If you happened to be on the Upper West Side in New York City last night – specifically near the intersection of Broadway and 61^st – you might have seen me walking along the street holding a lit cigarette in my hand. Some of you know that I used to smoke, but it has been over a decade since my last puff. So why was I walking along Broadway like any other smoker, smoldering butt hanging between my fingers?

Well, first a little background. I happened to be at the corner of Broadway and 61^st Street because that is where the Museum of Biblical Art is located, and I am a fan of that museum and had decided to attend the opening of their latest exhibition, Ukrainian Icons, which took place last night.

I had an interesting experience with the artwork, and the opening in general.

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I should tell you that I come from what can only be described as a “low-church” background. I grew up with a mixture of United Methodist, American Baptist, Lutheran and Southern Baptist church influences. Besides the plain, brass cross that was in a few of the churches I attended, and the portraits of Jesus both of my grandmothers had (which now hang in my living room), we didn't have much in the way of icons. So reading about how all this fancy stuff was used in worship made me a little uncomfortable.

I was also uncomfortable with all the “Mary stuff.” It is safe to say that, compared with a Catholic or Orthodox view of the mother of Jesus, I have a pretty low opinion of her, too. My take on Mary, based on what I read in the Bible, is that she was a sinner like any other human being, and she was chosen by God's grace, not her merit, to bear the Christ. I do not believe that she was sinless, nor do I believe she remained a virgin after Christ was born. I esteem her for her humility and submission to God, and I appreciate that she was part of the early church. I honor her as I would any other from the early church – Peter, Joanna, Thomas, Lydia, Paul – sinners, all. So all the veneration makes me uncomfortable. Praying to Mary? Making art that depicts her as Christ's equal, in stature and holiness? These things do not sit well with me. As I perused the icons, I felt more disconnected from my Catholic and Orthodox brothers and sisters than ever. I struggled even to believe we worship the same God, to be honest.

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So now, back to the cigarette.

If you have ever visited MOBiA, you know that it is on the second floor of the American Bible Society building. And if you have ever visited the American Bible Society, you know that there is a statue in front of the building. It is a life-sized statue of Jeremiah Lanphier, the New Yorker who began holding lunchtime prayer meetings in downtown Manhattan in 1857. Under his leadership and faithfulness to prayer and intercession, over 1 million people's lives were transformed by God's love when they turned from sin and embraced faith in Jesus Christ. That period in New York City's history is known as the Fulton Street Revival, and many of us are praying today that something like that revival will happen again in our day.

For a Christian like me, Jeremiah Lanphier is a hero.

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When I walked out the front door of the American Bible Society last night, there were two women taking a picture of the statue of Jeremiah Lanphier. They were laughing and having a good time, and I initially thought they might be spiritual pilgrims, visiting landmarks in NYC that are particularly important for followers of Christ. There are folks like that – they know all the places famous Christians have spoken or preached or prayed – and they like to visit those spots. I can appreciate that.

Then I saw why they were laughing so hard.

One of them had placed a lit cigarette in Jeremiah Lanphier's mouth, and they were taking pictures from all angles.

As soon as I realized what they were doing, I was mortified. If it had been a statue of someone else – someone I didn't care much about – I probably would have laughed with them. It was a juvenile prank, yes, but I have a pretty good sense of humor.

But this was a statue to honor Jeremiah Lanphier! This was a place of honor and respect for a humble servant of God, whose faithfulness was integral to over a million people coming to faith in Christ.

Something in the way I reacted to seeing this act of vandalism told me that, deep in my heart, I knew there was something holy about this statue, and it was to be treated with dignity.

My first instinct was to chastise these morons for their disrespect. The words, “Do you realize how disrespectful that is?” were dancing on my tongue, coated with fire, but I managed to rein it in before I said anything. After all, how would it be if a woman came bounding out of the American Bible Society and ripped these passers-by a new one for being disrespectful?

But as I walked away, I felt helpless. Do I confront them? No. Do I hope that the security guard will do something? No. I happen to know he saw what they were doing and did nothing.

So I turned around, and waited til the women had had their fun and moseyed along. Once they did, I walked up to Jeremiah Lanphier with tears in my eyes and removed the smoldering cigarette from his lips.

I looked around for a place to put it. I didn't want to drop it on the sidewalk in front of the American Bible Society. I mean, that just didn't seem right at all to do that.

So I began walking until I found a trash can on the corner. Then, I dropped the cigarette on the ground, crushed it with my foot, and when I was sure it would not start a fire in the trash can, threw it away.

As I descended the steps to the downtown 1 train, I could smell the familiar stench of a cigarette butt on my fingers. It harkened me back to the days years ago when I was constantly trying to cover the smell up with lotion and hand wipes, to hide the fact that I smoked. I found it very ironic that someone might have seen me holding a cigarette outside the ABS and drawn the completely wrong conclusion. No, I have not fallen off the wagon – yet. I'm ten years nicotine-free.

But then another irony hit me.

It was just a statue. There was nothing particular holy about it. Except for what it stood for. I thought about my struggle with the icons – the reverent images of Mary. Do I think Jeremiah Lanphier is any more holy than Mary? No. They were both humble, obedient servants of God. Does it bother me that someone undertook to commission an artist – in this case, Lincoln Fox – to create a sculpture in his honor? No. I think it's a fitting way to honor his memory and perhaps even inspire others to follow his faithful example.

As my train pulled out of the station and I dug around in my purse for some hand lotion to cover the smell on my fingers, I laughed. I thought about the Orthodox priests I had just seen at the opening, in their black robes and towering hats. I thought about my Catholic friends and their reverence for Mary. I know we are different. I know there are really important differences in our theology. I know that I am not welcomed to take communion in their churches, for example, and that bugs me. I know they believe Mary never sinned, and I don't think that is a conclusion that can or should be drawn sola scriptura.

But I also thought about the icons, the statues, the images of Mary, and I realized that, in many ways, the heart of the issue, at least for some, is pretty much the same.To them, Mary stands as an example of someone who humbly followed God in obedience. They honor her with art. They hope people will be inspired to follow her humility, and when someone desecrates a statue of Mary, they are offended.

That's why I honor Jeremiah Lanphier. And that's why, when I saw those women treating his likeness - and the building in front of which it stood - with mockery, I was offended.

Perhaps we're more alike than I thought.