The footnotes have been removed to avoid any "borrowing" from my work. :)
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May 2, 2015
The quote which serves as the title of this paper comes from a line in the poem “Lord, send your dew upon this sterile earth” written by Mariam Baouardy, a Lebanese Arab Christian nun born in 1846. She was the thirteenth child born to her mother; all of her siblings were boys who died in infancy. Mariam’s mother had made a pilgrimage to Bethlehem to beg Mary for a daughter, and a year later, she was born. According to Mary Ford-Grabowsky, Mariam “revealed prodigious mystical gifts, received stigmata, and became famous in her time…[she] was beatified in 1983.” I chose this title (and this poem) because it resonates with my own experience of Mary.
While I can trace the beginnings of my relationship to Mary back to 2005, as I enter into the birth month of my 40th year—May, the month of Mary—I recall the “legend” surrounding my birth. My mother has always told me that I was supposed to be born on April 10, but that I refused to come out. According to her, she and my father had gone to all the birthing classes, read the Dr. Spock book, and done everything the doctor had suggested, but I still was not ready to arrive. Finally, at 5am on May 20, 1975, I began to join the world, and by 6am, I was in my mother’s arms. Was this the true beginning of my relationship to Mary?
Since 2005 I have been actively engaging Mary, sitting at her feet, trying to understand who and what she is. I have wrestled with her as a model of passive obedience, as a model of rebellion and resistance, as the feminine face of God. While all of these things are aspects of Mary, they confine her to a box (or category). What if she is all of this and more? Then what do we do with her?
This paper is not the complete story of Mary. There is a long tradition of Black Madonnas and various interpretations of her that are not included in this paper. This paper also does not include the multitude of spiritual writings about Mary, nor the various prayers, poems, hymns, and visual arts celebrating her. It also does not include the stories of other women (and men) who have been sitting at her feet.
However, this paper is a reflection of the beginning of a journey I am on with Mary. It will explore some of the history and scripture of Marian tradition and dogma, her place in a long line of goddesses, and the cult that has developed around her. It will provide possible frameworks for consideration when engaging Mary, and begins the process of liberating her (and us) from the boxes she has been contained in. I will interweave stories of my own experience with her, raise questions, share insights and wonder about new possibilities. This is the story of how a female Episcopal priest came back to life while sitting at the feet of her mother, Mary.
Hail Mary, full of grace
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee;
blessed art thou among women
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners,
now and at the hour of our death.
Amen.
I first encountered this prayer, The Angelus, in the chapel at Church Divinity School of the Pacific in Berkeley, California, when I was a seminarian. It was printed and framed in a little side chapel that was devoted to the Blessed Virgin Mary. Above the candle rack was an icon of Mary and the child Jesus titled “Sweet Kissing.” I remember kneeling at the prayer station and looking deep into the eyes of Mary.
In his book, The Thousand Faces of the Virgin Mary, Roman Catholic ecumenist, George Tavard, presents an in-depth review of Mary in both the biblical scriptures and the apocryphal texts, the development of Marian dogma and devotion in the Orthodox and Roman Catholic church, how she is understood in Anglicanism and Protestantism, as well as the ongoing development of Marian devotion in poetry, visions and apparitions.
Similar to Tavard, Marina Warner, fiction writer and scholar of art, mythology and fairytales, examines the many interpretations of Mary in Alone of All Her Sex: The Myth and the Cult of the Virgin Mary. She leads the reader on a journey of understanding Mary through the biblical scriptures, church teachings on her Assumption, and the development of art, poetry, feast days, pilgrimages and cults dedicated to the Virgin. However, in the epilogue, the reader is reminded of Warner’s own struggle with Mary and her dissatisfaction with the church’s teachings about her. For Warner, the myth of the Virgin will die if it does not evolve into one of healing the wounds caused by the dualism of her nature created by the church; she, “is theologically and doctrinally defined as wholly unique and yet set up as the model of Christian virtue.”
Both writers begin their exploration of Marian devotion in the biblical scriptures. While the New Testament is primarily focused on the mission and ministry of Jesus, it is through Mary that God becomes incarnate in Jesus of Nazareth. While in the synoptic gospels, Mary is active in the Annunciation, Nativity and Crucifixion stories, she is virtually absent in the rest of the text. Unique to the Gospel of John, Mary is present at the Wedding in Cana. According to Tavard, Mary is not just a guest at the wedding, but has an active role as one of the organizers, attending to the needs of the guests. Warner understands the story of the Wedding in Cana as a high point in Mariological teaching; “her intervention illustrates her pity, compassion, and thoughtfulness; but, more importantly, its prompt effect—the inauguration of Christ’s messianic mission by a spectacular miracle—radiantly reveals the efficiency of her intercession with Christ.”
Tavard also posits that Mary remains with Jesus throughout his ministry, but has no active role until the Crucifixion when she is taken into the home of the beloved disciple, whom Tavard believes to have been Lazarus. Warner points out that in this scene, Mary moves from a symbol of perfect motherhood, to one of the mothering Church. Mary’s last appearance in the New Testament is in the upper room at Pentecost as noted in the Book of the Acts of the Apostles.
Warner weaves in the complicated issue of the Immaculate Conception and perpetual virginity of Mary in her review of the New Testament and Apocryphal texts, whereas Tavard examines these issues in various frameworks beginning with the Apocryphal texts of the Proto-gospel of James. This particular text tells the story of Mary’s parents, Anna and Joachim, the kiss they share that leads to the conception of Mary, her young life in the temple, the decision of the priests in determining that Joseph will be her husband, and the birth of Jesus in a cave. Warner also notes that this story was the basis for Giotto’s frescos in the Scrovegni chapel and then later is picked up during the Reformation in Jacobus de Vargine’s Golden Legend.
Tavard spends the bulk of his text tracing the historical development and controversies surrounding the Roman Church’s teaching on Mary. He points out that while most of the teaching does not come directly from the biblical text, it is influenced by the apocryphal stories of not only her Immaculate Conception, but her Dormition and Assumption. These teachings became the focal points of Christian theologians such as Augustine who wrote in opposition to the heresies that denied Mary’s virginity. During this same period, the controversy over the title Theotokos was also being debated in church councils.
With the Protestant Reformation, the cult of Mary became almost exclusively relegated to the Orthodox and Roman Church. Tavard highlights the work of several reformers including but not limited to Ulrich Zwingli, Martin Luther and Jean Calvin. For Zwingli, a Marian supporter of the Reformation, Mary is indeed the Theotokos, but he rejected the idea that Christians should “invoke her or pray to her.” Zwingli also developed a pastoral Mariology that focused on her heart and the sufferings she endured. Tavard quotes Zwingli on this new approach to Marian devotion:
And when you say an Ave Maria…think also…she has had to bear persecution, pain, and misery, in which however she has remained with a strong heart. And therefore may you, with your poverty and your weariness, find an example in her.
Tavard also notes that Luther was not against Marian devotion even though he was a strong leader of the Reformation. For Luther, Mary’s Magnificat is a reminder not only of the salvation of God through the Incarnation, but that all Christians should sing along with her in her praise of God. However, Luther’s Christmas sermon in 1530 was the beginning of the absence of Marian feasts in the Lutheran tradition. In his sermon, Luther explains to the faithful that they are to “accept the child and his birth and forget the Mother.”
Along similar lines was the theological teachings of Calvin. Calvin taught that for Christians, Mary in her humility, “becomes our teacher. She should be listened to, learned from, and imitated.” However, if Christians invoke the Virgin, she becomes an idol. For Calvin, the remedy for such idolatry is to focus on the teachings that are offered in Scripture…none of which encourages prayer to anyone other than God.
In contrast to Tavard’s approach to understanding the “thousand faces” of Mary throughout history, Warner takes a distinctly different approach in her book. Combining art, poetry and Scripture, she traces the development of the cult of Mary throughout Europe. Through the doctrine on the Assumption, Mary becomes the Queen of Heaven, and as the model for the church in the twelfth century, she becomes the Bride (and Christ is the Bridegroom). Warner points to Godfrey of Admont who suggested “all three persons of the Trinity were Mary’s lovers.” While this may appear scandalous, painters of the seventeenth century illumined the mind with images such as the Coronation of the Virgin when Mary is crowned Queen of Heaven by the Trinity.
Geoffrey Ashe is a cultural historian who has spent most of his life examining the King Arthur legends (and associated British archeology), and he previously served as the head of the lay religious society at the Marian shrine in Aylesford, Kent. In the preface to the text The Virgin: Mary’s Cult and the Re-Emergence of the Goddess, Ashe acknowledges the feminist critique of the Roman Church’s narrow interpretation of the phenomenon of the Marian cult (i.e., that Mary is to be praised for her passivity and purity), but believes that the cult “had a dynamic of its own, and its advent was mysterious.” For me, this was the crux of his argument as he untangled Mary’s history in the church and the development of her cult.
Like George Tavard and Marina Warner, Ashe wrestles with the biblical texts that highlight Mary’s role in Christian history, primarily the various Nativity stories in the gospel accounts, and the development of dogma in the Roman Church around the Immaculate Conception and the Assumption. However, Ashe also examines the connection between Miriam (the sister of Moses), the prophet Elijah, the woman in Revelation 12 and Mary of the gospel traditions. Miriam first appears by name in Exodus 15:20 after the Israelites departed Egypt and crossed the Red Sea; she is described as a prophetess and is attributed with the first song of the Bible—a song of praise to God for deliverance. For Ashe, the connection between Miriam and Mary is not just the derivation of a name, but a link in salvation history:
…the name ‘Mariam’ recalled that mighty rescue which the prophetess celebrated, the miracle which Jews saw at the root of their destiny as God’s chosen. Any woman so called would have been ripe for the play of symbolic imagination, the moment she was linked with a Messianic belief.
Ashe also points to Gregory of Nyssa who interpreted a connection between Miriam of Exodus and the Virgin Mary; “God, creating the first Mary with foreknowledge of the second and greater one, built anticipatory hints into her life.”
Citing the work of fourth century Christian theologian, Epiphanius, the second biblical connection Ashe makes is with the prophet Elijah. In 1 Kings, the prophet is faithful to God against those who had started to worship Baal. As Ashe explains, “he is commanded to anoint a new king, Jehu, who becomes a first sketch for the Messiah.” This appointment of a new king is similar to Mary’s birthing of the anticipated Messiah. Ashe also highlights that the doctrine of the Assumption of Mary is linked to Elijah’s passing/vanishing as well as the woman in Revelation 12; he “departed mysteriously and was exempted from death” similar to the belief that Mary was assumed into heaven with no body/grave left behind. Part of the legend that surrounded Elijah was that while he had ascended into heaven, he was not contained there; “He travelled about the world, often in disguise. He came as a friend of the poor and humble, as rescuer from peril, as an enlightener of scholars and sages.” Ashe suggests that within the cult of Mary, she took over this role as intercessor and advocate.
Ashe also spends a fair amount of time examining the development of Mariology and the Marian cult through the work of the fourth century Cappadocian Fathers—Basil, an organizer in the Greek monastic communities, Gregory of Nyssa and Gregory of Nazianzus. Basil was the first to call Mary Theotokos (Mother of God) and supported the belief in her perpetual virginity. Gregory of Nyssa, broke with the tradition of looking for Old Testament references to Jesus by looking for references to Mary (as noted above), he asserted that the “other Mary” of Matthew 28:1 was Mary the mother of Jesus, thus being present at the Resurrection, and he tells the first known story of a Marian vision. Gregory of Nazianzus also affirms the title Theotokos, and “provides the first Christian case history of the Virgin as a hearer of prayer” in a sermon dated October 379. In 440s the historian Sozomen, declared that Mary had blessed the holy see of Constantinople—the Anastasia—with her presence, and that she manifested herself there, “ ‘in waking visions and in dreams, often for the relief of many diseases and for those afflicted by some sudden transmutation in their affairs’.” The establishment of a church devoted to Mary in 431 was the turning point for the cult of Mary within Christianity.
“Her greatness, her blessedness lies in her unconditional assent”
In the Anglican-Roman Catholic text Mary: Grace and Hope in Christ, theologians and scholars wrestled with who Mary is in the Church. Like Tavard, Warner, and Ashe, this text reminds the reader of the historical and theological development of Marian veneration and dogma. However, the commission highlights three areas for consideration that the other scholars did not: 1) understanding Mary’s “unique vocation;” 2) defining “appropriate Marian devotion;” 3) questioning if adherence to Marian dogmas are necessary for full communion. For those within the church (particularly those within liturgical churches), these are important issues when trying to understand who Mary is.
In terms of Mary’s “unique vocation,” the commission is clear that Mary is neither a saint nor a martyr, but the Mother of God, and as such, she is a “model of holiness, obedience, and faith for all Christians.” However, the commission goes further to explain that this model of holiness, obedience and faith are not merely passive actions, but the way in which all Christians are called to respond as disciples. According to the commission, whenever a Christian joins Mary in saying “yes,” “…they commit themselves to an obedient response to the Word of God, which leads to a life of prayer and service….they commit themselves to serve God’s justice with their lives.” In the study guide portion of the text, the question is raised, “Do you have a sense of having been graced by God for a particular vocation, and if so, is Mary’s acceptance of God’s call a source of hope for you?” In thinking about how I might continue to discuss Mary within my own church context and research, this may be an easier or more accessible way of introducing Marian dialogue; to frame it within the context of discipleship.
Another way to approach Mary’s “unique vocation” is to consider her as a model of justice or prophetic figure. Not only is she a model of discipleship, she is also, “…the mother who pondered all things in her heart, as the refugee seeking asylum in a foreign land, as the mother pierced by the innocent suffering of her own child.” In this way, Mary stands not only with all mothers who face the many challenges of being a parent, but she is a “figure of tenderness and compassion” for all who suffer or are in need. As a model of justice or a prophetic figure, Mary inspires men and women to work with those on the margins. As the commission so eloquently concludes, “Only when joy is joined with justice and peace do we rightly share in the economy of hope and grace which Mary proclaims and embodies.”
The third way of understanding Mary’s “unique vocation” that is suggested by the commission is to view her as a spiritual mother. Citing Jesus’ words at his crucifixion (John 19:27), “Behold your mother,” as disciples, we are to embrace her as our spiritual mother and she will serve as our “companion, a guide and an encouragement.” However, the commission makes it clear that Mary is not to replace Jesus, but rather she points to him as a way of inviting others into holiness, obedience and faithful discipleship.
Unraveling the cult of Mary
Ashe points out that biblical hermeneutics, the development of Mariology by Church Fathers, and the Church of Mary basilica in Ephesus, does not a cult make. He questions whether an undercurrent of folk religion seeped into early Christian tradition, particularly the Collyridian sect. He notes Epiphanius of Salamis’ criticism of these women who worshipped Mary, and the linking of this worship to Astarte in Jerusalem, before 600 BCE (she was also known as the Queen of Heaven) and then to Anath (the Egyptian Jews’ Queen of Heaven that was worshipped alongside God in the fifth century BCE).
Warner also traces the influence of gods and goddesses on Marian imagery. Mary is identified with the moon and starts in the Book of Revelation. In iconography, “The moon has been the most constant attribute of female divinities in the western world, and was taken over by the Virgin Mary because of ancient beliefs about its functions and role, which Christianity inherited.” Warner explains that in the development of the early church in the Roman Empire, the Christian God was in competition with the local pantheon of gods and goddess. In response to this threat, Christians assimilated the feast of Sol Invictus (the Unconquered Sun god Helios) into Christmas, and fixed the date of the Resurrection to the first Sunday following the full moon of the spring equinox.
The Anglican-Roman Catholic commission also takes up the question of “appropriate Marian devotion.” Prior to Vatican II in 1964, the Roman Church had proclaimed two Marian dogmas—the Immaculate Conception (1854) and the Assumption (1950). While these dogmas reflected the popularity of Marian spirituality, they were also the source of much criticism in ecumenical dialogues. As a result, the conclusion of Lumen Gentium (one of the documents from Vatican II), calls Mary “a sign of hope and comfort for God’s pilgrim people.” Shortly after this document, Pope Paul VI issued Marialis Cultus (1974), which stated that devotion to Mary is “properly located within the Christological focus of the Church’s public prayer.” The document further stated that Marian devotion, “must be in accordance with the Scriptures and the liturgy of the Church; it must be sensitive to the concerns of other Christians and it must affirm the full dignity of women in public and private life.”
In her book Fragments of Real Presence, Teresa Berger also examines the cult of Mary. In her essay on the Feast of the Annunciation, she reminds the reader of the tabernacle Madonnas which connect Mary to the celebration of the Eucharist. In the Christian liturgical tradition, the tabernacle is where the reserved sacrament (the bread and wine) is kept between services. While the tabernacle Madonnas were similar to shrine Madonnas or triptychs (a three panel altar piece that can be opened or closed on hinges), and at their height of popularity, Marian monstrances, the purpose is to remind the viewer that the “first vessel to hold the body and blood of Christ, was not a golden receptacle, but a woman’s womb.” Berger continues on in her connections of Mary to the Eucharist by citing (Pseudo) Epiphanius of Salamis who referred to Mary as a priest, as well as noting that other theologians and spiritual writers were trying to distance Mary from the Eucharist and priestly ministry.
Ashe concludes that the origins of Mary’s cult “has yet to be completely unraveled.” In his Epilogue, Ashe mentions the work of both Robert Graves and Carl Jung as part of untangling of the Marian cult. For Graves, the focus is poetic myth, particularly the role of Eternal-Womanly, and Ashe connects Mary with the Eternal-Womanly, the Goddess, “the authentic source of inspiration and life.” Ashe connects Jung’s work on the Collective Unconscious to the association of Mary with Wisdom, the Goddess, and the Eternal-Womanly. Even when considering the current phase of the cult, the various apparitions and visions, Ashe believes that the “Church’s adoption of the cult in the fifth century was wildly irrational,” but important to the propagation of the faith; Mary was the “source of a vital imaginative energy” that has been needed throughout the ages, and may be needed to revise Christianity. It is at this point that I turn to Mariann Burke.
Mary the symbol
Burke is a Jungian analyst who also has a degree in theology. Unlike Tavard, Warner and Ashe, Burke does not recall the history of the Church and its relationship to Mary in theology and dogma. Instead, she approaches Mary through art and the imagination. She is not an art scholar or historian, but as a Jungian analyst, her work leads her to interpret images in a way that informs the present. She opens the text Re-Imagining Mary with a recollection of encountering Fra Angelico’s The Annunciation for the first time, and how this awakened her to the self and the Self--“Jung’s expression for the God-image within us.” For Burke, this awakening led to her research and experience with Mary the Mother of God:
The image of Mary as Divine Feminine continues to inspire millions as a Goddess figure, symbol of justice and liberation of the poor, compassionate Mother and Wisdom. The historical Mary needs to be recovered from a view that sees her as a meek, weak and totally submissive to male authority rather than to her inner feminine authority.
Burke’s work is not one of tracing history, but tracing symbols. Each chapter looks at a different symbols found within artistic representations of Mary—the Annunciation, Mother, the Temple—and her own experience of the Self. For this reason, I will highlight some of her work that awakened my understanding of Mary.
The Annunciation
Unlike the previously read scholars, Burke doesn’t claim Mary as the Second Eve, but rather as shadow opposites, “Eve’s ‘yes’ to the serpent and Mary’s ‘yes’ to the angel represent two aspects of the journey toward wholeness.” Both women take risks and are courageous; they have agency and are open to making new discoveries. For Burke, the image is one of vulnerability and struggle that awakens her “to say ‘yes’ to the present moment and ‘yes’ to the unknown and unknowable future.” Similar to Burke, I have often contemplated the meaning of “yes” to God’s call in my life. For example, saying yes to the call to priesthood, was and is an ongoing struggle of vulnerability, integrity, wholeness and being willing to take risks. I often find that saying “yes” to God is a combination of courageous disobedience to social norms and expectations, while at the same time, learning to be humble and obedient to something (a force, an intuitive feeling, the divine spark) that propels me to work for justice and mercy.
Annunciation and Creativity
Burke recalls the symbol of the dove in the history of the Great Goddesses (20,000 BCE-3500 BCE) when it was understood as a symbol of fertility and love. In Nicolas Poussin’s Annunciation, there is a sense of “Mary’s openness to the life force and to pregnancy” which Burke connects with an openness to our creative potential. She states that in this openness, “we bow to the One who knows us. For in our creative ventures we seek self/Self knowledge both for our own sake, and for the greater Incarnation of God in the world.” In tracing the lineage of the ancient goddess symbols in Marian iconography, one of the things I wrestle with is the emphasis on pregnancy and motherhood—something I’ve never felt called to—which has often left me feeling like an outsider to the conversation. However, I found these ideas of creativity and openness to possibility that Burke suggests more in-line with my own lived experience, and perhaps broader and more welcoming for other women who have not, for various reasons, experienced pregnancy and motherhood.
Annunciation and Hope
Salvador Dali’s Annunciation is full of energy, power, and again, the unknown. As Burke explains, “The angel’s visit shakes up the ‘status quo’ of Mary’s daily life…In the Biblical account of the Annunciation it is out of unknowing that understanding comes.” I interpreted this as a continuation on the idea that within our “yes” we have not only agency, openness, and creativity, but also hopefulness when life becomes complex and confusing.
Mother Mary
Like Burke, I have been drawn to icons of Mary as Mother. Like Burke, I have also come to claim Mary as my Mother (although I do that rather quietly and in situations where I can be vulnerable). However, Burke is bolder in her claim and makes a connection to ancient goddess traditions that scholars such as Tavard would dismiss (and Ashe would perhaps attribute to folk religion): “As Mother of Jesus, Mary becomes the Divine Mother. Given to us as our mother she takes on a deeper dimension echoing the Great or Primordial Mother.”
Burke also believes that icons of Mary serve as mirrors or reflections of our soul—reflecting back our limitations and our gifts. She suggests that women have a need for images of the Divine Feminine since this image would mirror women’s self/Self awareness: “Gradually I began to imagine her not only as Mother of God but as Mother God, for at different times in our life, do we not fashion our gods as we need them to be?” Within this section, she also comments on the goddess traditions associated with Kali and Isis and their connection with Black Madonnas, as well as the mythology of Demeter and Persephone and the Sorrowful Mother—all symbols of life, death and regeneration, and mirrors of our own mortality. Similar to the lineage suggested by Ashe of Mary’s connection to Anath via the Collyridians, a connection that recalls the Mother Goddess, Burke suggests that these women “longed to honor a female Divinity.” She connects this longing with the need for a reflected image; “viewing ourselves as images of God…we come to a place where we feel accepted for who we are, true and valuable, in our joys and sorrows, reflections of and temples of the Divine.”
“Mary’s vocation is the expansion of her being, not its limitation.”
Up to this point, I have reviewed the work of theologians and scholars, Jungian analysts, and faithful Catholic women who are all connected to Mary in some way. I really appreciate the subversive nature of the Marian cult as presented by both Ashe and Berger; that while it wasn’t explicitly the result of persistent folk religion and groups like the Collyridians, there is a sense that the boundaries of Christianity have been (and may continue to be) permeable. I also really appreciate the work of Burke in her consideration of the powerful risk taking associated with Mary when she says “yes” to God. Her work with symbols and Jung’s Collective Unconscious of archetypes for the Divine Feminine spoke to my deep desire of connection with Mother (of) God. Yet, I feel that there is still more to Mary than meets the historical, theological, and even psychological eye.
At this point, I turn to Elizabeth Bartlett’s Rebellious Feminism and Jennie Knight’s Feminist Mysticism and Images of God. Unlike the other texts previously discussed, these two texts provide potential frameworks (and new questions) for understanding who Mary is. Bartlett first defines “rebellion” in light of Camus’ writing; it involves, “a negative activity of resisting oppression [which] also acts in a positive way to affirm human dignity, solidarity, friendship, justice, liberation, and beauty.” I believe that her framework for rebellious feminism could be used to help articulate the role that Mary has in the lives of so many women (and men).
The first point of the framework is rejection of oppression and affirmation of human dignity. Bartlett defines this as “a refusal to be treated with anything less than the full measure of dignity and decency that one’s humanity demands.” The Magnificat is often understood as Mary’s song of praise for God who liberates and lifts up the poor and the needy. The second point of the framework is solidarity, which Bartlett defines four ways, but of interest in particular is “the choice ‘to suffer with’…to witness the suffering of another and thus be moved to act.” Immediately iconography of Mary as the Sorrowful Mother came to mind, as well as the Anglican-Roman Catholic commission’s work on Mary’s “unique vocation”.
Bartlett’s third point in the framework is friendship and the primacy of concrete relationship. Bartlett explains, “Relationship is at the core of rebellion, and any action that destroys or betrays one’s concrete relationships is no longer rebellion.” John 19—the naming of Mary as the mother of the beloved disciple at the crucifixion—came to mind for me since it is at this moment that Mary becomes the “spiritual mother” for all disciples. Finally, the valuing of immanence is the fourth point in Bartlett’s framework of rebellion. Here, the individual is focused on living in the moment, not being concerned with the rewards of the afterlife. I believe an argument could be made in favor of Mary as a “rebellious feminist” at the Wedding in Cana (John 2:1-11) when she prods Jesus into performing his first public miracle to assist with a wedding feast…even though Jesus states that it was not his time.
However, this is but a cursory glance at the rebellious feminist framework for which to approach an understanding of Mary. The Bartlett text actually raised more questions for me than I have answers for at this time. These questions include, but are certainly not limited to:
1. A feminist epistemology concerning Mary: Did Mary understand what saying “yes” would mean? Luke 2:19 says, “…she pondered all these things in her heart;” does this imply a knowledge derived from her passion? Bartlett states, “…knowledge derived from our passions…is the facilitator of our deepest knowledge, acting to clarify, validate, and ground that which we already know, and to open us to that which we have yet to learn.”
2. Refusal and acceptance: Part of Bartlett’s definition of rebellion is the simultaneous refusal of dominating or being dominated, which leads to healing and peace.[83] Is Mary’s “yes” to God also an implied “no” to the systems of oppression of her time and place (i.e., she’s a young, unwed mother, she will be among other women who follow Jesus—typically a social position only held by men), and that perhaps this implied “no” serves as a model for other women (and men) to also say “no” to oppression (i.e., Guadalupe and Juan Diego)?
3. Is Mary colonized and can she be de-colonized? On page 48, Bartlett refers to the work of Albert Memmi and discusses the difference between the “colonized who accepts” and the “colonized who refuses.”[84] This made me wonder if Mary has been colonized and if that colonization led to an interpretation of her as “passive”. It also made me wonder about Black Madonnas and how Jennie Knight’s research indicates that Black Madonnas can reinforce racist stereotypes (i.e., the strong black woman or the Mammy image).
4. Is Mary a “healer” for women? If rebellion leads to healing as Bartlett suggests, then as an icon of compassion, fortitude, and love, if we come to regard Mary as a rebellious feminist, can we also come to understand her as one who refuses “the violation, degradation, humiliation, and abuse of women?” After all, she is “blessed among women.”
One of the things that Knight discusses early in her text is the quandary in which many ministers are faced with; the gendered language around God needing to be either gender-inclusive and/or female-gendered, and the lived experience in the parish where God is always described in male pronouns. This resonated deeply with me and my own experiences of trying to introduce gender-inclusive language in liturgy. While this is not the place to necessarily discuss inclusive language in worship, it does point to the ongoing conversation among Christian feminists about the need for iconography and other images of the Divine Feminine. As Knight succinctly points out, images, “inform us. Images of the divine, other people, and one’s self are profoundly interrelated.” This is important when considering how Christian mysticism has shaped our understanding of the divine; “…the divine is described as a mystery greater than any image or name can contain. At the same time, human minds use images to relate to the divine.” Given that the average “pew sitter” may not be familiar with the specific writings of Christian mystics such as Hildegard or Julian, but is familiar with the Biblical text, it is no wonder that the divine is imagined in male terms; the Bible was written by men, describing the world from the perspective of men, and the god-head is described in male terms.
While Knight’s work focuses on race and gender in terms of re-imagining the divine feminine, and specifically the Black Madonna, this is not necessarily my research area. However, reading her work has raised questions and/or reflections for me as I continue to think about my research on Mary.
1. Knight states, “At stake are a more profound spirituality and faith, a more holistic self-image, and patterns of relating to others that empower agency and enable life-giving intimacy.” Would educating the average “pew sitter” about Mary and inviting said “pew sitter” into reimagining her in iconography, poetry, liturgy, and/or song guide one into this more profound spirituality?
2. Knight’s research and experience highlights the phenomenon of the “Christian feminist spirituality movement.” She discusses that this movement may be part of the needed transformation of the church. My own lived experience as a priest is that there are various reasons/trends/experiences that people either engage or disengage in the parish community, and that this “phenomenon” is one of many ways to engage women who may be on the fence about leaving the church.
3. Knight states, “…healing and empowerment is partially a result of people’s being able to see themselves as created in the image of the divine. However, the dynamics involved in this process are unique for each individual.” What would it take to help people be able to see themselves not only as created in the image of the divine, but as part of the ongoing story of salvation? Could people be healed and empowered by identifying with other Biblical figures (i.e., Mary)?
“Sister of the shifting shapes”
At this point, I have come to realize several things in my study and reflection. One is that while most of my study thus far seems to be historical and theological in nature (and therefore the work of academics or “scholarly priests”), there is some direct application to the lived experience of parish life. Considering the work done by feminists on Our Lady of Guadalupe and other Black Madonnas, we know that there is a sense of empowerment, liberation, and affirmation that some women associate with Mary. The second conclusion I’ve come to at this point is that Mary is too big to be contained in the small box of virgin, mother of Jesus or Theotokos. While she may have been those things at a particular time and place in history and mythology, she is very much alive, active, and “more than” in the imaginations of and devotions offered by some women (and men). Finally, the work of “defining” Mary, of figuring out who and what she is, cannot and should not be determined by me, by scholars reflecting on tradition and scripture, or even by those of the Christian feminist spirituality movement. While each person and/or group certainly contributes to and informs the dialogue, what is missing is the lived experience and voice of the women (and men) in the pews. Who do they say she is? Does she matter?
In one of my favorite prayer books, Prayers for an Inclusive Church, the festival collect for the Blessed Virgin Mary reads:
Mighty One, whose power does not reside in fleshless lonely purity, whose word is enwombed at the heart of creation: we praise you for Mary, whose hospitable Yes made a place for love; whose song of transformation makes thrones and rulers tremble; whose prayer is heard because she is one of us; through Jesus Christ, Mary’s Child. Amen.
What I love about this prayer is that Mary’s “Yes” at the annunciation is not one of passive obedience, but rather a choice made from a place of hospitality. This seems so counter to the images of The Annunciation that I have seen hanging in museum galleries—the woman whose space has been intruded upon, whose life has been interrupted, and whose hands fold and eyes look downward in a sign of purity, holiness, and obedience. Instead, this Mary of whom Shakespeare writes is embodied, hospitable, welcoming, and one of us. For me, this festival collect is an example of what Teresa Berger describes when she writes that “Liturgy and women’s lives have always been intertwined in lived experience.”
Teresa Berger’s work also calls to mind the devotion to Mary as “virgin priest” in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and particularly to the approved prayer “Maria Virgo Sacerdos.” The second stanza of the prayer reads:
O Immaculate Virgin, who not only has given us Christ the heavenly bread for the forgiveness of sins, but who art thyself a most acceptable sacrifice offered unto God, and the glory of priests, and who, as thy most blessed servant Saint Antoninius declares, “without receiving the Sacrament of Order, wert full of whatsoever in dignity and grace is given by it”, thou art therefore rightly acclaimed as ‘Sacerdotal Virgin’. Look upon us and upon the priests of thy Son, save us, purify us, and sanctify us that we may receive the ineffable treasures of the Sacraments in a holy manner and so deserve to obtain the eternal salvation of our souls. Amen.
In this prayer, Mary is not only acclaimed the Sacerdotal Virgin (or virgin priest), but she is given the authority to save, purify and sanctify; in “standard” Eucharistic prayers, the priest prays to God that the Holy Spirit will transform ordinary bread and wine into the body of Christ so that it may save, purify and sanctify the gathered community. While Berger posits that papal approval of the prayer was revoked in the 1920s because of questions of women’s ordination, I believe this revocation was more likely due to the fact that Mary was given the authority to do the work of the Trinity (save, purify, sanctify).
Again, I find myself challenged and excited by the idea that Mary cannot be contained in a box, but rather is the box! Is it so scandalous to imagine Mary as more than just a mother, but rather a provider of the first Eucharist? Can we imagine that Mary is more than a perpetual virgin, but a virgin priest? If it is true that priests experience an ontological change when they are ordained would it be impossible for Mary to have experienced an ontological change when she became the mother of the Divine? I am exhilarated by these questions because I feel they could give women (and men) the space they desire in their relationship with Mary. I am in no way suggesting that Mary is the Incarnation (or manifestation of the Divine), but rather she is like a priest who serves as a witness of God to the church, with the sacramental authority to bless, baptize and consecrate.
If women (and men) cannot venture to recognize Mary as a priest, but rather are confined (or boxed in) to revering her as intercessor, then liturgy and ritual needs to be reformed in a manner that reflects a new understanding of Mary beyond the pious, obedient, ever-virgin mother. As Miriam Therese Winter explains, “Liturgy’s role is to add to that [ancient] tradition, evoking meaning, inspiring commitment, encouraging all of us to carry on.” Her book, Woman Prayer Woman Song, is an attempt to help women (and men) develop a more inclusive liturgical awareness. She divides the text into three parts: Creation Rituals, Liberation Rituals, and Transformation Rituals.
While Winter’s Creation Rituals connect the feminine face of God to creation, and the Transformation Rituals give meaning to the cycles of life and death, her Liberation Rituals speak more specifically about the lives of women grounded in the stories of the Biblical text. The first of these rituals, “The Visit” is a retelling, or reimagining of the story of the Annunciation and the visit between Mary and Elizabeth from the Gospel of Luke. One of the songs that Winter composed, also titled “The Visit,” includes these lyrics:
Hail, little sister, who heralds the spring.
Hail, brave mother, of whom prophets sing.
Hail to the moment beneath your breast.
May all generations call you blessed.
While I find her text inspiring, and I agree that she is composing ritual and song from a “hermeneutic of fidelity,” I find it overall insufficient for rescuing Mary from the box of traditional interpretation.
In contrast to Winter’s prayer book, there is also Women’s Uncommon Prayers: Our Lives Revealed, Nurtured, Celebrated, which is a collection of poetry and prayers written by and for women of the Christian faith. As the Preface explains, the Council of Women’s Ministries of the Episcopal Church gathered these prayers and poems as a way of living into their vision of “women speaking authentically with one another and with the church at large… sharing the richness and diversity of their spirituality… [and] uniting in the midst of that diversity, modeling wholeness and health to the church.” Two of these prayers in particular re-imagine Mary in ways that rescue her from the “box”— “The Annunciation: Conversations with Mary” and “Maria Sacerdota—Mary, Protopriest of the New Covenant.”
The first of these creative works addresses Mary by a variety of traditional titles, invites the reader to wrestle with these titles and the implicit and/or explicit meaning of such titles, and encourages women to continue on in their various ministries. In essence, the poet Fredrica Harris Thompsett, wrote her composition in line with Winter’s belief about the role of liturgy. The second of these pieces, Maria Sacerdota, is an “updated” version of the Maria Virgo Sacerdos from 1907. Here, poet and priest, Rev. Dr. Alla Renee Bozarth (who also was among the first women to be ordained in the Episcopal Church) also makes the connections between Mary and the Eucharist, but does not explicitly give Mary the same sacramental or Trinitarian authority as the original prayer. I find that both of these works, as well as many others in the text, affirm not only women’s lives and experiences, but also sacralizes them. Just as traditional Christian views of Mary need to be rescued and reclaimed, so do the traditional Christian views of womanhood. I believe that just as Mary has often been called the “New Eve” as a way of redeeming women, by acknowledging her as protopriest and/or intercessor, women’s lives and ministries are also redeemed, made holy, and called blessed.
“Sweet Lady, Remember me kindly.”
Can we rescue Mary from the box of tradition, history and dogma? Is she more than virgin and mother? Does she have agency? Is she a model of faithfulness and courage? Is Mary the box—the first Eucharist, the incarnation of the Church, the protopriest? Is the connection between Mary and women more than one of motherhood, but of a shared connection of womanhood made sacred? Is she a goddess, an intercessor, a woman with a “unique vocation”? Is she simply a paradox and puzzle that cannot be resolved? At this time, I have more questions than I have answers. Every time I think I know who and what Mary is, I discover some new aspect of her, a new piece of art, poetry, or prayer. I have sat at her feet, and I have come back to life. Perhaps this is what Mary does—she invites us into the conversation to incubate in our own crystal wombs; possibilities of the Divine. This is just the beginning of the conversation.
Bibliography
Ashe, Geoffrey. The Virgin: Mary’s Cult and the Re-Emergence of the Goddess. Stroud, Gloucestershire: The History Press Ltd, 2008.
Baouardy, Mariam. “Lord, send your dew upon this sterile earth.” In Spiritual Writings on Mary, ed. Mary Ford-Grabowsky, (Woodstock, Vermont: Skylight Paths Publishing, 2005.
Bartlett, Elizabeth Ann. Rebellious Feminism: Camus’s Ethic of Rebellion and Feminist Thought. New York: Palgrave Macmillian, 2004.
Berger, Teresa. Fragments of Real Presence. New York: The Crossroad Publishing Company, 2005.
Book of Common Prayer. “Holy Eucharist, Rite II.” Accessed on April 24, 2015. http://www.bcponline.org/HE/he2.htm.
Bozarth, The Reverend Dr. Alla Renee. “Maria Sacerdota—Mary, Protopriest of the New Covenant.” In Women’s Uncommon Prayers: Our Lives Revealed, Nurtured, Celebrated, 287-288. Harrisburg, Pennsylvania: Morehouse Publishing, 2000.
Burke, Mariann. Re-Imagining Mary: A Journey Through Art to the Feminine Self. Cheyenne, Wyoming: Fisher King Press, 2009.
Cappella degli Scrovegni. Accessed February 8, 2015. http://www.cappelladegliscrovegni.it/index.php/en/
Caster, Fr. Gary. Mary in her own words. Cincinnati, Ohio: St. Anthony Messenger Press, 2006.
Cobb, David and Derek Olsen, ed. “The Angelus: A Memorial of the Incarnation.” In St. Augustine’s Prayer Book. Cincinnati, Ohio: Forward Movement, 2014. Kindle Edition.
Constance, Master Heinrich. The Visitation, 1310-1320. Wood, 59.1 x 30.2 x 18.4 cm. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, accessed April 26, 2015, http://www.metmuseum.org/collection/the-collection-online/search/464596.
Geitz, Elizabeth Ranking, Marjorie A. Burke and Ann Smith, eds. Women’s Uncommon Prayers: Our Lives Revealed, Nurtured, Celebrated. Harrisburg, Pennsylvania: Morehouse Publishing, 2000.
Knight, Jennie S. Feminist Mysticism and Images of God: A Practical Theology. St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2011. Kindle Edition.
Magnolia Box. “Pieta, 1876.” Accessed February 8, 2015. www.magnoliabox.com/artist/3239/william-adolphe-bouguereau
“Medieval Benedictine Prayer.” In Maiden & Mother: Prayers, hymns, songs and devotions to honour the Blessed Virgin Mary. San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2001.
Moloney, Francis J. Mary: Woman and Mother. Collegeville, Minnesota: The Liturgical Press, 1988.
Shakespeare, Steven. Prayers for an Inclusive Church. New York: Church Publishing, 2009.
Slee, Nicola. The Book of Mary. New York: Morehouse Publishing, 2007.
St. Paul’s Parish. “What does ‘ontological change’ mean?” Accessed April 24, 2015. http://stpaulsparish.org/education/documents/ontological_change.pdf.
Tavard, George H. The Thousand Faces of the Virgin Mary. Minnesota: Michael Glazier, 1996.
The Self-Ruled Antiochian Orthodox Christian Archdiocese of North America. “Icon of the Mother of God ‘Sweet-Kissing’.” Accessed February 8, 2015. http://www.antiochian.org/content/icon-mother-god-sweet-kissing-0
Thompsett, Fredrica Harris. “The Annunciation: Conversations with Mary.” In Women’s Uncommon Prayers: Our Lives Revealed, Nurtured, Celebrated, 285-286. Harrisburg, Pennsylvania: Morehouse Publishing, 2000.
Vultus Christi. “Prayer to Mary, the Sacerdotal Virgin.” Last modified June 15, 2010. http://vultus.stblogs.org/2010/06/prayer-to-mary-the-sacerdotal.html.
Warner, Marina. Alone of All Her Sex: The Myth and the Cult of the Virgin Mary. New York:Vintage Books, 1976.
Winter, Miriam Therese. Woman Prayer Woman Song. New York: Crossroad, 1991.
WikiArt. “Coronation of the Virgin.” Accessed February 8, 2015. http://www.wikiart.org/en/diego-velazquez/coronation-of-the-virgin-1644
Please be respectful of intellectual property.
May 2, 2015
The quote which serves as the title of this paper comes from a line in the poem “Lord, send your dew upon this sterile earth” written by Mariam Baouardy, a Lebanese Arab Christian nun born in 1846. She was the thirteenth child born to her mother; all of her siblings were boys who died in infancy. Mariam’s mother had made a pilgrimage to Bethlehem to beg Mary for a daughter, and a year later, she was born. According to Mary Ford-Grabowsky, Mariam “revealed prodigious mystical gifts, received stigmata, and became famous in her time…[she] was beatified in 1983.” I chose this title (and this poem) because it resonates with my own experience of Mary.
While I can trace the beginnings of my relationship to Mary back to 2005, as I enter into the birth month of my 40th year—May, the month of Mary—I recall the “legend” surrounding my birth. My mother has always told me that I was supposed to be born on April 10, but that I refused to come out. According to her, she and my father had gone to all the birthing classes, read the Dr. Spock book, and done everything the doctor had suggested, but I still was not ready to arrive. Finally, at 5am on May 20, 1975, I began to join the world, and by 6am, I was in my mother’s arms. Was this the true beginning of my relationship to Mary?
Since 2005 I have been actively engaging Mary, sitting at her feet, trying to understand who and what she is. I have wrestled with her as a model of passive obedience, as a model of rebellion and resistance, as the feminine face of God. While all of these things are aspects of Mary, they confine her to a box (or category). What if she is all of this and more? Then what do we do with her?
This paper is not the complete story of Mary. There is a long tradition of Black Madonnas and various interpretations of her that are not included in this paper. This paper also does not include the multitude of spiritual writings about Mary, nor the various prayers, poems, hymns, and visual arts celebrating her. It also does not include the stories of other women (and men) who have been sitting at her feet.
However, this paper is a reflection of the beginning of a journey I am on with Mary. It will explore some of the history and scripture of Marian tradition and dogma, her place in a long line of goddesses, and the cult that has developed around her. It will provide possible frameworks for consideration when engaging Mary, and begins the process of liberating her (and us) from the boxes she has been contained in. I will interweave stories of my own experience with her, raise questions, share insights and wonder about new possibilities. This is the story of how a female Episcopal priest came back to life while sitting at the feet of her mother, Mary.
Hail Mary, full of grace
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee;
blessed art thou among women
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners,
now and at the hour of our death.
Amen.
I first encountered this prayer, The Angelus, in the chapel at Church Divinity School of the Pacific in Berkeley, California, when I was a seminarian. It was printed and framed in a little side chapel that was devoted to the Blessed Virgin Mary. Above the candle rack was an icon of Mary and the child Jesus titled “Sweet Kissing.” I remember kneeling at the prayer station and looking deep into the eyes of Mary.
In his book, The Thousand Faces of the Virgin Mary, Roman Catholic ecumenist, George Tavard, presents an in-depth review of Mary in both the biblical scriptures and the apocryphal texts, the development of Marian dogma and devotion in the Orthodox and Roman Catholic church, how she is understood in Anglicanism and Protestantism, as well as the ongoing development of Marian devotion in poetry, visions and apparitions.
Similar to Tavard, Marina Warner, fiction writer and scholar of art, mythology and fairytales, examines the many interpretations of Mary in Alone of All Her Sex: The Myth and the Cult of the Virgin Mary. She leads the reader on a journey of understanding Mary through the biblical scriptures, church teachings on her Assumption, and the development of art, poetry, feast days, pilgrimages and cults dedicated to the Virgin. However, in the epilogue, the reader is reminded of Warner’s own struggle with Mary and her dissatisfaction with the church’s teachings about her. For Warner, the myth of the Virgin will die if it does not evolve into one of healing the wounds caused by the dualism of her nature created by the church; she, “is theologically and doctrinally defined as wholly unique and yet set up as the model of Christian virtue.”
Both writers begin their exploration of Marian devotion in the biblical scriptures. While the New Testament is primarily focused on the mission and ministry of Jesus, it is through Mary that God becomes incarnate in Jesus of Nazareth. While in the synoptic gospels, Mary is active in the Annunciation, Nativity and Crucifixion stories, she is virtually absent in the rest of the text. Unique to the Gospel of John, Mary is present at the Wedding in Cana. According to Tavard, Mary is not just a guest at the wedding, but has an active role as one of the organizers, attending to the needs of the guests. Warner understands the story of the Wedding in Cana as a high point in Mariological teaching; “her intervention illustrates her pity, compassion, and thoughtfulness; but, more importantly, its prompt effect—the inauguration of Christ’s messianic mission by a spectacular miracle—radiantly reveals the efficiency of her intercession with Christ.”
Tavard also posits that Mary remains with Jesus throughout his ministry, but has no active role until the Crucifixion when she is taken into the home of the beloved disciple, whom Tavard believes to have been Lazarus. Warner points out that in this scene, Mary moves from a symbol of perfect motherhood, to one of the mothering Church. Mary’s last appearance in the New Testament is in the upper room at Pentecost as noted in the Book of the Acts of the Apostles.
Warner weaves in the complicated issue of the Immaculate Conception and perpetual virginity of Mary in her review of the New Testament and Apocryphal texts, whereas Tavard examines these issues in various frameworks beginning with the Apocryphal texts of the Proto-gospel of James. This particular text tells the story of Mary’s parents, Anna and Joachim, the kiss they share that leads to the conception of Mary, her young life in the temple, the decision of the priests in determining that Joseph will be her husband, and the birth of Jesus in a cave. Warner also notes that this story was the basis for Giotto’s frescos in the Scrovegni chapel and then later is picked up during the Reformation in Jacobus de Vargine’s Golden Legend.
Tavard spends the bulk of his text tracing the historical development and controversies surrounding the Roman Church’s teaching on Mary. He points out that while most of the teaching does not come directly from the biblical text, it is influenced by the apocryphal stories of not only her Immaculate Conception, but her Dormition and Assumption. These teachings became the focal points of Christian theologians such as Augustine who wrote in opposition to the heresies that denied Mary’s virginity. During this same period, the controversy over the title Theotokos was also being debated in church councils.
With the Protestant Reformation, the cult of Mary became almost exclusively relegated to the Orthodox and Roman Church. Tavard highlights the work of several reformers including but not limited to Ulrich Zwingli, Martin Luther and Jean Calvin. For Zwingli, a Marian supporter of the Reformation, Mary is indeed the Theotokos, but he rejected the idea that Christians should “invoke her or pray to her.” Zwingli also developed a pastoral Mariology that focused on her heart and the sufferings she endured. Tavard quotes Zwingli on this new approach to Marian devotion:
And when you say an Ave Maria…think also…she has had to bear persecution, pain, and misery, in which however she has remained with a strong heart. And therefore may you, with your poverty and your weariness, find an example in her.
Tavard also notes that Luther was not against Marian devotion even though he was a strong leader of the Reformation. For Luther, Mary’s Magnificat is a reminder not only of the salvation of God through the Incarnation, but that all Christians should sing along with her in her praise of God. However, Luther’s Christmas sermon in 1530 was the beginning of the absence of Marian feasts in the Lutheran tradition. In his sermon, Luther explains to the faithful that they are to “accept the child and his birth and forget the Mother.”
Along similar lines was the theological teachings of Calvin. Calvin taught that for Christians, Mary in her humility, “becomes our teacher. She should be listened to, learned from, and imitated.” However, if Christians invoke the Virgin, she becomes an idol. For Calvin, the remedy for such idolatry is to focus on the teachings that are offered in Scripture…none of which encourages prayer to anyone other than God.
In contrast to Tavard’s approach to understanding the “thousand faces” of Mary throughout history, Warner takes a distinctly different approach in her book. Combining art, poetry and Scripture, she traces the development of the cult of Mary throughout Europe. Through the doctrine on the Assumption, Mary becomes the Queen of Heaven, and as the model for the church in the twelfth century, she becomes the Bride (and Christ is the Bridegroom). Warner points to Godfrey of Admont who suggested “all three persons of the Trinity were Mary’s lovers.” While this may appear scandalous, painters of the seventeenth century illumined the mind with images such as the Coronation of the Virgin when Mary is crowned Queen of Heaven by the Trinity.
Geoffrey Ashe is a cultural historian who has spent most of his life examining the King Arthur legends (and associated British archeology), and he previously served as the head of the lay religious society at the Marian shrine in Aylesford, Kent. In the preface to the text The Virgin: Mary’s Cult and the Re-Emergence of the Goddess, Ashe acknowledges the feminist critique of the Roman Church’s narrow interpretation of the phenomenon of the Marian cult (i.e., that Mary is to be praised for her passivity and purity), but believes that the cult “had a dynamic of its own, and its advent was mysterious.” For me, this was the crux of his argument as he untangled Mary’s history in the church and the development of her cult.
Like George Tavard and Marina Warner, Ashe wrestles with the biblical texts that highlight Mary’s role in Christian history, primarily the various Nativity stories in the gospel accounts, and the development of dogma in the Roman Church around the Immaculate Conception and the Assumption. However, Ashe also examines the connection between Miriam (the sister of Moses), the prophet Elijah, the woman in Revelation 12 and Mary of the gospel traditions. Miriam first appears by name in Exodus 15:20 after the Israelites departed Egypt and crossed the Red Sea; she is described as a prophetess and is attributed with the first song of the Bible—a song of praise to God for deliverance. For Ashe, the connection between Miriam and Mary is not just the derivation of a name, but a link in salvation history:
…the name ‘Mariam’ recalled that mighty rescue which the prophetess celebrated, the miracle which Jews saw at the root of their destiny as God’s chosen. Any woman so called would have been ripe for the play of symbolic imagination, the moment she was linked with a Messianic belief.
Ashe also points to Gregory of Nyssa who interpreted a connection between Miriam of Exodus and the Virgin Mary; “God, creating the first Mary with foreknowledge of the second and greater one, built anticipatory hints into her life.”
Citing the work of fourth century Christian theologian, Epiphanius, the second biblical connection Ashe makes is with the prophet Elijah. In 1 Kings, the prophet is faithful to God against those who had started to worship Baal. As Ashe explains, “he is commanded to anoint a new king, Jehu, who becomes a first sketch for the Messiah.” This appointment of a new king is similar to Mary’s birthing of the anticipated Messiah. Ashe also highlights that the doctrine of the Assumption of Mary is linked to Elijah’s passing/vanishing as well as the woman in Revelation 12; he “departed mysteriously and was exempted from death” similar to the belief that Mary was assumed into heaven with no body/grave left behind. Part of the legend that surrounded Elijah was that while he had ascended into heaven, he was not contained there; “He travelled about the world, often in disguise. He came as a friend of the poor and humble, as rescuer from peril, as an enlightener of scholars and sages.” Ashe suggests that within the cult of Mary, she took over this role as intercessor and advocate.
Ashe also spends a fair amount of time examining the development of Mariology and the Marian cult through the work of the fourth century Cappadocian Fathers—Basil, an organizer in the Greek monastic communities, Gregory of Nyssa and Gregory of Nazianzus. Basil was the first to call Mary Theotokos (Mother of God) and supported the belief in her perpetual virginity. Gregory of Nyssa, broke with the tradition of looking for Old Testament references to Jesus by looking for references to Mary (as noted above), he asserted that the “other Mary” of Matthew 28:1 was Mary the mother of Jesus, thus being present at the Resurrection, and he tells the first known story of a Marian vision. Gregory of Nazianzus also affirms the title Theotokos, and “provides the first Christian case history of the Virgin as a hearer of prayer” in a sermon dated October 379. In 440s the historian Sozomen, declared that Mary had blessed the holy see of Constantinople—the Anastasia—with her presence, and that she manifested herself there, “ ‘in waking visions and in dreams, often for the relief of many diseases and for those afflicted by some sudden transmutation in their affairs’.” The establishment of a church devoted to Mary in 431 was the turning point for the cult of Mary within Christianity.
“Her greatness, her blessedness lies in her unconditional assent”
In the Anglican-Roman Catholic text Mary: Grace and Hope in Christ, theologians and scholars wrestled with who Mary is in the Church. Like Tavard, Warner, and Ashe, this text reminds the reader of the historical and theological development of Marian veneration and dogma. However, the commission highlights three areas for consideration that the other scholars did not: 1) understanding Mary’s “unique vocation;” 2) defining “appropriate Marian devotion;” 3) questioning if adherence to Marian dogmas are necessary for full communion. For those within the church (particularly those within liturgical churches), these are important issues when trying to understand who Mary is.
In terms of Mary’s “unique vocation,” the commission is clear that Mary is neither a saint nor a martyr, but the Mother of God, and as such, she is a “model of holiness, obedience, and faith for all Christians.” However, the commission goes further to explain that this model of holiness, obedience and faith are not merely passive actions, but the way in which all Christians are called to respond as disciples. According to the commission, whenever a Christian joins Mary in saying “yes,” “…they commit themselves to an obedient response to the Word of God, which leads to a life of prayer and service….they commit themselves to serve God’s justice with their lives.” In the study guide portion of the text, the question is raised, “Do you have a sense of having been graced by God for a particular vocation, and if so, is Mary’s acceptance of God’s call a source of hope for you?” In thinking about how I might continue to discuss Mary within my own church context and research, this may be an easier or more accessible way of introducing Marian dialogue; to frame it within the context of discipleship.
Another way to approach Mary’s “unique vocation” is to consider her as a model of justice or prophetic figure. Not only is she a model of discipleship, she is also, “…the mother who pondered all things in her heart, as the refugee seeking asylum in a foreign land, as the mother pierced by the innocent suffering of her own child.” In this way, Mary stands not only with all mothers who face the many challenges of being a parent, but she is a “figure of tenderness and compassion” for all who suffer or are in need. As a model of justice or a prophetic figure, Mary inspires men and women to work with those on the margins. As the commission so eloquently concludes, “Only when joy is joined with justice and peace do we rightly share in the economy of hope and grace which Mary proclaims and embodies.”
The third way of understanding Mary’s “unique vocation” that is suggested by the commission is to view her as a spiritual mother. Citing Jesus’ words at his crucifixion (John 19:27), “Behold your mother,” as disciples, we are to embrace her as our spiritual mother and she will serve as our “companion, a guide and an encouragement.” However, the commission makes it clear that Mary is not to replace Jesus, but rather she points to him as a way of inviting others into holiness, obedience and faithful discipleship.
Unraveling the cult of Mary
Ashe points out that biblical hermeneutics, the development of Mariology by Church Fathers, and the Church of Mary basilica in Ephesus, does not a cult make. He questions whether an undercurrent of folk religion seeped into early Christian tradition, particularly the Collyridian sect. He notes Epiphanius of Salamis’ criticism of these women who worshipped Mary, and the linking of this worship to Astarte in Jerusalem, before 600 BCE (she was also known as the Queen of Heaven) and then to Anath (the Egyptian Jews’ Queen of Heaven that was worshipped alongside God in the fifth century BCE).
Warner also traces the influence of gods and goddesses on Marian imagery. Mary is identified with the moon and starts in the Book of Revelation. In iconography, “The moon has been the most constant attribute of female divinities in the western world, and was taken over by the Virgin Mary because of ancient beliefs about its functions and role, which Christianity inherited.” Warner explains that in the development of the early church in the Roman Empire, the Christian God was in competition with the local pantheon of gods and goddess. In response to this threat, Christians assimilated the feast of Sol Invictus (the Unconquered Sun god Helios) into Christmas, and fixed the date of the Resurrection to the first Sunday following the full moon of the spring equinox.
The Anglican-Roman Catholic commission also takes up the question of “appropriate Marian devotion.” Prior to Vatican II in 1964, the Roman Church had proclaimed two Marian dogmas—the Immaculate Conception (1854) and the Assumption (1950). While these dogmas reflected the popularity of Marian spirituality, they were also the source of much criticism in ecumenical dialogues. As a result, the conclusion of Lumen Gentium (one of the documents from Vatican II), calls Mary “a sign of hope and comfort for God’s pilgrim people.” Shortly after this document, Pope Paul VI issued Marialis Cultus (1974), which stated that devotion to Mary is “properly located within the Christological focus of the Church’s public prayer.” The document further stated that Marian devotion, “must be in accordance with the Scriptures and the liturgy of the Church; it must be sensitive to the concerns of other Christians and it must affirm the full dignity of women in public and private life.”
In her book Fragments of Real Presence, Teresa Berger also examines the cult of Mary. In her essay on the Feast of the Annunciation, she reminds the reader of the tabernacle Madonnas which connect Mary to the celebration of the Eucharist. In the Christian liturgical tradition, the tabernacle is where the reserved sacrament (the bread and wine) is kept between services. While the tabernacle Madonnas were similar to shrine Madonnas or triptychs (a three panel altar piece that can be opened or closed on hinges), and at their height of popularity, Marian monstrances, the purpose is to remind the viewer that the “first vessel to hold the body and blood of Christ, was not a golden receptacle, but a woman’s womb.” Berger continues on in her connections of Mary to the Eucharist by citing (Pseudo) Epiphanius of Salamis who referred to Mary as a priest, as well as noting that other theologians and spiritual writers were trying to distance Mary from the Eucharist and priestly ministry.
Ashe concludes that the origins of Mary’s cult “has yet to be completely unraveled.” In his Epilogue, Ashe mentions the work of both Robert Graves and Carl Jung as part of untangling of the Marian cult. For Graves, the focus is poetic myth, particularly the role of Eternal-Womanly, and Ashe connects Mary with the Eternal-Womanly, the Goddess, “the authentic source of inspiration and life.” Ashe connects Jung’s work on the Collective Unconscious to the association of Mary with Wisdom, the Goddess, and the Eternal-Womanly. Even when considering the current phase of the cult, the various apparitions and visions, Ashe believes that the “Church’s adoption of the cult in the fifth century was wildly irrational,” but important to the propagation of the faith; Mary was the “source of a vital imaginative energy” that has been needed throughout the ages, and may be needed to revise Christianity. It is at this point that I turn to Mariann Burke.
Mary the symbol
Burke is a Jungian analyst who also has a degree in theology. Unlike Tavard, Warner and Ashe, Burke does not recall the history of the Church and its relationship to Mary in theology and dogma. Instead, she approaches Mary through art and the imagination. She is not an art scholar or historian, but as a Jungian analyst, her work leads her to interpret images in a way that informs the present. She opens the text Re-Imagining Mary with a recollection of encountering Fra Angelico’s The Annunciation for the first time, and how this awakened her to the self and the Self--“Jung’s expression for the God-image within us.” For Burke, this awakening led to her research and experience with Mary the Mother of God:
The image of Mary as Divine Feminine continues to inspire millions as a Goddess figure, symbol of justice and liberation of the poor, compassionate Mother and Wisdom. The historical Mary needs to be recovered from a view that sees her as a meek, weak and totally submissive to male authority rather than to her inner feminine authority.
Burke’s work is not one of tracing history, but tracing symbols. Each chapter looks at a different symbols found within artistic representations of Mary—the Annunciation, Mother, the Temple—and her own experience of the Self. For this reason, I will highlight some of her work that awakened my understanding of Mary.
The Annunciation
Unlike the previously read scholars, Burke doesn’t claim Mary as the Second Eve, but rather as shadow opposites, “Eve’s ‘yes’ to the serpent and Mary’s ‘yes’ to the angel represent two aspects of the journey toward wholeness.” Both women take risks and are courageous; they have agency and are open to making new discoveries. For Burke, the image is one of vulnerability and struggle that awakens her “to say ‘yes’ to the present moment and ‘yes’ to the unknown and unknowable future.” Similar to Burke, I have often contemplated the meaning of “yes” to God’s call in my life. For example, saying yes to the call to priesthood, was and is an ongoing struggle of vulnerability, integrity, wholeness and being willing to take risks. I often find that saying “yes” to God is a combination of courageous disobedience to social norms and expectations, while at the same time, learning to be humble and obedient to something (a force, an intuitive feeling, the divine spark) that propels me to work for justice and mercy.
Annunciation and Creativity
Burke recalls the symbol of the dove in the history of the Great Goddesses (20,000 BCE-3500 BCE) when it was understood as a symbol of fertility and love. In Nicolas Poussin’s Annunciation, there is a sense of “Mary’s openness to the life force and to pregnancy” which Burke connects with an openness to our creative potential. She states that in this openness, “we bow to the One who knows us. For in our creative ventures we seek self/Self knowledge both for our own sake, and for the greater Incarnation of God in the world.” In tracing the lineage of the ancient goddess symbols in Marian iconography, one of the things I wrestle with is the emphasis on pregnancy and motherhood—something I’ve never felt called to—which has often left me feeling like an outsider to the conversation. However, I found these ideas of creativity and openness to possibility that Burke suggests more in-line with my own lived experience, and perhaps broader and more welcoming for other women who have not, for various reasons, experienced pregnancy and motherhood.
Annunciation and Hope
Salvador Dali’s Annunciation is full of energy, power, and again, the unknown. As Burke explains, “The angel’s visit shakes up the ‘status quo’ of Mary’s daily life…In the Biblical account of the Annunciation it is out of unknowing that understanding comes.” I interpreted this as a continuation on the idea that within our “yes” we have not only agency, openness, and creativity, but also hopefulness when life becomes complex and confusing.
Mother Mary
Like Burke, I have been drawn to icons of Mary as Mother. Like Burke, I have also come to claim Mary as my Mother (although I do that rather quietly and in situations where I can be vulnerable). However, Burke is bolder in her claim and makes a connection to ancient goddess traditions that scholars such as Tavard would dismiss (and Ashe would perhaps attribute to folk religion): “As Mother of Jesus, Mary becomes the Divine Mother. Given to us as our mother she takes on a deeper dimension echoing the Great or Primordial Mother.”
Burke also believes that icons of Mary serve as mirrors or reflections of our soul—reflecting back our limitations and our gifts. She suggests that women have a need for images of the Divine Feminine since this image would mirror women’s self/Self awareness: “Gradually I began to imagine her not only as Mother of God but as Mother God, for at different times in our life, do we not fashion our gods as we need them to be?” Within this section, she also comments on the goddess traditions associated with Kali and Isis and their connection with Black Madonnas, as well as the mythology of Demeter and Persephone and the Sorrowful Mother—all symbols of life, death and regeneration, and mirrors of our own mortality. Similar to the lineage suggested by Ashe of Mary’s connection to Anath via the Collyridians, a connection that recalls the Mother Goddess, Burke suggests that these women “longed to honor a female Divinity.” She connects this longing with the need for a reflected image; “viewing ourselves as images of God…we come to a place where we feel accepted for who we are, true and valuable, in our joys and sorrows, reflections of and temples of the Divine.”
“Mary’s vocation is the expansion of her being, not its limitation.”
Up to this point, I have reviewed the work of theologians and scholars, Jungian analysts, and faithful Catholic women who are all connected to Mary in some way. I really appreciate the subversive nature of the Marian cult as presented by both Ashe and Berger; that while it wasn’t explicitly the result of persistent folk religion and groups like the Collyridians, there is a sense that the boundaries of Christianity have been (and may continue to be) permeable. I also really appreciate the work of Burke in her consideration of the powerful risk taking associated with Mary when she says “yes” to God. Her work with symbols and Jung’s Collective Unconscious of archetypes for the Divine Feminine spoke to my deep desire of connection with Mother (of) God. Yet, I feel that there is still more to Mary than meets the historical, theological, and even psychological eye.
At this point, I turn to Elizabeth Bartlett’s Rebellious Feminism and Jennie Knight’s Feminist Mysticism and Images of God. Unlike the other texts previously discussed, these two texts provide potential frameworks (and new questions) for understanding who Mary is. Bartlett first defines “rebellion” in light of Camus’ writing; it involves, “a negative activity of resisting oppression [which] also acts in a positive way to affirm human dignity, solidarity, friendship, justice, liberation, and beauty.” I believe that her framework for rebellious feminism could be used to help articulate the role that Mary has in the lives of so many women (and men).
The first point of the framework is rejection of oppression and affirmation of human dignity. Bartlett defines this as “a refusal to be treated with anything less than the full measure of dignity and decency that one’s humanity demands.” The Magnificat is often understood as Mary’s song of praise for God who liberates and lifts up the poor and the needy. The second point of the framework is solidarity, which Bartlett defines four ways, but of interest in particular is “the choice ‘to suffer with’…to witness the suffering of another and thus be moved to act.” Immediately iconography of Mary as the Sorrowful Mother came to mind, as well as the Anglican-Roman Catholic commission’s work on Mary’s “unique vocation”.
Bartlett’s third point in the framework is friendship and the primacy of concrete relationship. Bartlett explains, “Relationship is at the core of rebellion, and any action that destroys or betrays one’s concrete relationships is no longer rebellion.” John 19—the naming of Mary as the mother of the beloved disciple at the crucifixion—came to mind for me since it is at this moment that Mary becomes the “spiritual mother” for all disciples. Finally, the valuing of immanence is the fourth point in Bartlett’s framework of rebellion. Here, the individual is focused on living in the moment, not being concerned with the rewards of the afterlife. I believe an argument could be made in favor of Mary as a “rebellious feminist” at the Wedding in Cana (John 2:1-11) when she prods Jesus into performing his first public miracle to assist with a wedding feast…even though Jesus states that it was not his time.
However, this is but a cursory glance at the rebellious feminist framework for which to approach an understanding of Mary. The Bartlett text actually raised more questions for me than I have answers for at this time. These questions include, but are certainly not limited to:
1. A feminist epistemology concerning Mary: Did Mary understand what saying “yes” would mean? Luke 2:19 says, “…she pondered all these things in her heart;” does this imply a knowledge derived from her passion? Bartlett states, “…knowledge derived from our passions…is the facilitator of our deepest knowledge, acting to clarify, validate, and ground that which we already know, and to open us to that which we have yet to learn.”
2. Refusal and acceptance: Part of Bartlett’s definition of rebellion is the simultaneous refusal of dominating or being dominated, which leads to healing and peace.[83] Is Mary’s “yes” to God also an implied “no” to the systems of oppression of her time and place (i.e., she’s a young, unwed mother, she will be among other women who follow Jesus—typically a social position only held by men), and that perhaps this implied “no” serves as a model for other women (and men) to also say “no” to oppression (i.e., Guadalupe and Juan Diego)?
3. Is Mary colonized and can she be de-colonized? On page 48, Bartlett refers to the work of Albert Memmi and discusses the difference between the “colonized who accepts” and the “colonized who refuses.”[84] This made me wonder if Mary has been colonized and if that colonization led to an interpretation of her as “passive”. It also made me wonder about Black Madonnas and how Jennie Knight’s research indicates that Black Madonnas can reinforce racist stereotypes (i.e., the strong black woman or the Mammy image).
4. Is Mary a “healer” for women? If rebellion leads to healing as Bartlett suggests, then as an icon of compassion, fortitude, and love, if we come to regard Mary as a rebellious feminist, can we also come to understand her as one who refuses “the violation, degradation, humiliation, and abuse of women?” After all, she is “blessed among women.”
One of the things that Knight discusses early in her text is the quandary in which many ministers are faced with; the gendered language around God needing to be either gender-inclusive and/or female-gendered, and the lived experience in the parish where God is always described in male pronouns. This resonated deeply with me and my own experiences of trying to introduce gender-inclusive language in liturgy. While this is not the place to necessarily discuss inclusive language in worship, it does point to the ongoing conversation among Christian feminists about the need for iconography and other images of the Divine Feminine. As Knight succinctly points out, images, “inform us. Images of the divine, other people, and one’s self are profoundly interrelated.” This is important when considering how Christian mysticism has shaped our understanding of the divine; “…the divine is described as a mystery greater than any image or name can contain. At the same time, human minds use images to relate to the divine.” Given that the average “pew sitter” may not be familiar with the specific writings of Christian mystics such as Hildegard or Julian, but is familiar with the Biblical text, it is no wonder that the divine is imagined in male terms; the Bible was written by men, describing the world from the perspective of men, and the god-head is described in male terms.
While Knight’s work focuses on race and gender in terms of re-imagining the divine feminine, and specifically the Black Madonna, this is not necessarily my research area. However, reading her work has raised questions and/or reflections for me as I continue to think about my research on Mary.
1. Knight states, “At stake are a more profound spirituality and faith, a more holistic self-image, and patterns of relating to others that empower agency and enable life-giving intimacy.” Would educating the average “pew sitter” about Mary and inviting said “pew sitter” into reimagining her in iconography, poetry, liturgy, and/or song guide one into this more profound spirituality?
2. Knight’s research and experience highlights the phenomenon of the “Christian feminist spirituality movement.” She discusses that this movement may be part of the needed transformation of the church. My own lived experience as a priest is that there are various reasons/trends/experiences that people either engage or disengage in the parish community, and that this “phenomenon” is one of many ways to engage women who may be on the fence about leaving the church.
3. Knight states, “…healing and empowerment is partially a result of people’s being able to see themselves as created in the image of the divine. However, the dynamics involved in this process are unique for each individual.” What would it take to help people be able to see themselves not only as created in the image of the divine, but as part of the ongoing story of salvation? Could people be healed and empowered by identifying with other Biblical figures (i.e., Mary)?
“Sister of the shifting shapes”
At this point, I have come to realize several things in my study and reflection. One is that while most of my study thus far seems to be historical and theological in nature (and therefore the work of academics or “scholarly priests”), there is some direct application to the lived experience of parish life. Considering the work done by feminists on Our Lady of Guadalupe and other Black Madonnas, we know that there is a sense of empowerment, liberation, and affirmation that some women associate with Mary. The second conclusion I’ve come to at this point is that Mary is too big to be contained in the small box of virgin, mother of Jesus or Theotokos. While she may have been those things at a particular time and place in history and mythology, she is very much alive, active, and “more than” in the imaginations of and devotions offered by some women (and men). Finally, the work of “defining” Mary, of figuring out who and what she is, cannot and should not be determined by me, by scholars reflecting on tradition and scripture, or even by those of the Christian feminist spirituality movement. While each person and/or group certainly contributes to and informs the dialogue, what is missing is the lived experience and voice of the women (and men) in the pews. Who do they say she is? Does she matter?
In one of my favorite prayer books, Prayers for an Inclusive Church, the festival collect for the Blessed Virgin Mary reads:
Mighty One, whose power does not reside in fleshless lonely purity, whose word is enwombed at the heart of creation: we praise you for Mary, whose hospitable Yes made a place for love; whose song of transformation makes thrones and rulers tremble; whose prayer is heard because she is one of us; through Jesus Christ, Mary’s Child. Amen.
What I love about this prayer is that Mary’s “Yes” at the annunciation is not one of passive obedience, but rather a choice made from a place of hospitality. This seems so counter to the images of The Annunciation that I have seen hanging in museum galleries—the woman whose space has been intruded upon, whose life has been interrupted, and whose hands fold and eyes look downward in a sign of purity, holiness, and obedience. Instead, this Mary of whom Shakespeare writes is embodied, hospitable, welcoming, and one of us. For me, this festival collect is an example of what Teresa Berger describes when she writes that “Liturgy and women’s lives have always been intertwined in lived experience.”
Teresa Berger’s work also calls to mind the devotion to Mary as “virgin priest” in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and particularly to the approved prayer “Maria Virgo Sacerdos.” The second stanza of the prayer reads:
O Immaculate Virgin, who not only has given us Christ the heavenly bread for the forgiveness of sins, but who art thyself a most acceptable sacrifice offered unto God, and the glory of priests, and who, as thy most blessed servant Saint Antoninius declares, “without receiving the Sacrament of Order, wert full of whatsoever in dignity and grace is given by it”, thou art therefore rightly acclaimed as ‘Sacerdotal Virgin’. Look upon us and upon the priests of thy Son, save us, purify us, and sanctify us that we may receive the ineffable treasures of the Sacraments in a holy manner and so deserve to obtain the eternal salvation of our souls. Amen.
In this prayer, Mary is not only acclaimed the Sacerdotal Virgin (or virgin priest), but she is given the authority to save, purify and sanctify; in “standard” Eucharistic prayers, the priest prays to God that the Holy Spirit will transform ordinary bread and wine into the body of Christ so that it may save, purify and sanctify the gathered community. While Berger posits that papal approval of the prayer was revoked in the 1920s because of questions of women’s ordination, I believe this revocation was more likely due to the fact that Mary was given the authority to do the work of the Trinity (save, purify, sanctify).
Again, I find myself challenged and excited by the idea that Mary cannot be contained in a box, but rather is the box! Is it so scandalous to imagine Mary as more than just a mother, but rather a provider of the first Eucharist? Can we imagine that Mary is more than a perpetual virgin, but a virgin priest? If it is true that priests experience an ontological change when they are ordained would it be impossible for Mary to have experienced an ontological change when she became the mother of the Divine? I am exhilarated by these questions because I feel they could give women (and men) the space they desire in their relationship with Mary. I am in no way suggesting that Mary is the Incarnation (or manifestation of the Divine), but rather she is like a priest who serves as a witness of God to the church, with the sacramental authority to bless, baptize and consecrate.
If women (and men) cannot venture to recognize Mary as a priest, but rather are confined (or boxed in) to revering her as intercessor, then liturgy and ritual needs to be reformed in a manner that reflects a new understanding of Mary beyond the pious, obedient, ever-virgin mother. As Miriam Therese Winter explains, “Liturgy’s role is to add to that [ancient] tradition, evoking meaning, inspiring commitment, encouraging all of us to carry on.” Her book, Woman Prayer Woman Song, is an attempt to help women (and men) develop a more inclusive liturgical awareness. She divides the text into three parts: Creation Rituals, Liberation Rituals, and Transformation Rituals.
While Winter’s Creation Rituals connect the feminine face of God to creation, and the Transformation Rituals give meaning to the cycles of life and death, her Liberation Rituals speak more specifically about the lives of women grounded in the stories of the Biblical text. The first of these rituals, “The Visit” is a retelling, or reimagining of the story of the Annunciation and the visit between Mary and Elizabeth from the Gospel of Luke. One of the songs that Winter composed, also titled “The Visit,” includes these lyrics:
Hail, little sister, who heralds the spring.
Hail, brave mother, of whom prophets sing.
Hail to the moment beneath your breast.
May all generations call you blessed.
While I find her text inspiring, and I agree that she is composing ritual and song from a “hermeneutic of fidelity,” I find it overall insufficient for rescuing Mary from the box of traditional interpretation.
In contrast to Winter’s prayer book, there is also Women’s Uncommon Prayers: Our Lives Revealed, Nurtured, Celebrated, which is a collection of poetry and prayers written by and for women of the Christian faith. As the Preface explains, the Council of Women’s Ministries of the Episcopal Church gathered these prayers and poems as a way of living into their vision of “women speaking authentically with one another and with the church at large… sharing the richness and diversity of their spirituality… [and] uniting in the midst of that diversity, modeling wholeness and health to the church.” Two of these prayers in particular re-imagine Mary in ways that rescue her from the “box”— “The Annunciation: Conversations with Mary” and “Maria Sacerdota—Mary, Protopriest of the New Covenant.”
The first of these creative works addresses Mary by a variety of traditional titles, invites the reader to wrestle with these titles and the implicit and/or explicit meaning of such titles, and encourages women to continue on in their various ministries. In essence, the poet Fredrica Harris Thompsett, wrote her composition in line with Winter’s belief about the role of liturgy. The second of these pieces, Maria Sacerdota, is an “updated” version of the Maria Virgo Sacerdos from 1907. Here, poet and priest, Rev. Dr. Alla Renee Bozarth (who also was among the first women to be ordained in the Episcopal Church) also makes the connections between Mary and the Eucharist, but does not explicitly give Mary the same sacramental or Trinitarian authority as the original prayer. I find that both of these works, as well as many others in the text, affirm not only women’s lives and experiences, but also sacralizes them. Just as traditional Christian views of Mary need to be rescued and reclaimed, so do the traditional Christian views of womanhood. I believe that just as Mary has often been called the “New Eve” as a way of redeeming women, by acknowledging her as protopriest and/or intercessor, women’s lives and ministries are also redeemed, made holy, and called blessed.
“Sweet Lady, Remember me kindly.”
Can we rescue Mary from the box of tradition, history and dogma? Is she more than virgin and mother? Does she have agency? Is she a model of faithfulness and courage? Is Mary the box—the first Eucharist, the incarnation of the Church, the protopriest? Is the connection between Mary and women more than one of motherhood, but of a shared connection of womanhood made sacred? Is she a goddess, an intercessor, a woman with a “unique vocation”? Is she simply a paradox and puzzle that cannot be resolved? At this time, I have more questions than I have answers. Every time I think I know who and what Mary is, I discover some new aspect of her, a new piece of art, poetry, or prayer. I have sat at her feet, and I have come back to life. Perhaps this is what Mary does—she invites us into the conversation to incubate in our own crystal wombs; possibilities of the Divine. This is just the beginning of the conversation.
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