Why Not a Crucifix?

I usually keep my crucifix tucked under my shirt—not because wearing it outside is the new trend and I’m too old for that nonsense, but because it always ends up dangling in my food when I sit down to eat. The crucifix—or some other Christian icon—is always against my skin.

After my workout, I showered at the gym. Walking through the locker room with a towel wrapped around my waist, avoiding eye contact with the old farts lounging naked on the pleather chairs, I heard someone say, “My God isn’t still hanging on the cross.”

Here we go.

I turned to find a smug-looking man standing with his hands on his hips, wearing nothing but an irregular patch of curly black chest hair. Gross, was my first thought. I mirrored his posture and, in my best I’m-a-nice-guy-but-don’t-mess-with-me voice, said, “I don’t think Jesus is still hanging on the cross either. But He did that for me.”

The man sneered. “But He’s risen from the dead.”

“Yes,” I said firmly, “He ascended to heaven. He’s no longer on the cross. But He. Did that. For me.”

He waved a hand at me. “You Catholics…”

I briefly imagined picking Mr. Mouse up by the waist and jackknife power-bombing his ass into the tile floor. I didn’t, of course. I just said, “He did that for you, too.” And then I walked away.

Why is the cross okay, but the crucifix is not?
Why are Nativity scenes fine, but statues of saints frowned upon?
Why is your mom’s photo on the wall acceptable, but a picture of Mary questionable?

Images, icons, and statues have been part of worshiping God since before Christ walked the earth—so why are some okay and others not?

Is it because certain Christian images have pagan origins? I’ve heard the theories, but I’ve never seen anything concrete. Even if “Queen of Heaven” as a title for Mary originated with some pagan group 2,000 years ago, what does that matter? Does the first person to name or practice something have permanent dibs, making all future uses tainted? The Christmas tree has pre-Christian roots in pagan Europe—does that make the German Christians who adopted it in the Middle Ages, or modern Christians who use it to celebrate Christmas, somehow pagan?

Why are the little statues of the nativity scene you put out every Christmas just fine, but a statue of St. Francis next to my garden is not?

Or is it because there’s a misunderstanding about why certain Christian groups use images and icons? The facts are out there if you look in the right places, but here’s the short version: No, Christians who have images and icons of saints do not worship them. But yes—we ask them to pray for us.

Why is asking Mary in heaven to pray for you somehow worse than asking your mother here on earth to do the same?

Because she’s “dead”?

Well… is she really? Or is Mary—and every saint in heaven—more alive than you and me because they’re in the presence of God? Think about it. Prayer has only recently been confused with worship; for most of history, they weren’t synonymous. (If you’re lost, look up dulia and latria.)

Images of the saints are reminders—models of how to live the Christian life. They’re the Christian All-Star team. Why shouldn’t we look to them for inspiration on how to live our lives? You might have a picture of Michael Jordan on your wall (hopefully you’ve outgrown that phase), so why scoff at me for having a picture of the Archangel Michael on mine?

So what is it? Why are some Christian images acceptable and others not?

The Shroud of Turin is once again making the rounds online and on podcasts. And it blows my mind to see Christians bickering over its authenticity and value. Why is the face of God—etched in heaven’s fire and Christ’s own precious blood—controversial?

It was the Shroud, and the skepticism toward it, that finally made me understand.

Not everyone was raised like I was, so I’ll give some grace here. But for many, the unspoken rule is: “As long as it’s not Catholic, it’s okay.” The Shroud gets dismissed simply because it’s tied to the Catholic Church.

If you just reached to shut your laptop or swipe to something else–don’t. This isn’t about me complaining that the Catholic Church is misunderstood, and I’m not trying to persuade you to become Catholic. I’m also not about to unpack every doctrinal disagreement between Catholics and Protestants. The point is this: on both the Catholic and Protestant sides, some individuals keep recycling outdated accusations—like, “Catholics don’t believe in the sufficiency of Christ’s sacrifice,” or, “Protestants believe in once-saved-always-saved so they can just keep sinning.” Those who cling to such caricatures aren’t working for unity within the Church. They’re working for division—and we all know whose playbook that comes from.

I’m not saying these individual actors are malicious or influenced by the evil one. But once we’ve learned a concept—especially one tied to our identity—it’s hard to let it go. Cognitive dissonance is a real thing.

If we want unity, a good first step is to drop these contrived fights over Christian imagery. Most arguments against it are weak—rooted in misconceptions or outright deceptions designed to keep us divided.

Don’t want to recognize the Pope as the Vicar of Christ? Fine. But why not wear a crucifix? It’s not just a symbol of what Jesus did—it is what He did. For you. For me. For all of us.

Don’t want to ask Mary or the saints for prayer? Fine. But why scoff at having a picture of our Christian All-Stars on the wall—especially if you’ve got the Denver Broncos hanging in your man cave?

As brothers and sisters in Christ, if we don’t plant our feet firmly on His command to love one another, we are easily divided. That’s why Jesus prayed for unity—for one Church. And that’s why He warned, “Satan desires to sift you like wheat.” The enemy wants to cut us up, divide our ranks, and sink the ship.

We can’t let the mutiny continue.

Seek first to understand other Christians, instead of demanding you’re understood by them. Ask honest questions—and then shut your mouth and listen. Ignore the whispers of pride and identity. Seek only truth and follow it. Tune out the hissing lies of misconception and misnomer. You know where they come from.

The enemy is at the gate, and he picked a fight with us. It’s time to reunite the Body of Christ, and I think rallying around Christian imagery is a good first step. This is my prayer, my hope, and my reason for writing.

Won’t you join me?