My personal journey with the Shroud of Turin has been an evolutionary process, something like what this mysterious piece of fabric has undergone.
When I first heard of the Shroud, I wanted to believe it was real. Then came the disappointing news in the 1980s that a carbon dating test “proved” it was a medieval forgery and only 6 or 700 years old. I did not even get a chance to test my skepticism when it appeared to be case closed.
Eventually, headlines emerged reporting scientific flaws in that initial test. When a new round of scientific investigation kicked off, the science began to tell a different story: findings about the type of fiber the Shroud is made from, its weave pattern, and atomic particle testing that placed it in the first century A.D. all pointed toward the Shroud’s authenticity.
Further testing showed the presence of pollen from a plant only found in Judea. My doubts buckled, but I withheld my total commitment to the Shroud.
In the early 2000s, the Shroud and I met again. The teacher in charge of the ministry program at my sons’ high school happened to be a self-taught Shroud expert, and gave a presentation every Lent on the Shroud. Here there was more scientific evidence that furthered the cause for the Shroud’s authenticity. But while this teacher’s passion for the Shroud’s supernatural authenticity inspired me, my belief was still tepid.
At the Diocese of Orange’s Christ Cathedral in Garden Grove last month, the Shroud and I crossed paths once again.
On Nov. 19, the cathedral opened a long-awaited immersive Shroud “experience” on its campus. I took my Thomas-like skepticism — which had already significantly withered — and bought a ticket to check it out for myself.
The 4D experience is divided into three unique, immersive rooms. In the first room, you sit in a swivel chair — and believe me, you will need it. All four walls come alive as the New Testament is presented from the Annunciation to the Crucifixion. (If you knew nothing of Jesus, this would be a good starter course.) Those of us who’ve already read the “book” know the story it tells, but it never hurts to see and hear the Gospel retold and in a way that certainly prepared you for room two.
The first thing you notice inside is the darkness. A motif of tomblike stones adorn the walls, and in front of the rows of chairs, a bier made of stone. On top of the bier is the outline of a three-dimensional body covered by a shroud in a manner in keeping with First-Century Jewish funerary rites.
A large, state-of-the-art video screen relays the scientific inquiry the Shroud has undergone for decades. One of the video presenters is Father Robert Spitzer, SJ, a renowned scientist and the head of the Magis Center, which is dedicated to exploring the connections between science, reason, and faith (the Magis Center is based on the Christ Cathedral’s campus).
The evidence presented about the Shroud in this room certainly makes the case for the Shroud as an example of faith and reason converging. Without giving anything away, there is also a special-effects flourish at the end of the video shown in this room.
Like the first room, the last room in the experience is not about technology but theology, carrying on the story of Christ from the resurrection to the ascension. Again, I had read the book, so the ending was no surprise. But non-Catholic Christians will find it edifying, and Catholics who may be lukewarm about their faith should be fortified. And maybe, just maybe, die-hard skeptics might be moved.
As grand as the immersive experience was, it is the last room — the one that most closely resembles a traditional museum — that got my spiritual juices flowing. You see replicas of the actual torture devices used in the time of Christ that, even behind plexiglass shells, emanated a kind of caged violence.
There are authentic reproductions of those large nails used to secure a victim to a cross, the cap-like structure of the crown of thorns which must have caused excruciating pain, and the Roman flagrum whip with its jagged rocks and metal nubs attached to its leather tentacles create a hellish mental picture of how the Lord suffered on that first Good Friday. And each of these execution “tools” are tied to the Shroud, which shows corresponding wounds for each weapon of personal destruction.
And if the Shroud needed more scientific evidence to challenge the skeptics, there is the Sudarium of Oviedo, a cloth venerated since the 7th century as the veil that covered Jesus’ head in the tomb. Tradition holds that it is the same piece of cloth described in the Gospel of John that was found neatly folded inside the empty tomb by the disciples on that first Easter morning.
The real Shroud is ensconced in Italy and the Sudarium of Oviedo rests in Spain. But they are both made present in this museum room in suburban Orange County to great effect. This is accomplished via a comparison of a graphic of the blood stains from both objects. The blood on both objects is type AB and the stains on each object assume a particular pattern of blood drops and wound locations. When superimposed one on the other, the stains match.
All of this still does not prove the Shroud is authentic. The Church has made no definitive claim as such. But if you cannot make the trip to Turin, Italy, when the real Shroud is displayed to the public every 15 to 20 years, go to Orange County.
If you are a natural born skeptic, then experience the immersive presentation of the Shroud there. You may not come away completely convinced, but I guarantee you will leave with serious doubts — about your doubts.
For visiting hours, tickets, and more information about the exhibit, visit www.theshroudexperience.com.
