Mother Mary, come to me..

When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary, come to me;
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be…

During the last meeting of the ten-week preparation process for this tomorrow’s Confirmation, I and the other confirmants were asked to formulate a response to the simple query: “Confirmation is over; now what?” In other words, how do we expect our lives as confirmed Catholics to be any different than life before? This question is especially vital for me, as I’m not only confirming my existing commitment to the Christian faith, but also officially changing my denominational affiliation – from Lutheran to Catholic. My reasons are many, but not altogether revolutionary. I’ve been discussing joining the Catholic Church for some time, and hoped for an easy transition. Recent conversations, however, have encouraged my suspicions that I’ll have a lot of work to do when I get home to set minds at ease about my decision.

I don’t mean to sound like I didn’t see it coming. To my best knowledge, my entire extended family on my mom’s side (five children, eleven grandchildren, and three great grandchildren) have been baptized and raised in the same Lutheran church, in the small town of Petersburg, Ohio. During the recitation of the Apostle’s Creed, in place of the line that reads, “I believe in one holy catholic and apostolic church,” an unnamed member of my family says loudly and clearly, “…one holy CHRISTIAN and apostolic church…” This practice goes unshared by the rest of my family, but I’m not certain that some of them necessarily disagree, based on some of their reactions to my conversion.

This work of explaining my faith is work I feel prepared and glad to do – after all, what would be the point of joining a Church whose practices and beliefs I am unable to explain and support? Confidence in my ability to represent the Catholic faith was one of my primary answers to the posed question.

The strength of the reactions I have received has been surprising; some have been very encouraging, others frustrating, while still others that have left me with questions of my own. More often than not, the reactions are expressed innocently, in true Peter Griffin (“You know what really grinds my gears?”) or Andy Rooney (“And here’s ANOTHER thing that makes me angry!”) fashion. The most common grievance, at least among my family and friends: “…and why are they so obsessed with Mary?”

Among all of the disparities between Catholics and Protestants, from the hierarchy of the church to transubstantiation, interpretations of Scripture, and the sacrament of reconciliation, the Church’s perspective on Christ’s mother Mary has proven to be a hot button issue. I’ve heard some ridiculous claims, including that the Church honors Mary more than her son. Though I suppose it may seem that way to some, as James Martin puts it, “so intricately woven is she into the tapestry of [Catholic] religious culture,” I think a deeper understanding of Roman-Catholic Mariology reveals that an appreciation of Mary actually gives way to a deeper understanding of Christ.

My understanding of Mary has always been one of absolute awe – imagining myself at her young age to be suddenly pregnant, forced to flee to another country, and handed the responsibility of raising a child in very difficult and dangerous circumstances. Her unshakable faith, amplified by her immense strength and courage, make her a woman to be admired – even BEFORE weighing the more mysterious and difficult-to-fathom aspects of Christ’s Immaculate Conception (which my mind of reason still struggles to digest).

The story of the Annunciation – when the angel Gabriel reveals Christ’s conception to Mary – further demonstrates her amazing faith. As the Gospel of Luke tells us, she is at first terrified. It is in her terror, her bewilderment, her questions of ‘How can this be?’ that I find myself most comforted. Who hasn’t questioned the events of our lives, chalking them up to the ‘will of God’ and thus asking, exasperated, ‘Why me?!’ Mary’s response is wonderfully and refreshingly human. Her eventual response inspires me further: “Let it be with me according to your word.”

Additionally, the feminist in me holds Mary in great esteem for the unique role that Mary, as a woman, played in Christ’s mission. Mary did something no man could do. You go, girl! I’m touched by the roles played by Veronica and Mary Magdelene during the Passion and Resurrection for the same essential reason. A mentor and friend of mine from John Carroll, Paula, has a wonderful piece of art hanging in her office, depicting a group of women at the foot of the cross with the simple caption: “It was the women who stayed.” During my long hours in her office during retreat planning, I would find myself staring intently at the piece, certain that that caption meant something significant for my own life.

Thus, despite all of the criticism of the Church’s often not-so-subtle commentary on the role of women, which is an existing grievance of mine as well, I find their dedication to and portrayal of the humble, trusting Mary as surprisingly empowering, and one that, as a woman myself, helps me feel closer to Christ. To me, this is the essence of intercession.

Intercession refers to, at least in the Christian use of the word, mediation between oneself and Christ through an intermediary, usually a recognized saint, including Mary and the apostles. In my experience, especially recently, the purpose of and philosophy underlying intercession is the most misunderstood aspect of Catholicism. As many friends and family have expressed, why go through someone like Mary when you can go straight to the source of the answer of your prayers, Jesus? Half-jokingly, I’ve heard it said, “When I go to a doctor, I don’t want to talk to his mother.”

However, that’s not what we say about our pastors. When Protestants talk with their pastor, she is often asked to pray for them. She does not, in turn, put her hands up and back away, defensively declaring, “Don’t talk to me! Just pray to Jesus!” Pastors, priests, and anyone else to whom we look for guidance and prayers, have great compassion and indeed, intercede for us. They pray for us and want to assist us in our relationships with Christ. Their true desire should be to bring their congregants closer to Christ. This is no way diminishes Christ’s role as “the source”.

I feel myself increasingly drawn to Mary through my experience in Pohnpei, surprisingly having nothing to do with my decision to become confirmed. Working at Our Lady of Mercy (I’ll give you one guess who the lady is!) Catholic High School has surrounded me not only with images of Mary (enormous posters in each classroom with the caption, “Our Lady of Mercy, Pray for Us”) but with three strong and devoted women (the Mercedarian Missionaries of Berriz sisters who run my school) who emulate the faith I hope to have for my own life – the unwavering faith of Mary. The distinctly Catholic “Hail Mary” has become for me a great source of comfort, especially on some sleepless nights when I lie awake, fingering the gorgeous white rosary I was either given or took without asking from my mother – I can’t quite remember which. My deep and unexpected connection to Mary, I suspect, has a lot to do with my maturing relationship with my own mother, aunts, and grandmother, the sources of unconditional love in my life. That relationship, I am pleasantly surprised to say, I think has grown even deeper in the past eight months despite the 7000 miles between us.

I’ll never claim to have all the answers on Catholicism – I’ll leave that to Richard McBrien, author of the incredibly comprehensive (and longer than the Bible and War & Peace combined) Catholicism. But as I slowly and clumsily weave the tapestry of my own faith discoveries, I can promise to share.