Where Christ is There is Mary

From conception to the cross, Mary is there.

It was the Nativity, Madonna and Child that it dawned on me.  When the shepherds and the wise men bowed before their King of Kings Mary wasn't in the other room.  She wasn't on the barn flood next to the wise men bowed.  She was holding Jesus.  She was nursing Jesus.  She was caring for Him in ways only she could.  This set Mary apart.  She wasn't just another person same as the other adorers.  

When I watch The Journey Home on EWTN, one of the most common questions asked of converts is, "how did you overcome your objection to Mary?"  Everyone has their own answers.  This is my contemplation:

As soon as we were torn out of Catholicism and entered the very anti-Catholic Assembly of God Church when I was 4 years old, Mary disappeared.  She only emerged when she was dusted off for her quiet place in the Nativity at Christmas, and sometimes made a cameo for Mother's Day where she was held as an example of being obedient to God's will (with her possible age at conception of Christ thrown in as shock value).  Any hint or indication of veneration was squelched and often more greatly followed by anti-Catholic rantings about how Mary is just a humble, normal, "one of us" and Catholics are pagan goddess worshippers for even considering her as something more.

Once I started studying and contemplating Catholicism, I, too was faced with the "what to do about Mary" question.

I soon learned that Catholics don't worship Mary and that worship of Mary is heresy.  Rather, they venerate her.  When I posed that to an AG debater, they said, "it amounts to the same thing!  God doesn't share His Glory with Mary.  Mary was just one of us and never would have expected or wanted to be worshipped that way."

The Catholic Church maintains that Mary is venerated as Mother of God and an integral part of Christ's life and ministry.  She is a humble origin, yet set apart.  King David, Moses, Rahab, Ruth, the disciples....humble origins, yet set apart in their own ways in service to God.

I still had trouble wrapping my head around Mary and Jesus, Jesus and Mary and all the cooperations. There was still this separation.  Just Jesus.  Just Jesus.

Then, I took a close look at the Nativity and realized where Jesus is, there is Mary.

At agreement and conception, there is only Mary.  The angel, Gabriel, venerates her.  "Hail, Mary, favored one," or as the Catholic pray, "Hail, Mary, full of grace." 

When the Christ Child is first recognized, Mary was still carrying Him.  Her cousin, Elizabeth and her own unborn John the Baptist knew the Christ Child, and Elizabeth venerated Mary.

When Christ was born, it was of Mary.  She wasn't a spectator, an outsider.  She was doing the work!

When the shepherds and wise men came, they bowed down before Christ.  Mary wasn't among them.  She was with Jesus caring for Him as only she could.

When Jesus was presented at the Temple, Mary was also addressed.  Her heart would be pierced, too.  She would suffer in alignment with her Son's suffering.

When Jesus was lost and then found at the temple teaching, it was Mary who spoke to Him.

When Jesus began His ministry (wedding at Cana), it was His mother who was the catalyst.  The servants obeyed her to obey Jesus.

Then, we come to the cross.  There is Mary, given as mother to John.

The Pieta.  Mary holds her Son.

Mary is not Christ.  She is not equal to Christ.  She is not to be worshipped as we worship Christ.  She has no power, glorification, or authority of her own merits except that which may be given by God.  She is human.  But, she is in cooperation with Christ and God established her.  God made her, prepared her, impregnated her through the Holy Spirit, Christ was created in his human form in her.  He was cared for by her.  She raised Him.  She knew Him for who He was.

Mary, herself acknowledges that she is a humble servant in her Song.  Then, she goes on to say, "For behold, from now on all generations will call me blessed."  It doesn't say, "for behold, from now on all generations will forget about me except as a figure-head for Christmas."

We humans put more stock in favorite politicians, celebrities, sports stars, even our pets!  And yet Mary is placed in obscurity, feared even to be considered, spoken of, or thought of in case we accidentally "worship" her like "those pagan Catholics" do.  I cannot be a part of that nonsense anymore.  There is more to Mary.  So much more.

Loving October

When I was a child and we were torn from the Catholic Church and put into the Assembly of God Church, Halloween was removed from our celebrated holidays as it was "the devil's day."  No more cute costumes.  No more trick or treating.  No more candy stashes to horde or share with friends.  No more parade at school or party.  In fact, we were kept home from school.  No substitute was offered. We just sat quietly all day, since our father worked third shift and was asleep.

If that wasn't bad enough, there was an even greater issue that I only just recognized this year!

Recently, I was driving through the valley enjoying the sunshine making the colored leaves glow and blaze.  How beautiful October is!  I love October.  I love how it looks, how it feels, and I love the sense of spiritual deepening.  But, this is the first year I recall truly enjoying it and allowing myself to feel this way.  So, I dug deeper and realized something horrible.

It wasn't just that we couldn't celebrate Halloween in my youth.  It was this permeating atmosphere and attitude of HATING October.  For the entire month, I felt that I had to live in "holy anxiety" over the coming Halloween.  I felt that if I didn't live in stress and angst over every one else celebrating "the devil's day," I would not be pleasing God.  It wasn't good enough to just ignore the holiday.  I had to hate it.

October seemed grim.  The leaves and baring trees were just part of the macabre of the holiday.  I remember riding in the car and looking out the window, averting my eyes from the decorations and feeling utterly stressed to near exhaustion over the evil of it all as if my anxiety would get God to change the hearts of millions of Americans.

Then, Halloween came, and we would sit in the darkness of our home, listening to the increase in traffic and hoping no one tried to knock on our door.  We couldn't watch TV.  There were Halloween shows on.

I didn't feel quite at ease come November 1st, because this was "that Catholic Pagan holiday" and all the kids came to school with evidence of their candy stash and spray-dye still staining their hair.  Plus, I was exhausted from 31 days of stress, and I missed the beauty of October.  Now, November stood, bare, damp, dark, and grim.

But, this year is different!  I'm loving every bit of October!  No anxiety over silly decorations.  I'm not trying to placate God with my "holy anxiety."  I'm not fretting and wringing my hands.  I'm just enjoying.

My Home is My Convent

It must be so that many women come to a point in their lives where the vocation of cloistered religious actually seems an appealing alternative to the hustle and bustle of the layity, especially the married with children.  I have certainly fantasized about a religious life behind walls with women of the same mission, the same vision, the same purpose, the same personalities....

Wait, what?

That's the fantasy.

Reality is nuns are not carbon copies of holy perfection living in perfect harmony.

I watched a few documentaries on religious sisters/nuns and one thing that stood out to me was their joyful obedience to loving and serving each other despite personality difference, faults, misunderstandings, and even envy and hatred.  They are human, too, after all.  The vowed faithful are no less likely to be plagued with the ways of the this world than anyone else.

I brushed it off, though.  After all, they took vows.  They entered seriously.  They HAVE to or else it is spitting upon their own selves.  If I took such vows, if I lived behind walls in a close-knit community, I'd be better able to live like that.

Then, it dawned upon me.  I did take vows.  I do live behind walls in a close-knit community, and one that I created!!  My vows were my marriage vows.  My community is my family.  My cloister is my very home.

My home is my convent.  My marriage is my vocation.  My wedding vows are my vows.  My husband is my Priest.  I am Mother Superior.  My children are my postulants.  My home is indeed my convent where I am to live out my religious life.

I can and must be kind, loving, and serving; I must be ordered, religious, prayerful, faithful, disciplined despite differences of personalities, willingness to serve, skills, abilities, walks in life, faithfulness, etc.

It gives me an entirely new perspective on my home and vocation within it.

Going with a Different Perspective and Purpose

Saturday evening, my husband asked if I wanted to go to Mass and then just have a day at home since our usual schedule was cancelled for that weekend.  I said that I would like to go to Mass (I had not been in months).

Over the course of the evening, I thought about it.  I was a bit apprehensive to go because of my last experience at Mass.  I had felt a great emptiness and like I was a phony, just there to glean something from the aesthetics and pretend I had something I didn't, was something I wasn't.  After soul-searching and going through some things, including profound dreams, I came to understand that it is OK to be myself.  To love what I love.  To worship how I prefer to worship.  To dress how I prefer to dress.  None of it is outside the bounds of Christendom.  I have a conscience.  I feel my convictions strongly.

It is not a sin to attend, participate in, and enjoy Mass.

That hurdle overtaken, I moved on to the next issue, my appearance.  I felt very strongly that I should wear a mantilla.  I know that if I were a confirmed, practicing Catholic that I would most definitely veil at Mass.  I have always felt strongly about it.  But, it was bad enough I dress to Vatican standards for Mass and I'm not Catholic.  Should I "upstage" the Catholics and wear a full-on veil, too?

It wasn't until I realized just how humbling it is to go against the flow, AND to realize that for the most part other people aren't so easily scandalized or worrisome over such things.  Besides, if people can shop Walmart in their pajamas, I can wear a veil to Mass.  Just like with everyone else, it is between me and God.  I got to Mass and I didn't notice if anyone stared at me, and I didn't dart my eyes around judging everyone else.  I was there, God and me.  That was enough.

Oh, and what a gift Mass was!  They had an organist and a canter who had a clear, heavenly soprano.  She placed herself in the organ loft, which I far prefer to them being up front because I can just listen and not be distracted by any "performance" intended or unintended.  The hymns were classic pieces that really mean something deep and profound.  I was in heaven (pun intended).

The homily was special, too, and gave me a better understanding of Our Lady and her role.  My mother argues that Mary would NEVER agree to the veneration Catholics give her.  No, indeed.  She knows her place as a human just like the rest of us.  But, she also knows her place as given to her by God.  The veneration we humans offer her is not because she demands it, but rather it is a gift.  When Mary said she'd be called blessed, she wasn't exalting herself, but recognizing basic Truth and humbly accepting the gift!

The father of the prodigal son venerated his wayward and returned son, not because the son deserved it, but as a gift, a blessing, a joy, a praise.

I originally intended to leave at communion.  It is incredibly humbling to feel that I ought to dress according to Vatican Standards, and veil, and be the only one to do so, and not be Catholic, and not be able to go up for the Eucharist. I felt it would be better to just slip out.  But, then the organist started playing Ave Maria.  The canter sang it beautifully with such feeling and worship, I just knelt and cried.

Oh, crying.  I hate crying in front of others.  I went to a church where emotions were drummed out of us and I would leave drained and sick from the roller coaster.  But, this was different.  It was humbling to cry, but I felt so filled, and it was so beautiful to let the tears fall.  I didn't feel drained and worn out.  I didn't feel it was forced out of me.  It was just so natural and I was able to let me go and let worship happen.

After Mass, I walked out into the cool, October air as the bells of the other Catholic Church on the hill rang out over the city, over the valley.  I just sat in my vehicle and listened to them.

This.

This was church.

This is how I've dreamed church to be.  This is how I love to worship, and yet I allow people and theologies and opinions and modernism to take that away from me.  I allow them to tell me I am wrong to feel this way, think this way, believe this way, need this way.

I want to be Catholic.

Did you ever read a book or watch a movie or TV show that inspired you to be a better person?  That just made sense to you and filled you?  You walked away from it glowing, filled, inspired, with a vision.  That's how Catholicism makes me feel.

And yet, I am told it is wrong, displeases God, and I need to submit myself to a church that leaves me barren because it is "more right" than other churches based on the general theology of those who claim to know better than me.

Yes, there are Catholic beliefs that I am unsure of.  There are beliefs that seem very odd to me and that I question.  I've tried.  I've tried to go back to my evangelical roots, yet I am in agony when I submit to them.  However, I feel tremendous peace when I submit to my Catholic roots.

But, how?  How can I become Catholic?  It would cause such a scandal in my family.  Am I willing to lose my soul, though, my personhood to please others?  I've already done so for almost 40 years!  I am profoundly unhappy in my current state.

For once in my life my unhappiness is outweighing my fear.

I need courage.  I don't need to pretend, anymore.

Not Quite Hypocrisy: The Spiritually Sensitive and Human Nature

My youngest son is spiritually sensitive.  His thoughts, revelations, prayers, and sensitivities are otherworldly.  There is no doubt in my mind that he has an awareness of the spiritual realm, of God, angels, saints beyond that of the average human, let alone the average child.  He has an amazing awareness of right and wrong, good and evil.  And yet, there are things he says, things he does, and things he likes that has me scratching my head.  How can someone so spiritually sensitive find this or that appealing or entertaining?  How can they not be convicted that this is bad or unhealthy, or not the way of the Lord?

I only need to look to myself.

We all have areas of conviction and scruples that we are sensitive to, while other areas seem to go unchecked.  I wouldn't call it outright hypocrisy, which, to me, is fully knowing something is wrong, but doing it anyway, doing it with excuses why it is ok for you but not for others, or expecting of others what you yourself wouldn't do.  Instead, I would call it spiritual blind spots that haven't been exposed yet, or areas where we haven't grown, or areas of personal scruples.  For example, what may negatively affect one person spiritually may have no affect at all on another.  I may have difficulty reading a fantasy book and find great spiritual struggle if I try to do so, but another may be able to enjoy the fiction without any affect to their conscience at all.

Then, there is the fact that we are humans.  Frail humans who have human natures, sin natures, areas of besetting sins.  We can be spiritually sensitive and still stumble in our humanity.  For example, we may be spiritually sensitive to pornography and the use of lust and sex in entertainment, but indulge in violence in our entertainment, or ignore blasphemy and bad language.  We may feel deeply when someone is sarcastic and avoid being sarcastic ourselves, but indulge in crude jokes.  We may feel strongly about attending church, but waste precious prayer time at home by playing video games.

We are not, and cannot be perfect.  The spiritually sensitive will fall.  The prude, the scrupulous, the careful, the wise, the meek, the gracious, the merciful, the educated...we all fall at some point.  We all have areas of weakness and blindness.

I Gave Christ the Head of the Table

We have our seats around the dining room table.  Our dining room is literally in the center of our house.  It is probably the most used room.  In the center of the dining room is our dining room table, an oval table with 6 chairs, 2 on each side for the children, and one on each end for hubby and me.

When hubby isn't home, his chair can become the catch-all chair, the free-for-all chair.  There are times the poor fellow comes home from work and his chair is covered, or being used by someone else.

Throughout the day with the children, I had assumed position in that chair, eating my meals at the head of the table, and teaching homeschool from that position.  Why not?  In the absence of my spouse, aren't I the authority?

Just the other day I decided to remove myself from that chair completely.  That chair, that spot at the dining room table is for Christ, and for my husband who is the priest of the home, a sort of in persona Christi.  So, when hubby isn't home, that is where Christ sits.  Not me.  Not my kids.  Guests may because the Bible says that being hospitable to others is being hospitable to Him.

As silly as this may sound to some, and as horrifying as it may sound to my evangelical friends and family, I bow and cross myself from time to time as I face or walk past the chair.  It reminds me that Christ has a place in our home, an honored place at the head, and that He is present.  It reminds me that He is there.

I do believe that giving Christ this chair will change our home and family for the better in holiness.  It also gives honor to my husband where honor is due.  When I honor Christ, I honor my husband better.

Two Dreams: One Beautiful, One Bothersome

Last night I had two dreams the involved Catholicism.

The Beautiful:

I was attending Mass, but towards the end I was distracted and being a Martha instead of a Mary.  I think I was shopping for something, and I remember pulling out fabric or a blanket.  Mass had ended at that point and out of the corner of my eye I saw the Father staring at me, arms crossed, foot tapping, but a playful, fatherly half-smile on his face.  I feigned like I didn't see him and busied myself with folding the material and putting it back.  At that point, I "noticed" Father and greeted him.  He smiled and invited me to sit in a pew and talk with him.  I was thrilled and I believe I told him that I had been hoping he'd invite me for a chat.  Indeed, he asked me my religious history.  I began by saying that I was born and baptized Catholic.  When I said that, an applause and cheer arose from around us.  It was other Catholics, some strangers, some people I went to school with.  Father explained how joyful they were at that news.  I said, "I'm a cradle Catholic!" but any conversation with Father was interrupted as my classmates and I started talking.  I don't recall what.

The Bothersome:

I am taken down this quiet residential city street in Amsterdam to this run down, interesting house that was for sale.  I am surprised to find out that that Dave bought it.  I am escorted in, though I never see by who, nor who drove me to the house, nor who narrates the tour.  The house smells, and is really run down, out dated, has a strange floor plan, and is giving me the creeps.  People are working on the house, cleaning it out, but I only really see Dave and my dad.  We make our way to the front of the house and I am particularly interested in the odd shuttered bay window I saw out front.  As I work the shutters, I notice they are broken.  Beyond that room is a narrow staircase up to a loft above the bay window.  It has old lumber in it, but I remark how it would make a nice play room for the kids.

Overall, I am a bit sickened by the house, but Dave eagerly sees the potential.  I pretty much want nothing to do with it until it is cleaned out and repaired, but I feel obligated to participate somehow.  I am overwhelmed, but trying to like it.

I refuse to go upstairs because I am frightened.  The downstairs was frightening enough.

My escort and I return to the rear room.  Here is the main staircase to upstairs and my father and yanking stuff he found hidden in the ceiling over the stairway entrance.  It is a ratty old wig and some other strange clothing.  Apparently, the granny who had lived in the house was really a grampy who had a penchant for dressing like granny.  This really adds to my uneasiness about the house and I say outloud, "this place needs a priest."  I use a post hole digger to pick up the garments and wig to dispose of them.  That's the last I remember.

This bothersome dream had me in prayer wondering what the meaning is.  In a way, I think the house is me.  There are so many ways I can unpack this, but I am falling asleep as I type.