The Menil makes a religion of art. Consider the cathedral of Renzo Piano’s iconic louvers, the temple devoted to Cy Twombly’s otherworldly visions, and the chapel consecrating Mark Rothko’s meditative minimalism. Don’t forget the radiant Byzantine Chapel, which is a consecrated religious space, or Dan Flavin's heavenly light sculptures in Richmond Hall.

Perhaps it’s no surprise, then, that the Menil’s latest exhibit, Objects of Devotion, would highlight the intertwining natures of art and religion.

The aesthetics of devotion is a central concern for Kristina Van Dyke, award-winning curator for collections and research at the Menil, who has assembled a gathering of items from the permanent collection. In this show and her last, the wonderful Body in Fragments, Van Dyke wandered through the storehouses of the museum for treasures.

Here again she uses to great effect the intimacy and almost boutique feel of a small gallery to reveal the unheard voices of the collection. The lighting is sharp, the placement of objects gorgeously architectural, and the principle of collecting is intelligently eclectic, with items drawn from a variety of cultures, locations, and historical periods.

Entering Object of Devotions, it’s hard not to be struck by the use of illumination and elevation. This opening tableau captures perfectly Van Dyke’s curatorial style. Above to the left dangles a golden star dating from the 18th century and next to it two medieval Christian wooden statues of John the Baptist and a haunting Dogon mask from Mali. These objects feel visually impactful as a group though they don’t quite necessarily cohere. This leaves viewers to think about height, transcendence, and light, which are aesthetic and religious concerns.

Objects of Devotion is deceptively simple. The handful of items gorgeously arrayed here seems utterly in tune with the sensibility of the Menil. But it only takes a second glance at any of these objects to raise a host of questions. What happens to religious devotion when it is represented not by activity or practice but by static objects? Do the objects retain any aura of the sacred when presented in a "chapel" consecrated to the magnificent style of secular abstraction typical of the contemporary museum? Does a religious object lose some of its intensity when treated as a museum piece?

The mark of a fine show is its power to captivate and provoke. In this regard, Objects of Devotion succeeded marvelously.

One of the most interesting features of the show is its strikingly muted palette, which, to me, seems at odds with the visual dynamism of many forms of devotional art. Certainly, a number of the objects may once have been painted, such as the Christian statues. In spite of the dim tones of the objects, there is significant opulence and texture. Take the captivating and intricately articulated Peruvian portrait “Mother and Child,” which dates to the colonial era. Or perhaps the oddity of these materials might interest you, in which case find the Persian mace constructed of iron and what seems to be lizard skin.

There’s something wonderful about the way Objects of Devotion makes familiar objects strange and new. Under a glass case rests a 17th-century Spanish rosary, but these are no simple beads. A magnifying glass attached to the case allows viewers to see the figures of saints contained inside each bead. The truths associated with religion can seem like puzzles or mysteries to most, so the wonderfully interactive display of this object adds to the show an element of almost child-like wonder, an invitation to discovery.

The object that interests me the most is not an ancient reliquary or a Roman ciborium but a silver monstrance dating from 1942 designed by Dominique de Menil and executed, according to the exhibition notes, by a local silversmith in Trinidad. A monstrance is used in a number of Christian faiths to display the consecrated host as part of Eucharistic adoration. Many take the shape of a blazing star with an open center to frame the host.

This is not the first time Van Dyke has inserted Dominique de Menil, the chief architect of this collection, into a show. The wittiest object in her previous exhibition, Body in Fragments, was the dress form of Dominique de Menil. I first caught sight of de Menil’s monstrance as I stood in front of a 1540 Flemish portrait of a female almsgiver, or we might say donor or benefactor, holding a rosary.

I admit my first feeling, after I absorbed the sheer beauty of the object, was a certain discomfort. As intriguing as it was to see Dominique de Menil as an “artist” in her own museum, I wondered who this unnamed, local silversmith from Trinidad might be. To be fair, the objects of this exhibit are primarily anonymous, which makes more sense for a Mayan vessel than for a 20th-century monstrance. Religion and art share many things, including uncomfortable relationships to money.

But it also occurred to me that there was something profound tying these two objects together. The almsgiver provides donations to the church to provide for the care for the impoverished. Suddenly it seemed so obvious that the idea of charity had been transformed right in front of me. No doubt for Dominique de Menil the impoverished of the world were the ones without art.