A Mary Moment Monday post

I’ve been writing at least weekly about Mary for quite some time, and especially with my projects in the last year, I’ve “met” many different titles and apparitions of the Blessed Virgin.

In each of these “meetings” with Mary, I have found myself tugged and pulled and, well, changed a little bit. Our Lady of La Salette, whose feast we celebrated yesterday, is no different. In fact, rereading what I wrote about her last year, I started humming and downloading the song I reference. I also started thinking about small town life.

Just yesterday afternoon, wailing out some of my favorite songs as I powerwashed my porch (um, yeah, finally starting the project I was going to do months ago), I thought about growing up in Small Town America. We lived in the country until I was a senior in high school, not in town proper, but I spent a good portion of my time — especially into my teen years — wanting out of the small town.

Why, I wondered to myself yesterday, did I want out so badly? What was I seeking? Where was I heading? Was it just typical teenage rebellion?

I don’t know. But here I am, back in a small town (in the country, not in town proper). I can gripe and laugh about the shortcomings of this small town life, and I can also pontificate about what I love and cherish.

The way the sun filters through the leaves in the tree outside my office windows as the combine across the road works its way across the corn field? Definitely worth mentioning. The fact that we can stretch and bend and not worry about neighbors overhearing our, ahem, conversations with the dogs (or each other)? A big plus in my book. The miles I have to travel to get milk when I realize at 5:00 that I’m out and dinner must be served? Well, let’s keep things positive, shall we?

It’s so easy to look at small towns as quaint scenery or inconvenient slow-downs as we rush through to get to our final destination. Maybe they’re only important and critical to the people who make up their three-digit populations.

And Mary.

When she has taken the time to visit, it’s often been to out-of-the-way places. Like the hill country in Judah. Like the tiny village of La Salette, France.

I can’t help but think of Mary as a small town girl. She probably commiserates with those of us who longed for the experience of getting out of said small town, but I can’t help but think that she also appreciates the longing others of us have for the wide open spaces, the comfortable familiarity, the smallness of our small town lives.

Something about my small town life inspires prayer in a different way. And that’s my take-away from Our Lady of La Salette:

…it’s easy to overlook a simple component that Our Lady of La Salette reminds all of us, and that she admonished the two children:  we should be in prayer morning and night.  This is easier said than done in our hustle and bustle society.  If time is a problem, the Virgin Mary continued, at least say an Our Father and a Hail Mary.  Perhaps she knew that women like myself, bearing the burden of busy, would roll our eyes at the idea of continual prayer.  “When will I get my work done?” I imagine myself asking her.  “Just say an Our Father and a Hail Mary, dear,” she replied through the La Salette apparition.

You can read my full column here. And it’s worth taking some time to meditate on what Our Lady of La Salette had to say in her messages.

Big Life Achievement of the Week:

Danielle Bean, Pat Gohn, and I talk new media and Fathers Day. Don’t miss the chance to participate by calling to leave voice feedback — Pat gave everyone some homework.

Good on My Word: I promised a full review of Awakening, and a full review you have, at CatholicMom.com.

Rosary Reflections: I’ve started a new series of reflections on the rosary at Today’s Catholic Woman. This week, I introduce the Joyful Mysteries. Come join!

It’s going to be a rough day. I knew that when I woke up, and I am not dreading it, much to my surprise. Maybe it’s because I know I’m in good company; maybe I got enough rest over the weekend to prepare me; maybe I am shielded by prayer.

The word of my day, of my week, of my life is three letters long. It’s not a hard word, until I consider its implications.

Yes.

I used to roll my eyes at the thought that one vote could change the outcome of an election.  Yeah right, the cynic in me said.

Now, years later, I see how one Yes has changed the world, and I wonder, with great hope, if one of my Yeses could have an impact.  So often, I say Yes to what seem like silly and inconsequential things.

“Mommy, can I have chocolate milk?”

“Honey, could you make my lunch?”

“Sarah, would you mind driving me [to a place]?”

Oh, I say Yes to big things too.  I’ve done big things, but I wonder, lately, if the big things are as important as the small things that I do with love. 

Sometimes — or is it all too often? — it’s far easier to say Yes to the big things than to the little ones. I can look at a stranger and say Yes without a breath, but do I have the same enthusiasm for that person who’s crawling under my skin and sticking needles on my nerves?

Image source

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This week we celebrate my favorite mystery of the rosary, the feast of the Annunciation on Thursday, March 25. (My favorite way to pray it is here.)  The day after that feast, on March 26, I’m going to start preparation for Total Consecration to Jesus through Mary.

Will you consider joining me? You may not have time to order or purchase a booklet before Friday, but all the prayers are online here, and they’re even available as MP3 downloads (scroll down).  If you’ve already done this practice, perhaps this is a time to renew it.  It’s no small commitment, but giving a gift like this to Jesus is never without many benefits and opportunities for growth.

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More of my Mary meanderings:

• More of my ponderings on saying Yes and the lessons I’ve learned from the Annunciation are at Faith & Family Live in my latest column, “One ‘Yes’ Can Change the World.”

• Mary’s title “Comforter of the Afflicted” is one of the many I turn to when I find myself unsure of where to go, uncertain how to proceed.  It’s a title that inspires memories of a small hot head on my shoulder and the parade of little people we saw in Children’s Hospital on a visit a few years ago.  My column reflecting on this title, “Mary – Comforter of the Afflicted,” is up at Today’s Catholic Woman.

My latest column at Today’s Catholic Women is on Our Lady of Mental Peace.  She’s a new favorite Mary of mine.

I’m also over at Faith & Family Live with “Turning to Mary for Comfort.”

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This week’s Mary Moment Monday is inspired by a question a Facebook friend asked me recently.

I am writing to ask you your thoughts on last week’s Gospel where Mary asks Jesus to provide more wine for the guests at a wedding and Jesus responds by saying, “Woman, how does your concern affect me?  My hour has not come.”

For some reason, my heart is having a hard time with this response (seems harsh). I was thinking that perhaps Mary had some motherly insight that He perhaps is ready for the next step and she was planting the seed.

I can’t help but think of how my husband teases his mom. I’ve always seen him do this.  He and his siblings have a way of teasing her that is affectionate and gentle.  They’ll bring up old stories and get everyone laughing or they’ll rib her when she makes a mistake borne of a misunderstanding, forgetfulness, or just plain human nature.

When my husband teases his mom, he’s never being harsh.  He doesn’t ever want to hurt her.  He isn’t going for her throat or trying to get even or be clever.

Once, early in our dating, I pointed out how often she gets teased, especially when the whole gang is together.  He smiled and said, “It’s how she knows we love her.”

Over the years, I’ve seen this as a truth.  I’ve even started jumping in.

What I always have to remind myself is that we tease because we love, not for malice or to be cruel.

Rereading this Gospel passage and picturing Jesus and Mary at Cana, I pause for moment.

Picture them in Nazareth for the 30 years prior.  There had to be some teasing, some laughter, some poking.  I have no proof of this, but it seems to go hand-in-hand with family life.  In being fully human, there are plenty of opportunities to laugh and chuckle, to snort and hoot.

As much as Jesus and Mary loved each other, they had to share this intimate human experience of laughter.

Reading the Gospel with that thought as background, I see a bit of a twinkle in Jesus’ eye.  Maybe this is some sort of long-standing thing between them.  Maybe she’s been gently nudging Him for some time; maybe He’s been teasing her about this too.  Had He done something like this at home previously when they ran out of something?

John Paul II, in a general audience on the wedding at Cana, shares this (emphasis mine):

According to one interpretation, from the moment his mission begins Jesus seems to call into question the natural relationship of son to which his mother refers. The sentence, in the local parlance, is meant to stress a distance between the persons, by excluding a communion of life. This distance does not preclude respect and esteem, the term “woman” by which he addresses his Mother is used with a nuance that will recur in the conversations with the Canaanite woman (cf. Mt 15:28), the Samaritan woman (cf. Jn 4:21), the adulteress (cf. Jn 8:10) and Mary Magdalene (cf. Jn 20:13), in contexts that show Jesus’ positive relationship with his female interlocutors.

With the expression: “O woman, what have you to do with me?”, Jesus intends to put Mary’s co-operation on the level of salvation which, by involving her faith and hope, requires her to go beyond her natural role of mother.

4. Of much greater import is the reason Jesus gives: “My hour has not yet come (Jn 2:4).

Some scholars who have studied this sacred text, following St Augustine’s interpretation, identify this “hour” with the Passion event. For others, instead, it refers to the first miracle in which the prophet of Nazareth’s messianic power would be revealed. Yet others hold that the sentence is interrogative and an extension of the question that precedes it: “What have you to do with me? Has my hour not yet come?”. Jesus gives Mary to understand that henceforth he no longer depends on her, but must take the initiative for doing his Father’s work. Then Mary docilely refrains from insisting with him and instead turns to the servants, telling them to obey him.

There’s a lot to glean from this passage of scripture (true of most of them, come to think of it).  When you read a passage in the Bible that bothers you or makes you pause, take it with you in your heart, pray with it, ponder it deeply.  Look at it from all angles and ask the Holy Spirit to guide your reflection.  Research it, ask for help, and pray some more.

Any thoughts on this? (I know I haven’t come close to giving a good answer!)

There are, my calendar tells me, only four days until Christmas.

She must have been pregnant-to-bursting, and she wasn’t at home or even in a familiar place.  The Baby was coming, of that she was certain, and soon.  She must have been excited.  Was there any fear in her?  Did she wonder how it would all work out?  Was she just wanting the baby out?

This pregnancy was an answer to ages of prayer, to the begging of the Jews for their Messiah.  Mary knew this, and it must have been one of the many things she held in her heart, pondering.  In the discomfort of late pregnancy, in the anticipation of the end of gestation, in the joy of looming parenthood, she must have also thought about the other prophesies about the Messiah.

His wasn’t to be an easy life, though we don’t know the details of the hidden years in Nazareth.  As a mother who knew there would be challenges, how could she be any less excited to finally meet the Baby who had been kicking her ribs, smooshing her bladder, rolling and stretching inside her?

Did she look at her husband, dear Joseph, and picture him as a daddy?  Could she hear the laughter to come, the roughing around and the gentle teaching, the correction and the prayer?  What was her hope for her family life?  What were her prayers in those last days before the first Christmas?

As I look to Our Lady of Expectation, I see so many ways in which I can follow her.  She looks uncomfortable, and yet she looks peaceful.  She shows me how to bear with the hardships of my daily life, whether they’re large or small, warranted or unexpected, grief-stricken or joy-filled.  She invites me into her crowded lap, and she hugs me.

Maybe, if I’m lucky, I feel the Baby kick.

She has, once again, led me right to Him.

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More about Our Lady of Expectation, if you’re so inclined:

• Our Lady’s Expectation (brief history)
• Expectation of Our Lady (history and O Antiphons)
• Our Lady of Expectation (history and reflection)

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My mother-in-law is a source of great inspiration to me, and in this week’s column on Mary’s title, Queen of Martyrs, I was inspired by her response to some of the biggest griefs I can imagine, burying three grandsons.  But before you go thinking it’s a depressing piece, remember that my topic is Mary and that she is never depressing.    Here’s a snippet, and then you can go read the rest:

I suppose it’s selfish of me to want to rob my children of the good that can come from pain.  Though it continues to bring tears to my eyes and is not something that I can talk about for long, my experience with the third of my mother-in-law’s grandsons changed my life for the better.  My sister-in-law told me recently that burying two sons has been a blessing in her life, that she has marveled at how her pain has touched and transformed people, but I know she wouldn’t have chosen burying them over watching them grow into men.

I don’t think I have much of a maternal instinct, but it’s certain that protecting my children — whether from bodily harm or mental anguish — is part of the mothering mentality.

How much more, then, must Mary have felt this desire as she held the Messiah in her arms?  She was familiar with the prophecies, and she must have known that He would suffer greatly to bring about the salvation of the world.  Maybe the details weren’t available to her, but the certainty must have been.

All the joy of His infancy, the wonder of watching Him learn to walk and talk, the pleasure of seeing His wisdom blossom into young adulthood must have been tempered with the knowledge of His future, one that held torture and triumph.  Was not knowing the details a blessing for Mary?

As I consider Mary as Queen of Martyrs, I first have to see her pain for what it was.  It wasn’t fair, but that makes it even more beautiful.  Mary said “Yes” to the most difficult motherhood possible, one that would involve raising the Messiah and watching Him walk away and then carry a cross to His death.  Her memorable moments included first childhood moments, plus witnessing miracles.  She watched Him during His Passion, unable to do more than pray.

But did she need to do more?

Rambling thoughts: Though we won’t decorate it until Sunday, when dear friends and some family members are coming over to help us, our tree is up and lit.  Our friends gave it to us; it’s our first big tree as a family.  When the girls wake up, they’ll be delighted.  My new angel is perched at the top, and I’m glad we’re going to just enjoy it with only lights for a few days.  It’s one more small step in preparation for the Big Day.  I like that this Advent especially I’m being conscious of being focused and gradual in our preparations.  It’s making me more open to the joy of Christmas, I think.

In thanksgiving: For prayers.  For family.  For KFC.

Folded hands, bowed head: For Poppa Gene, who’s still in ICU.  He’s looking better after a weekend of rest.  We’ll know more today, hopefully.  Thanks for your continued prayers.

Nose inserted: I wish it was.  Though I’ve put away Google Reader for Advent (except for my top 5 blogs), I am not finding time (or am I not motivated?) to finish The Power of Respect, by Deborah Norville.  It’s good, don’t get me wrong.  I’m just not cranking through it.  (I’m also not sitting down to read much.  Correlation?)  This week, I want to pick up The Cricket on the Hearth, a favorite that my aunt and I read together most years (one time, we read most of it aloud together).  This story, incidentally, is what inspired my various uses of “peerybingle” (i.e. on Twitter).

Recent reads: I finished a fabulous book on St. Joseph, recommended by a Faith & Family Live reader back when I was Mary blogging in May:  Saint Joseph: His Life and His Role in the Church Today, by Louise Bourassa Perrotta.

In my ears: One of the ways I’m savoring Advent is thanks to the work going on at DivineOffice.org.  Wow.  I’ve been enjoying the Liturgy of the Hours for some time, on and off, but this is a way to really have it seep into me, to make the prayer more a part of me.  Even when it’s just background noise, it calms me.  It’s a great companion to my daily singing of the Divine Mercy Chaplet, and has made my Advent so peace-filled.

Around the house: Bob’s in the shower, dog’s by the fire, I’m at the computer.  Silence.  Elizabeth will be coming down soon (she’s my early riser), but until I hear her plodding down the stairs, it’s just me and my coffee.

A favorite thing: Mystic Monks Cowboy Blend

Plans made, possibly kept: It’s the week before Christmas, but I’m amazed at how I don’t feel panic.  I wrapped family gifts (well, the ones that get wrapped anyway) and I’ll ship them out this week.  There will be time, somehow, to wrap the girls’ gifts, and after our family Christmases this weekend, it will be a week of anticipation next week.  We have all the usual mundane things on the calendar this week, though we’re also a bit on edge about Poppa Gene.

Food for thought: (which inspired this week’s Mary Moment, which has yet to be recorded): In Wood of the Cradle; Wood of the Cross, Caryll Houselander wrote:  “During Advent Christ rested in Mary still, silent, helpless, utterly dependent. The Creator trusted Himself to His creature.”  (via Mary Vitamin)

Worth a thousand words: The dress for the big date, the one caused so much angst initially (which I did not, in fact, have to shop for, thanks to an amazing friend)

Find more daybooks at Peggy’s place.

I don’t remember when I first learned about Our Lady of Guadalupe.  Maybe it was when I became pregnant with my oldest daughter that it clicked that this image of Mary is pregnant.  Maybe it was when our parish became home to one of a handful of images that had been touched to the original tilma of Juan Diego that I realized how this depiction of Mary seemed to look at me, to reach out to me, to embrace my fears and struggles.

In honor of her feast day on Saturday, Becky, of the great new Cafe Press shop The Whole Wide Room, has offered to give away one of her Our Lady of Guadalupe shirts.  This is a shirt that’s been on my wish list since I first saw it (and I think, working in a parish office, that I could wear it to work, don’t you?).   You get to pick the color of the sleeves, the size, the shipping address.

You have until Saturday night to leave a comment here, and then we’ll pick a random winner.

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Share your favorite Marian apparition and/or title in the comments, while you’re there in the combox. I’m working on my writing schedules for next year, and I’d love to write about something YOU are interested in learning more about.

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I’d be remiss not to mention last week’s Catholic Moments podcast, where I share about Mary’s title “Cause of Our Joy” and Lisa shares great information about the great-looking new movie The 13th Day, which is about the Marian apparitions in Fatima, Portugal.

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This week is a heavily Marian week…tomorrow is the feast of the Immaculate Conception, and I’m reflecting on that over at Today’s Catholic Woman and at CatholicMom.com.  They’re very different approaches to the title, and I hope they will help you, especially if, like me, you find yourself floundering a bit with this concept and title.

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With that, I encourage you to leave a comment to win one of Becky’s lovely shirts and enjoy this week of Mary!

There’s something about starting my week with Mary. I’ve never been a hater of Mondays the way most of the world seems to be; for me, Tuesdays are the rougher day of the week, the day where the fan blowing smelly stuff starts messing up my workspace.

But still, there’s something about waking up on Monday knowing that I’ll be posting about her, that I’m sharing her and learning from her again.  Sometimes — often times — I read these words I’ve written weeks later and wonder just who in the world came up with the insight…I assure you, it wasn’t me.  Or it wasn’t the me I am today…it wasn’t the Sarah who stares at the computer screen, worrying about the usual trivial assortment of stuff.

Yesterday, on a day that’s special for me for six years’ worth of good reasons, Advent started.  I’ve been thinking of and reflecting on Advent for nearly a month now, but I’d be lying if I told you that I was ready.  My Advent wreaths are still packed away in the attic (I know right where they are, though!) and the Jesse tree ornaments aren’t quite finished…and the Jesse tree?  Um, there isn’t one just yet.

I could blame being sick this weekend.  I could blame being a little extra busy with a sudden decision to move, made this weekend by a close family member.  I could blame any number of things.

But really.  I’ve known about Advent coming. That’s why I’ve been organizing my gift lists and crossing things off for so long.  That’s why I’ve been, well, reflecting on it.

So on this Monday, as I spend yet another few moments with Mary (in what I’ve dubbed a “Mary Moment Monday” here and what I have pitched as “Mary Mondays” to the fine folks at Faith & Family Live), I guess I’ll start the week as a freshly wiped kitchen table.  I’ll sit down, smelling the faint soapy smell in the air, and light a candle.  As I sit there, I’ll reach across the table and take Mary’s hand.

She’ll lead me to Him.  I don’t have to worry about a thing.

More along these lines, about preparing for Advent with Mary, is over at Faith & Family Live today in my latest feature: Waiting and Preparation: Spend Advent with Mary this Year.

If you want to hear some sappy stuff (well, it’s not that sappy) about my love notes to my husband (and how I picture the Miraculous Medal as a love note from God), you can hop on over to Today’s Catholic Woman for my piece this week on Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal.

And, if you’re still around after all that, let me recommend Creighton University’s Praying Advent for its articles, its reflections, and its daily ways of making Advent hope an experience that leads to Christmas joy.

Becoming Catholic, though, has changed some of my semantics.  The joy might be down in my heart, but it’s also all around me.  It might be a word used incorrectly, but it’s also a very real experience, if only I’ll let it.

Some of Mary’s title strike me as strange.  Before I did the reading necessary for this week’s column on her title Cause of Our Joy, this was one of those titles.  My initial response was an unintelligent “Huh?!” and a complete blank in my mind.

Mind you, I have a great devotion to Mary.  It’s hard to explain, in many ways, especially to my non-Catholic family.  I try really hard not to sound like I worship her (devotion is different than worship), and I try not to go overboard talking about her and slipping her into my conversations (the way I do with my unsuspecting Catholic friends and family).

But is she the cause of my joy?  And if so, how?  Isn’t that the sort of thing that only God can be?

It all comes back to her Yes at the Annunciation, doesn’t it?  Mary opened a door for each of us, and it points the way she always points:  toward her Son.

Mary, Cause of Our Joy, is a reminder to me to laugh loudly, to ignore email and tickle a child instead, to say Yes to the many little ways God is calling me closer to Himself.

She doesn’t see the limitations of life the same way I do, and it’s a great lesson for me, though it’s also annoying at times.

“Mom, our house is a diamond castle,” she’ll begin, “and the you’re a queen.”  When told that I have to make dinner, even if I am wearing an old bridesmaid gown from 2001, she’s undeterred.

“The kitchen is your palace,” she announces, and suits up in a sparkly blue dress and high heels.  Her little sister, smitten with the thought of shoes, digs into my closet and thumps around the house squealing.

My house is a far cry from a diamond castle.  Barbie won’t be stopping by to shower compliments on my design choices, and though we have a pretty impressive variety of dress-up clothes, I’m pretty sure Barbie and her comrades can outdo us in selection.

This doesn’t stop my four-year-old, though.  What she sees isn’t the end of the story.

It’s a reminder to keep dreaming, to keep my sights set higher, to stay with my ideals, however unrealistic or silly they may seem.

These are the thoughts that were whirling through my head when I wrote this week’s column on Our Lady of Liesse, a tale which has knights and princesses and adventure galore.  The Queen of Heaven, after all, is not one to shun the stuff of fairy tales.

Maybe I need to find a picture of Our Lady of Liesse and put it in my kitchen.  She and I can share in the palace of my domesticity, the royalty of my busy errands, and the entourage of little princesses who accompany me most of the places I go.