The Infant of Prague, and, no, it’s not me

When I was a kid The Infant of Prague was a thing. I don’t know what kind of thing but it was. I imagine that most people didn’t have a nutbar grandfather who was holier than the pope, I did. My grandfather had an Infant of Prague statue on his television. Right next to the antenna that if The Infant had been doing its job, grandpa wouldn’t have needed to put aluminum foil balls on the damn thing.

If you are imagining that The infant would be above such mundane miracles the Nazis assassinated a priest because a chalice moved across the altar during mass which caused a sensation (and him to get killed obviously). In Ireland the Virgin of Nock is visited by 100s of believers on a daily basis because she appears to sway slightly. I mean, they do deal in the mundane. We could have gotten better reception during Ed Sullivan, there’s a real miracle.

Anyway I find myself in Prague and while I have a stronger than average (OK, bordering on nutbar) interest in things religious, I am not holier than the pope. I do not have an Infant of Prague statue on my tv. (Full disclosure, I do have my grandfather’s St Anthony of Padua statue on my bookshelf near my tv….hm, maybe that’s why my reception is so good) and I decided to visit the Infant which happens to be right down the block. 

I am not sure what I was expecting but it was not this. It’s a freaking doll. I don’t think it’s 15 inches high. It’s A FREAKING DOLL that they dress in these silly outfits depending on the liturgical calendar. Nuns come out take him down and with utmost devotion change these costumes. Currently he’s in green. I couldn’t take a picture. Photography’s not allowed. Thank god for the internet. Now, that’s miraculous.

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