Sacred Life Sunday: Journey to Mary
Remember, O most loving Virgin Mary
that it is a thing unheard of
that anyone ever had recourse to your
protection, implored your help,
or sought your intercession,
and was left forsaken.
Filled therefore with confidence in your
goodness, I fly to you
O mother, Virgin of Virgins to you I come,
before you I stand, a sorrowful sinner.
Despise me not my poor words
O Mother of God
But graciously hear and grant my prayers.
I am on a journey to Mary. I do not yet understand her; her appeal to so many, or the complexity of her character. At times I feel frustrated that she has become a stand-in for the feminine expression of God, a symbol of the feminine Divine, when she is not in fact a deity. But at other times her creative force seems so strong that I can understand the impulse to mold her into the void that our patriarchal God leaves behind.
In Sienna the shrine to the Blessed Virgin Mary is immense. It is revered in the utmost, and nearby at a respectful distance the walls are hung thick with items that denote both thanksgiving and petition: baby booties on satin strings; motorcycle helmets of those who have survived the crash; war medals and memorials. The people pray, “Remember…that is a thing unheard of… that anyone had ever implored you for help…and was left forsaken.” What would it be like to have someone like that? To rest that assured that help was on its way?
In Sweden there are the remains of a most ancient chapel dedicated to the Blessed Virgin Mary. I think it is telling that it has been left to decay, reduced now to a mound of fern covered rock. The powers that be may have decided that this chapel did not need to be protected, did not need to continue to stand. But the placard there will not let me go. It reads simply:
“The people loved Mary because she knew their needs.”
“When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary calls to me….” She is calling, there in the distance. I hear her like a whisper that resides in the curve of my ear. And I wonder as a I wander, what will she say as our journey goes on?
4 comments
Have you read “Our Lady of the Lost and Found”? It’s a novel about Mary visiting a Canadian writer when she’s in need of a vacation. It’s got a great history of her inside. Loved it.
Mary is fascinating, and I know I’ve been drawn to her in the past when exploring the feminine side of God. I can’t wait to hear what more you find on your journey.
I’ve taken this journey, and I’m still on it. It started about three years ago for me. When I began she was the Theotokos. Orthodox nuns showed me the startling beauty of venerating her. I cried wishing I could experience her as they did. In this journey I’ve found her to be a fierce ally and advocate and loving Mama. Oh, girl…. My mother wounds! I needed her. I needed her in a Secret Life of Bees kinda way. Now, I call her Mama. I’ve prayed that amazing prayer you posted many times. It works! Not always in the way I think it will, so she teaches me to see in surprising ways.
I wish I knew her many years ago, when I didn’t know anything about the sacred feminine, but hungered for it deep in my soul. I’m so grateful to her now, and to Jesus for giving her to me. Our Lady of Sorrows has been a deep comfort for me in pain and depression. Even the symbols representing her speak to me. I’m sure they will speak to you too, lovie.
Keep going. You’re going to be so enriched by Mama’s presence. You know I’m always cheering you on.
Much love!
Yesterday I made a matchbox shrine about Mary and shame. I was thinking about how humiliating it must have been to be a single mother in a conservative society. That first she was troubled, but then she rejoiced. The difference there must have been for her between outward shame and inward joy.
I’ve gotten cold sores since I was little. At random intervals they appear on my mouth, nasty blisters that make me embarrassed to show my face. I avoid eye contact with other people. I want to hide.
On the outside of my box are two verses from a G. K. Chesterton poem:
The Christ-child lay on Mary’s lap,
His hair was like a light.
(O weary, weary were the world,
But here is all aright.)
The Christ-child lay on Mary’s breast,
His hair was like a star.
(O stern and cunning are the kings,
But here the true hearts are.)
It makes me think about the harshnes of the outside world and the inward knowing of what’s important. About being in the world but knowing what’s true internally.
Inside is Marianne Stokes’ beautiful Madonna and Child and a few of the words from the Magnificat: et exultavit spiritus meus! And my spirit has rejoiced.
This morning a blister appeared on my lip. I put my shrine in my pocket, and it hasn’t been a bad day.
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