My Marian Anniversary

It has been a year since I met the Mother of my Lord, the Virgin Mary. The anniversary was actually September 21, when in 2011 I followed her call to the Catholic Church in my town and discovered the Rosary Garden. The previous night I had been troubled with insomnia, particularly distraught over women's issues in society and my own personal struggles with my family of origin. I felt my essential role as a mother being attacked, and my heart was broken. Inexplicably, I prayed to Mary, for the first time in my life. In her garden I sat and talked to her. I cried and was comforted by her maternal, spiritual presence. Suddenly, I had hope. If I joined the Catholic Church, I could have Mary.

I started going to Mass shortly after this experience. I began to read books about Mary from the library and was like a starving person presented with a banquet and surrounded by roses. I didn't know how much I had needed a spiritual Mother, and the more I read, the more fascinated I became regarding all I did not know about the history of Christianity. I became interested enough to look into R.C.I.A., the Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults. But they were too far into the program at that point for me to jump in. Just this month I finally began the official process toward joining the Church, which I now love with all my heart.

I am still learning, and after a whole year, I am not any less enthusiastic about the Mother of God. She has continued to gently lead me back to her Son, who I had drifted from for so long. My daughter has been baptized in the Church and loves her weekly religious education classes. And I have been inspired in my writing in a way I hadn't been in years, through the awakening of passion and awe. So happy anniversary to me, and thank you Blessed Mother for enriching my life with your love, faith, beauty, and intercession. Hail, Holy Queen!

Mother Mary

September 21, 2011

Last night I was having trouble sleeping, vaguely worrying about the plight of women, thinking about breastfeeding and the struggle many women have with not being supported by society, or even by family members and friends. The most natural, beautiful thing in the world, and people are uncomfortable seeing it. Nursing mothers are kicked off airplanes or asked to feed their babies in a restroom. It is a reflection of the debasing and degradation of women, of nature, of all of God's creation. Jesus was breastfed, without doubt. Inexplicably, for the first time in my life, I prayed to Mary. I prayed for peace in my heart, and I slept.

Today I was coming undone, and I ran out of the house to walk the dog. A perfect Indian Summer day. Warm and breezy, sunny, full of the promise of rest. I headed west on Jefferson Street, and before long I knew exactly where I was going--to the Sacred Heart Catholic Church on S. East Avenue. I am not Catholic. I went looking for Mary. I remembered a white statue outside the church. Was it of her? No, it was Jesus. But she was there, I knew it.

I tried the front door. Locked. I peered in the windows, saw the stained glass in the sanctuary. A sense memory. Yes, I had been here before. I don't know exactly how old I was, probably a preteen or very young teenager, when I went to mass with my best friend and her family. I had never been inside a Catholic church.  My family belonged to a conservative Protestant denomination. Mary was a part of the Nativity scene, the virgin mother of Jesus. And that was about it. We didn't pray to Mary.

I started calling for her, a little desperate. Where was she? Maybe on the other side of the church? I walked around, looked through the windows again into the social hall. And then I turned around and saw a garden, and for a moment I wondered where I was. I had never noticed it before. A painted sign said Rosary Garden, and it felt so welcoming. The garden was surrounded by a fence. I saw a white statue, and I knew instinctively it was Her. I went to the gate, and it was unlocked. Was it okay to go inside? I wanted to so badly. Then I saw a friend of mine working right next door in his backyard, and I asked him if the garden was public. Yes, it was okay to go in. I let my dog explore while I tentatively walked around, pretending to be nonchalant, and approached the statue timidly and with reverence. I knew she knew I was there. I sat at the base of an old oak tree with branches sprawling to Heaven and leaned against its trunk, right in front of Mary.

I talked to her, I prayed, I wept. I smiled. I listened, and she answered me. She was calling me all along. I understood, finally. Queen of Heaven, Mother of God. She conceived of the Christ child when the Holy Spirit descended upon her. In the Old Testament, written in Aramaic and Hebrew, the Spirit of God is named Ruah, a distinctly feminine word. Shekinah, the presence of God, is also feminine. I need to know the feminine aspect of divinity. Women, as well as men, are created in the image of God. God is neither male nor female, and God is both. God is spirit. Ruah. Sophia, the name of the Wisdom of God, who was with Him at creation. I ache for Her. The world aches for her. Mary, the embodiment of the sacred feminine.


Let It Be
 by The Beatles

WHEN I FIND MYSELF IN TIMES OF TROUBLE
MOTHER MARY COMES TO ME
SPEAKING WORDS OF WISDOM LET IT BE

AND IN MY HOUR OF DARKNESS
SHE IS STANDING RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME
SPEAKING WORDS OF WISDOM LET IT BE

LET IT BE LET IT BE LET IT BE LET IT BE
WHISPER WORDS OF WISDOM LET IT BE

AND WHEN THE BROKEN HEARTED PEOPLE
LIVING IN THE WORLD AGREE
THERE WILL BE AN ANSWER LET IT BE

FOR THOUGH THEY MAY BE PARTED
THERE IS STILL A CHANCE THAT THEY WILL SEE
THERE WILL BE AN ANSWER LET IT BE

LET IT BE LET IT BE LET IT BE LET IT BE
THERE WILL BE AN ANSWER LET IT BE

AND WHEN THE NIGHT IS CLOUDY
THERE IS STILL A LIGHT THAT SHINES ON ME
SHINE UNTIL TOMORROW LET IT BE

I WAKE UP TO THE SOUND OF MUSIC
MOTHER MARY COMES TO ME
SPEAKING WORDS OF WISDOM LET IT BE

LET IT BE LET IT BE LET IT BE LET IT BE
WHISPER WORDS OF WISDOM LET IT BE