Superstition and Religion

We were walking across the Charles Bridge on a crisp but sunny morning in Prague.

I was reading my guidebook as we sauntered, trying to learn about the statues we were passing and the history of the centuries-old structure. Much of the bronze we saw was worn away from the touch of so many pilgrims.

We passed a certain statue of a sainted priest from the 14th century. He is known for his piety in the face of threats from the king, who drowned him off this bridge. I read aloud from my book, "Devout pilgrims - from Mexico and Moravia alike - touch the engraving to make a wish come true. You get only one chance in life for this wish, so think carefully before you touch the saint." I thought about what my wish should be for a second and then skipped up to the engraving to seal the deal.

I've never had a problem with wish-making before. I know the "Star light, star bright" rhyme by heart, make a careful decision before I blow out my birthday candles, and toss coins into fountains. But something about the way that cold bronze felt to my hand and the image of the cross above me sent chills across my body. I instantly regretted my carefree decision to make a wish here. I'm a Christian, and the way I see it, Christianity is about actions like feeding the hungry, spreading truth, or treating others as well as oneself. It's not about mandatory pilgrimages and doesn't promote many "If, then" rules. It is certainly not about rewards for pilgrimages or making wishes at the right place at the right time.

I sheepishly turned back to Chris, trying to brush off my yucky feeling, praying repentant prayers in my head. Chris noticed my expression and asked, "Um, what did you wish for?"

You want to know, too? You're lucky, because I'm actually going to tell you because it's part of this story, even though it's embarrassing and even a little creepy. It's related to that part in The Lord of the Rings when Theoden is mourning after the funeral of his son. He says with conviction, "No parent should have to bury their child." So, morbid Holly strikes again, and instead of making a generic wish for something like snow on Christmas or peace in the Middle East, I wished that Daisy would outlive me.

"I wished that D would die before me," I shrugged, rolling my eyes. "Wait! I mean the other way around!" "Really - I mean - I think I did! Oh my gosh, what if I said it the wrong way in my wish!"

And there it is: the ugliness of wishes and magic and myth in its entirety. For an instant, I imagined my life unfolding as a modern Greek tragedy because of my stupid, potentially misspoken wish. The good news is that there is no rule in my religion like "A wish made can't be reversed." With full force, I realized the goodness of what the Christian faith looks like, especially in relation to the ancient superstitions: the spirit of the law instead of the letter of the law; the assurance that God knows what we say even when the don't have the words; the doctrine that the Holy Spirit is continually with us and that we don't just rely on point-to-point encounters; the equality of all people regardless of circumstance... These things seem human and sane. Just the sort of God that I would want to have out there working with us.

Obviously, this inner turmoil affected the way I saw Prague and the other "religious" sightseeing we did. I developed a distaste for what religion in the Czech Republic has become. (Interestingly, although it shares a border with Poland, the most religious country in Europe, the Czech Republic is the least.)

An example of other Christian draws in the city: Loreta Church

This old church has been "a hit with pilgrims for centuries" because of its Santa Casa (Holy House), considered to be part of Mary's home in Nazareth. It's also the traditional departure point for the long Santiago hike. We didn't pay the 5 Euros to go in. 

One more illustration and then I'll quit my topic. Inside the Carmelite Church of St. Mary the Victorious, there's a special doll. Behold Prague's "most worshiped treasure," "a focus of worship and miracle tales in Prague and Spanish-speaking countries."

This little "Infant of Prague" has a collection of miniature robes made for him by famous people like Maria Theresa of the Hapsburg empire. Apparently, some South Americans travel to Prague just to see this one statue. It must truly be important to these pilgrims, just like I travel to see things that are important to me.

Religion in Prague, at least on the tourist track, seems to maintain a medieval flavor of superstition that surprised me. It threw into relief my own thoughts about prayer, and re-understanding religious convictions is always a good thing. Travel's fun.