On venerating St. Thomas Aquinas' Skull

and the many other odd Catholic things I do

Last night I drove downtown to see a skull. Not any skull - St. Thomas Aquinas’ skull. I was so excited to go venerate this relic that I forgot how it probably would seem a little odd to most people.

But since I became Catholic over six years ago, I’ve seen and done lots of strange things.

I’ve gotten up at one in the morning and let myself into a crypt and sat in front of a monstrance containing the Blessed Sacrament, to all outer eyes a wafer of bread. I sat there for over an hour, completely silent.

I’ve gotten up at 4AM¹ and wrapped a scarf around my head and kneeled in a creaking pew holding a candle in a dark church while soaring chant and polyphony drowned out all thought - a glorious Advent Rorate Mass in the Extraordinary Form in honor of the Virgin Mary.

I’ve thumbed rosary beads on hikes and filled a Fiji bottle with well water St. Patrick is said to have blessed.

I’ve watched a priest mix holy water in our kitchen - just the right amount of salt - and then sprinkle every room, and every stall in our barn, with it for a proper farm blessing.

I’ve sat around a wreath and lit purple candles and sang O Come O Come Emmanuel with two little girls in the dark.

I’ve told blank-faced doctors about “the Marquette Method.”²

I’ve worn a Memento Mori sweatshirt to the grocery store.

My toddler, in imitation of what she sees at Mass, once began blessing herself - Father, Son, and Holy Spirit - with a jar of pickle juice.

I’ve turned down a delicious looking steak because it’s a Friday.

I’ve walked in a procession of candles, four sturdy men holding a statue of the Virgin Mary, singing Salve Regina in the middle of Baltimore City at night.

I could go on, but you get the idea. There are things that I am used to now that are, for lack of a better word, a bit odd.

Recently, my husband and I, on a rare date night out, went to one of those well-advertised candlelit concerts. It was Vivaldi - The Four Seasons. I remember the last time we saw it performed, on a fortuitous wandering into a Church in St. Mark’s Square, Venice. That was magic. More than magic. And we were eager to hear it again (and not just from the tinny speakers of our daughters’ favorite Story Orchestra Book).

And it was lovely. The music was profound, as it must be. But there was something a little… off about it. It felt a little like playing pretend - trying to imitate the formality of what it should be like. No one knew what to wear and the strange mix of suits and tee shirts was off putting. The candles were electric - I’m sure they were afraid of some fire code hazard.

In the faux dim light of those candles I thought of the strange and ethereal places down the road… dimly lit churches awash in incense and candles and chant that sounds like it comes from the halls of Rivendell. There was magic in the world, here, but you have to believe it. And you have to live it, in a real way. You can’t throw some folding chairs out and some battery powered light and expect the same. You just can’t. Vivaldi is beautiful no matter where or when, but it was a hollow and unbelieving place.

So when I arrived in the city last night and had to search for parking because the church was so packed, I smiled. So many of us here on this cold Tuesday night to see the skull of the Angelic Doctor. And indeed, the church was full to the brim, old and young, students, married, you name it. There was a wonderful talk and then I waited in line for nearly an hour for less than a minute in front of that skull.

And when I kneeled down and looked into those hollow places where his eyes once saw and loved and felt… It didn’t feel morbid. It felt calm and profound, a moment of dust-to-dust awareness, and a faith that goes beyond all that. This musty, physical faith, brought low and high - and I touched the casing with my wedding ring and had a thought, a hope, of living out my vocation as clearly and beautifully as St. Thomas did.

As Flannery O’Connor said -

“You shall know the truth and the truth shall make you odd.”

As I was leaving I saw one young couple lingering - they were looking in the confessionals, opening the curtains, gesturing toward the kneeler. I wonder if the strangeness of this event had brought them in - or maybe they were simply a fan of history, or the bizarre. But here they were and they seemed sort of delighted to find these kneelers, this ancient practice happening so regularly and openly in a modern world.

I could only smile and hope they would keep coming back -

There’s a lot more strangeness for them to discover.

St. Thomas Aquinas’ skull, credit: Detroit Catholic

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1. Apparently early mornings are a theme here, I don’t know.

2. The doctor literally thought I had made it up - and that I had named it for myself!