My fundamentalist Granny likes to tell a story on herself about feeling smugly superior to a little Catholic housewife she knew when she was a young wife, on account of the exceptionally hideous portrait of Jesus displayed prominently in the woman's living room. One day in conversation, the woman happened to say she knew the painting wasn't an aesthetic treasure, but at least no one could doubt who was head of her household.
That left an indelible impression on my grandmother, who often resented the materialism of the corporate bosses she and my grandfather entertained in order to maintain his career, and wrestled with her conscience over what she perceived as compromises she made with her own faith (to my mind, more perceived than real, but that's another matter). She came to respect that tacky portrait as a bold, almost rebellious statement. From her description, the portrait was unquestionably a picture of the Sacred Heart. Maybe something like this.
So here's my fearlessly tacky homage to the Sacred Heart, whose feast is today. Here's a thorough if (ironically) somewhat passionless explanation of the devotion and its history. Don't forget what the Pope said about it just a few weeks ago. And, by all means, celebrate this great feast of Jesus' love. With prayer, sacraments -- possibly with ice cream.
