accomplished.
Scripture shows us this. When a dead man’s body touched the bones of the prophet Elisha, the man came back to life. The bones weren’t magic. They were holy because Elisha was holy, and God worked through them. In the New Testament, people were healed by touching Paul’s handkerchiefs and aprons. The early Christians knew that holiness isn’t confined to the immaterial. It fills everything about a person who’s been united to God.
So we keep the relics of the saints. We place them in our altars. We kiss them. We ask the saints to pray for us through that physical connection. This isn’t worship. We don’t pray to the relics. We venerate them the way you’d kiss a photograph of someone you love, or keep your grandmother’s Bible after she’s gone. The honor passes through the relic to the saint, and through the saint to Christ.
The Seventh Ecumenical Council in 787 settled this question when it defended both icons and relics against those who wanted to strip the Church of anything physical. The Council declared that relics are “salvation-bearing sources” of grace. It said that any bishop who refused to place relics in his altar should be deposed. This wasn’t a minor issue. It was about whether matter itself can be redeemed, whether the Incarnation really means what we say it means.
St. John of Damascus wrote that we venerate matter filled with divine energy. The wood of the Cross. The tomb where Christ lay. The bones of martyrs who gave everything for Him. These things aren’t just historical artifacts. They’re points of contact with the life of the age to come.
When you visit St. Michael’s, you’ll see relics in the altar table. You might see a reliquary brought out for veneration on a feast day. You can kiss it, touch it, stand before it in prayer. You’re not doing something superstitious. You’re affirming that the saints are alive, that their bodies will be raised, that the whole person is being saved, not just some disembodied soul floating off to heaven.
This connects directly to theosis, our teaching that we’re being transformed into the likeness of God. The saints didn’t just believe the right things and go to heaven when they died. They became holy. All of them. Body and soul. Their relics prove it. Sometimes they’re incorrupt, which is its own witness. But even when they’re just bones, they’re holy bones. They smell of Paradise.
If you’re uncomfortable with this, you’re not alone. Most inquirers are. It feels Catholic, or medieval, or just weird. But it’s been the practice of the Church from the beginning. The early Christians gathered the bones of martyrs from the arena. They celebrated the Eucharist over their tombs. They knew these people weren’t gone. They were more alive than ever, and their bodies were still part of who they were.
We don’t worship relics any more than we worship icons. The Greek word for worship is latreia, and that belongs to God alone. What we offer to relics is doulia, honor or veneration. It’s the same respect you’d show a living saint, extended to their physical remains because death hasn’t separated them from the grace they received.
Next time you’re at Liturgy, remember that there are relics in that altar. Fragments of saints you’ve never heard of, maybe, or a piece of cloth that touched a martyr’s body. They’re there because the altar is where heaven and earth meet, where the Church triumphant and the Church militant are one. The saints aren’t just remembered. They’re present. And their relics are one more sign that God is making all things new, including these bodies of ours that will one day rise.
