Gods Behind Glass

My mother attended many summer library conferences in Chicago when I was a child, and she’d take the family along because Chicago is four and a half hours away by train. My father, sisters and I visited the Field Museum when we went, and I remember the first time that I made my way to the shrine of Bast, filled with glass cases containing artifacts. Below the statue of the goddess, a small gap between the glass and the faux stone (or whatever they had tried to imitate) left enough space for people to make offerings of pocket change, and many had taken advantage of this design oversight. They had dropped pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters in while the guard had his or her back turned. The next time I went, the museum officials had taken the box and all the articles within to be relocated, as the coin offerings had become a problem. Nothing remained on the barren slab beneath the statue.

I’m in DC until the end of August, so on weekends I have decided that I will do touristy things. Today, I visited the National Museum of the American Indian for a few hours, followed by a brief sojourn in the National Gallery of Art. The former building had little or no spiritual interest for me, but I feel sympathy for the Natives’ plight at the hands of Christian missionaries and conquistadors.

When I entered the National Gallery, though, I went through the bizarre security checks (that London doesn’t have, by the way) and found myself facing a rather sizable fountain in the Rotunda, and brought my hand to my lips in a salute to Theos Hermes. As I stood there looking up at the metallic statue, I realized how terrible it was to see images of my Gods in a museum instead of in a temenos where I could offer them something. It makes a profound statement in the West to see our Gods given this relic, museum-worthy status, yet these Gods live still and have inspired countless artists, musicians, and writers.

And, quite frankly, it discourages me that worshipers need to go to information and cultural graveyards to view old images of the Deathless Ones, and I wish we had more of a community in the outside world with which to restore the temples and build new ones. It would annoy the capitalist tourists and museum staff less. It also discourages me that museums that know people will squeeze coins between the cracks of a display case refrain from putting donation boxes beneath the figures in question. They avoid this because the dominant United States culture is Christian, and any hint of the old worship must be stamped out.

Of course, some may see this as needless complaining. After all, I have a place to light incense at home, and Popsicle sticks with Gods’ names written on them in lieu of beautiful statues. While a container in which to burn offerings would be nice, I need little else to engage in my personal worship. However, a small temple to one or all of the Twelve Gods in public transit distance would be a bit better than doing sneaky things in a museum.