One night, saying my prayers before bed, I found myself singing a song to Mary, Jesus’ mother. I was young—no more than 7 or 8. And I did not whisper a word of what had happened to anyone at the time, because it frightened me so. I did not know why it had come up in me, but I did know without a doubt that Pentecostals did not sing to Mary. Not even about Jesus!
I do not remember the words, but I do remember their sense, and the feeling that I had while I was singing—I was overwhelmed with a wonderfully painful gratitude, thanking Mary for sharing Jesus with us. I still feel it.
†
After my grandmother, Nan, died, I began drawing and painting again, therapeutically, and the images that came up for me were overwhelmingly images of Jesus and Mary. Of her face. Of her co-suffering.
Sometimes resolute:
Sometimes anxious:
Later, I found myself doing line drawings, which showed not her face but her bearing—often with a crushing tenderness. Like this one of the Holy Family:
Mary holding her Son to her breast:
And Jesus holding his Mother to his:
†
Jenson taught me that the saints are not our way to Jesus; he is our way to them. And to be in his company is to be in theirs. He does not want to be known apart from them any more than he wants to be known apart from us. And they want for us exactly what he does: they have become prayer.
My friend William Glass is right: we balk at the honoring of Mary and the other saints in part because we’ve been conditioned to think that God is envious of our attention. But God does not want to be God without us. God means to make us equals. In God’s wisdom, Mary is the first among the saints, the one chosen by God to model for us the life of obedience. She is the first disciple, the exemplar prophet. She is blessed.
God shares his glory and, thus, his work and his suffering with those who love him (Phil 3.10, Col. 1.24). To the one who loved him most, he gives the greatest share. Of her uniquely is it said that she offers her son for the redemption of the world. To her alone is given the dignity of being the creaturely echo of the Father’s generosity.1
But Mary is just like her Son: what is hers alone she cannot help but share with all of us. Thankfully.
William Glass, “Marian Maximalism in Light of the Virgin's Fellowship in Christ’s Suffering,” Church Life Journal (May 4, 2021); available online: https://churchlifejournal.nd.edu/articles/marian-maximalism-in-light-of-the-virgins-fellowship-in-christs-suffering/.
Love this so very much, Chris!
“tThe creaturely echo of God’s generosity” is an incredible line.