Okay, well, back to the story: When I visited here the first time, no one happened to mention that fact--I guess they don't think Jesus Christ is important enough. I intended to see the robe, photograph it, experience it, hold it over my jeans in front of a mirror, etc... It's not often you see an article of clothing from the creator of all things seen and unseen.
It was a Monday and the town was nearly empty, so I had quick access to the church this time, and no tourists to deal with. I didn't feel compelled to fire shots into the air--nice!
The area around the robe of Christ was way up in front of the cathedral, and I wasn’t sure I could get close. It was roped off about 30 meters out. But I found a passage way toward the back of the church that led right up to it, and there I was, about one meter away from Christ’s shirt. It’s lying flat in the glass coffin so you can't actually see it, just the top of the coffin. To a man who has been a believer all his life, this was a truly moving experience. I was standing a few feet from something Christ himself had worn, touched, bled on, perhaps tried on in the dressing room of an ancient Kohl's. I wonder if Mary picked it out. Do you think he had a closet of these at home or just this one? This is the same robe soldiers rolled dice for at the cross as Jesus hung there, bleeding to death, like a common criminal.
The sign at the altar said you could only "come up here to pray, and nothing else", but when I kindly spoke to a lady selling postcards (SHE wasn't praying!), she said I could photograph anywhere in the cathedral. And so I did. First I visited the ladies room--just kidding.
The photo at the top of this page is a post card of the robe. It hadn't been displayed in public since 1959. The photo to the top is me peering through the gate at the glass coffin, and to the left, a photo from further back. To the bottom left is the beautiful church organ and to the right, another sculture built into the wall of the church. After these shots I returned and mistakenly tried to get into the wrong car--sure glad I wasn’t shot for that.