Mirror images.

If the automobiles is the icon of American popular culture, the rearview mirror is the grandstand of personal taste, an expression of the driver's individuality. For the Catholic, however, this secular display of fuzzy dice, wedding garters, and vehicular potpourri is often replaced by favorite sacramentals.

While many Catholic symbols are formal and awe inspiring, the objects that swing from our car mirrors are humble and therefore comforting. They are also very characteristic of Catholicism because we cherish symbols that help us bridge the gap between the material and the spiritual. Witness the dried palms stuck behind pictures, Advent wreaths, and the holy cards taped to our office computers.

At the moment (it could change completely by tomorrow), my car mirror holds five objects.

The first is a brightly painted wooden crucifix from El Salvador. Its childlike imagery and primary colors embody the dogged courage and unquenchable faith of that ravaged country.

The second is a single-decade rosary from the 18th-century Irish penal times when Catholicism was illegal and the rosary forbidden by law. Its truncated length is easily concealed in the hand; its green ceramic beads are stamped with shamrocks. The primitive pewter crucifix bears symbols of the Passion: hammer and nails, a jug for the Last Supper, the cords that bound the scourged Christ, the ladder that brought his body down. Endearingly, a tiny pot and cock recall the legend of Judas and a roasting cock that came to life and crowed to prophesy the Resurrection. This rosary evokes my Irish roots. It's also a historical warning not to take religious freedom for granted. It recalls how a simple recitation of the rosary can be a gesture of life-affirming defiance in the face of tyranny.

The third object is a tiny wooden santos image of Saint Michael the Archangel. Purchased for me in Santa Fe by a Lutheran friend, it reminds me that although she doesn't share my Catholic faith, she respects it. As an art historian, she also enjoys and understands the beauty and symbolism of our sacred images. (It also means, I hope, that Saint Michael is standing by to initiate a halo flight in case of a car accident.)

The fourth object is a pin painted in the colors of Mexico that bears the image of the Virgen de San Juan del Valle, whose shrine is three hours south of Corpus Christi. It reminds me that I, an Anglo from the Midwest, live in a region steeped in Mexican American culture whose richness and ancient roots are ignored by mainstream United States culture.

Finally, the fifth object is a Christmas ornament made from a gaily enameled egg. It's a gift from a couple too poor to buy Christmas presents because they chose to adopt a baby girl saved from abortion. Recently freed from debt, the couple debated between reveling in the extra money or adopting the child they could not biologically conceive. (The adoption fees were $10,000.) This Christmas egg (the ancient symbol of rebirth) stands for the church's call to choose life over death.

Medieval cathedrals were built as "living Bibles" to educate the faithful through stained glass and sculpture. The Catholic sacramentals that bob from today's car mirrors - even the simplest rosary - can be witnesses to our faith. Some might look at my collection and sniff, "Tacky." But those with eyes to see will find a microcosm of world cultures, artistic styles, and ancient symbols.

It sure beats those fuzzy dice any day.