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More on First Saturdays: the results of an experiment I didn't know I was doing.

Some time ago, while I was working on the Total Consecration, I wrote about my reluctance to enter deeply into Marian devotions -- a reluctance that was brought into high relief when I encountered a certain online book by Fr. William Most that discussed Mary as "co-Redemptrix":

"This is the kind of Marian writing that makes the tops of Protestants' heads blow off. ...[A]s I read it, I found myself struggling with some of the concepts, precisely because of the Protestant, anti-Marian influence in American Christian culture. It was very edifying, because intellectually, Father Most's arguments make a great deal of sense to me. And yet the logical conclusion of his arguments suggests an attitude toward the Blessed Virgin that feels radical to me. Deep down, it seems, I feel a sort of repulsion against fully embracing the idea of Mary as intercessor, which as I search my history seems can only have come from contact with American Protestantism. I didn't even realize that I felt that internal repulsion until reading Fr. Most's arguments forced me to confront it."

 

I have long had that feeling about many Marian devotions. Take, for example, the Five First Saturdays devotion. Originating in a request that Our Lady reportedly made in an apparition to Lucia Santos, it is a superficially pleasant-sounding-enough activity: Attend Mass, say a rosary, go to Confession, and spend fifteen minutes in meditation, all with the intention of making reparation for sins committed against the mother of Jesus. Do it five first Saturdays in a row, and you are done. A simple little thing, not terribly demanding, a one-time commitment, like making a pilgrimage.

But I was always bothered by the fact that, in recommending it to us, the Church, or Mary, didn't stop there, but instead went on to promise something in return. Here is a direct quote of what Sister Lucia reports that Mary told her in her vision:

"I promise to assist at the hour of death, with the graces necessary for salvation, all who on the First Saturday of five consecutive months confess their sins, receive Holy Communion, recite five decades of the Rosary, and keep me company for fifteen minutes meditating on the mysteries of the Rosary, with the purpose of making reparation to my Immaculate Heart."

One resistance:  I felt that this promise ...cheapened the devotion somehow. And that Mary had made it that much harder to do it with the purpose of making reparation, by dangling a carrot of promised graces before us.

It felt presumptuous too. All I have to do is check off these items, and I get the graces necessary for salvation? (I hadn't noticed the subtle difference between promising salvation, and promising the graces necessary for salvation.)

Finally, it seemed disturbingly superstitious, which is to say that I could not see any logical or natural connection between "do these things now, and when you die, possibly far off in the future, after who knows what temptations have assailed you and after you have failed in who knows how many ways, you will get something you don't deserve, just because you checked off the boxes." Even if I mean it now, suppose I become hard and unrepentant later? How can doing this now protect me and help me then? This put it in company with a number of other Marian devotions, e.g., the wearing of the Brown Scapular (what? Die with your magic necklace on and you're good to go? How does THAT work?)

Okay, well, I decided to try to do it anyway. I get Saturday mornings off, at least if Mark isn't traveling, and so I didn't have much excuse not to give it a whirl. I prayed for the grace to purify my intentions, so that I really could do it with the purpose of making reparation; I found a local parish that had a Saturday morning Mass; and off I went, on the first Saturday in July, which turned out to be the feast of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. I went on to complete the devotion over the next four months as prescribed.

For the benefit of anyone else who is creeped about Marian devotions because they smack of superstition, presumption, and illogical connections, I want to report back on two results that had the effect of removing my creeped-outedness completely. The caveat is that they are specific to me -- I haven't the foggiest idea whether other people would get similar results. Another caveat is that I can only speak for this moment in time -- for all I know I may think differently after life has thrown more curveballs at me. I am just throwing it out there, as a sort of personal testimony, in the now.

Direct result #1 of doing the Five First Saturdays: I discovered that I rather like going to Mass and confession once a month. This was a bit of a surprise. I rather thought I would be ready to have a "Woo-hoo, I did it, now I'm done!" party. Instead, by the time I had been through five of them, I wanted to keep it up. And so now it is sort of an established habit of mine. I go to Mass on the first Saturday of the month, if I can. I show up early enough to say the rosary with the other folks who are there. I go to Confession. After my penance I stick around for fifteen minutes. I like it. I don't know why I never thought of going to Mass on Saturday mornings before, along with the trip to the gym and the library and getting my hair cut and running personal errands and all those other things I try to do in those few hours I have to myself each week. It was a great idea that I somehow never came up with on my own. I don't know for sure if I will keep it up for the rest of my life, but it has certainly lasted longer than the five Saturdays I originally signed up for, and who knows how much good I will get out of it? Maybe exactly what is necessary.

Direct result #2: On the second Saturday, the priest in the confessional advised me to make the Total Consecration to Jesus through Mary. If you have been following along at all, you know that the Total Consecration, encompassing as it does pretty much all authentic Marian devotion, feels to me transcendently more radical than something like the five first Saturdays. Here I was, just trying to check off the boxes and asking please for the grace to do it with the right intentions and not the wrong ones, and now I was being invited to go deeper. I went away knowing I had at least a responsibility to find out more about the Consecration and to discern whether I should make it. You know by now that I did this, and that I made the Consecration in the fall.

Has it changed me in any real way? I can't know that for sure. I hope so. But its totality, inherently, promises more than five Saturdays seems capable of promising. The Five First Saturdays seemed so mean a commitment; so much more might happen to me afterwards; it seemed insane to accept that in any natural way, in any just way, they could be part of the cause of graces received maybe fifty years from now or more. But the Total Consecration promises to be a bridge across the unknown future, between now and that hour of my death, across all the pitfalls that could still swallow me, across the pavement of my good intentions. It is not a guarantee, but it is an accessible path from here to there. And there is no doubt that the invitation came as a result of the First Saturdays.

Obviously there is no way I can generalize from my experience to anyone else's. I only know what is inside me. And I have written before that I am fully aware of the proclivity of the human mind to see patterns wherever we want to see them. Perhaps I am only unconsciously justifying my irrational decisions by overlaying a perception of rationality that comes from outside myself and cannot be falsified by any external test. Like persisting in the belief that my spouse loves me; I can't prove its truth or falsity, but it is certainly convenient to think so.

It is just that I tried something that I couldn't make sense of, and received a result that -- well -- not so much made it make sense, as left the possibility that it could make sense. And as a result, I am not sorry I tried. YMMV.

 

First Saturday.

 

 

For some reason, I am fonder of this image than I usually am of painted devotional statues.  I think it is the way the Infant is tugging on the edge of Mary's veil with one little fist.  

Whoever designed this one knew babies.

Par, avec, en, pour.

I posted a couple of days ago about being bothered by the difficult-to-parse prepositions in liturgical phrases, such as in the Doxology and in scriptural passages like "in Christ shall all be brought to life."

One of the things that pleased me about St. Louis de Montfort's True Devotion to Mary was a little section near the end, where he really delved into four different prepositional phrases with Mary as their object.

[T]here are some very sanctifying interior practices [of this devotion] for those whom the Holy Ghost calls to high perfection.

These may be expressed in four words: to do all our actions by [or through] Mary, with Mary, in Mary, and for Mary; so that we may do them all the more perfectly by [or through] Jesus, with Jesus, in Jesus, and for Jesus."

Let's first take the phrasing back to the original French to clear up some ambiguities in the translated text. It goes like this: par Marie, avec Marie, en Marie et pour Marie.

I have two different translations of the text, one of which gives us "by" for par, and the other of which gives "through." If you had more than a little French then you know that par can be translated with either word; the sense is "by way of" or "via" or "mediated by." It does not signify "next to" (as "by" sometimes means in English) nor "from one side to the other" (as "through" sometimes means in English). Avec and pour correspond closely with "with" and "for," respectively. En is one of two common prepositions translated as "in" (the other is dans), and it can mean in a place, or in a state, or in a period of time -- or by a type of transportation vehicle: as English speakers would say you go somewhere by car or by plane, the French say en voiture or en avion. it isn't in the literal sense of "enclosed within."

But we are not stuck speculating on meanings just based on our high school French, because St. Louis goes on to explain more precisely what he means by each of these four prepositional phrases.

Take the first of the four. "faire toutes ses actions par Marie" (to do every action through Mary, or "all through Mary"):

We must [il faut] do all our actions by/through [par] Mary; that is to say, we must obey her in all things, and in all things conduct ourselves by her spirit, which is the Holy Spirit of God...

In order that the soul may let itself be led by Mary's spirit, it must first of all renounce its own spirit and its own lights and wills before it does anything...

Secondly, we must deliver ourselves to the spirit of Mary to be moved and influenced by it in the manner she chooses. We must put ourselves and leave ourselves in her virginal hands, like a tool in the grasp of a workman, like a lute in the hands of a skillful player.... This can be done simply, and in an instant, by one glance of the mind, by one little movement of the will, or even verbally, by saying, for example, "I renounce myself, I give myself to thee, dear Mother..."

Thirdly, we must, from time to time, both during and after the action, renew the same act of offering and union...

The second of the four phrases is "faire toutes ses actions avec Marie" (to do every action with Mary, or "all with Mary").

...that is to say, we must in all our actions regard Mary as an accomplished model of every virtue and perfection[,] which the Holy Ghost has formed in a pure creature for us to imitate according to our little measure. We must therefore in every action consider how Mary has done it, or how she would have done it had she been in our place. For that end we must examine and meditate on the great virtues which she practiced during her life...particularly ...her lively faith... her profound humility... and her divine purity....

The third of the phrases is "faire toutes ses actions en Marie" (to do every action in Mary, or "all in Mary." Significantly, the saint does not tell us how to do everything, or anything, "in Mary." It is the only one of the four that lacks specific instructions. He seems not to know how one "does" an action "in Mary." Apparently there is no tip or trick that we can perform that, along with an action, makes that act happen "in" Mary.

But he does tell us that, if only we can know certain truths, perhaps we can "understand this practice." What follows is a lengthy description of what Mary is, what kind of "place" she represents. Here is an excerpt:

Thoroughly to understand this practice, we must first know that our Blessed Lady is the true terrestrial paradise of the New Adam, and that the ancient paradise was but a figure of her...

The Holy Ghost, by the mouth of the Fathers, also styles the Blessed Virgin the Eastern Gate, by which the high priest, Jesus Christ, enters the world and leaves it.... The sanctuary of the Divinity, the repose of the Most Holy Trinity, the throne of God, the city of God, the temple of God, the altar of God, the world of God...

..."My sister, my spouse, is a garden enclosed... a fountain sealed up."...in that virginal bosom, the soul shall be nourished with the milk of grace and maternal mercy... it shall be delivered of its troubles, fears and scruples; it shall be in safety against all its enemies...it shall be formed in Jesus Christ and Jesus Christ in it.

Maybe the saint means to say that "in" Mary is not a way of doing things so much as it is a state of being, a state to which we can aspire through intellectual meditation and acts of trust and self-abandonment.

Finally, the fourth phrase: "faire toutes ses actions pour Marie" (to do everything for Mary, "all for Mary," the "Totus tuus" of Pope John Paul II's personal motto).

As we have given up ourselves entirely to her service, it is but just that we do everything for her as servants and slaves... [W]e must not remain idle, but, supported by her protection, we must undertake and achieve great things for this august sovereign. We must defend her privileges when they are disputed; we must stand up for her glory when it is attacked; we must draw all the world, if we can, to her service... we must speak and cry out against those who abuse her devotion to outrage her Son... we must pretend to no recompense for our little services, except the honor of belonging to so sweet a Queen, and the happiness of being united through her to Jesus her Son...

I think there are several interesting things to be taken away from this discussion.

First, although (probably because of the Pope's motto) the object of the devotion is often summarized as "Totus Tuus," or "All for You" -- all for Mary, or for Jesus through Mary -- it is actually a bit more complicated than that. It's not just "all for," but also "all through, all with, all in" Mary -- and all of that in order that everything we do, we do "through, with, in, and for" Jesus, the ultimate end.

Pondering the four prepositions, I find it easiest to think of them in terms of Mary's role with respect to us. If we do all through Mary, we renounce our own spirit and take up her own, to be led and guided and employed as she pleases. If we do all with her, we are her imitators, she our model. If we do all in her, we trust ourselves to her protection. If we do all for her, she is to us a mistress and a Queen.

It is sort of tempting to think: well then, being "in" Mary is a sure path to being "in" Jesus, and doing our actions "through" Mary is a sure way to do them "through" Christ, and so on. I am not sure that the four prepositions can really be separated out that way. But I do think it is a very simple first step to try that "one little movement of the will" so that an act may be done "through" Mary: "I renounce myself, I give myself to thee." That is a place to start, even if we are puzzled by the saint's advice about "in," and if we are overwhelmed at the thought of imitating the summit of created humanity, and if we are unsure what she requires of her servants. St. Louis says that the important thing about renouncing ourselves is that we do it, that it doesn't matter if it feels any different; it is still real. No one on earth, no barrier at all can keep us from mentally renouncing ourselves in this way at every moment of our lives. And so even if "for" or "in" or "with" doesn't make sense, we can all start with "through." And since what it means is simply to be led by the Holy Spirit in everything, what Christian could object?

Handwritten thanksgiving.

I approach my prayer life rather in the same way I approach housecleaning.  Which is to say:

Clearly, I like to think about ways of doing it, systems, etc. much more than I like to do it.  So a lot of times, when I decide "It's time to clean house!" what I really do is sit down and make a list of what needs to be done and a schedule by which I should do it, and before long the time is up and I have to do something different.

Also, my living space looks pretty tidy enough most of the time, except dead in the middle of the school day or when we're having a party.  It's 7 am and the kids aren't up yet, so my evening routine still hasn't been disturbed.  The floor is more or less clear of clutter, the kitchen counters are mostly empty except for a tray of chocolate-filled breakfast buns and a coffeemaker, the children's books aren't all in the shelves but they are at least in a neat pile on the floor by the couch.  I'm pretty sure there isn't a bunch of junk on the bathroom counters, and the schoolroom is fairly orderly.  

But if you looked closely at the kitchen counters you'd find some sticky stuff and crumbs, if you looked closely at the floor you'd find more sticky stuff, if you looked around the couch you'd find it had been a long time since the last vacuuming, and please don't open any cabinets or closet doors, nor look too closely at the rim of my toilet.

Somewhere in one of those drawers there's an old schedule reminding me that I was going to swipe the toilet with a brush every Wednesday morning.  Or maybe it was "make a kid swipe the toilet."  I don't remember.  It felt good to write it down.  Much better than actually doing it.

So.  My prayer life is like that too.

+ + +

A humorous analogy suddenly comes to me:  The Liturgy of the Hours is like Flylady for slobby prayer.

Do with that what you will.

+ + +

Oh, and one more thing:  I like blogging about cleaning more than I like cleaning.  And I like blogging about praying more than praying.  And apparently, blogging about cleaning and blogging about praying makes me feel a sense of satisfaction similar to what I imagine I might feel had I actually cleaned, or prayed.  Remember that next time you get impressed at my organizational skills.  They are really just a finely tuned means of procrastination.

+ + +

But I never will be cured, I think, of the attempt to fix my sloth/acedia through better planning.  Since I did the Marian consecration last month, I have been trying a number of new things.  Or maybe it's more accurate to say that I have been trying to look at the old things through a new lens.

I hit upon this idea to make myself a handwritten prayer-book.  

Last year, when I read through Introduction to the Devout Life (lots of posts on that here), I wound up carrying a well-dog-eared copy around everywhere and using it as a prayer manual for a while.  The many sections are not organized as a prayer book, but they give a method of morning prayer, a method of evening prayer, recommendations for confession, recommendations for preparing to attend Mass, etc., and I found it useful to refer back to the book often.   Note that the book didn't actually provide "prayers" as much as it did a "method of prayer."  But I like to have "prayers," so eventually, I sat down with de Sales's method of morning prayer and  I wrote out a formula that followed the method but was in my own words.  Well, some of St. Francis deS.'s words and some of my own.  I kept that sheet of paper next to my bed, which freed me up to keep the book in my handbag.  

I used that morning prayer for quite a long time.   I still use a memorized short excerpt from it many days.  ("Behold, O Lord, my poor heart which has conceived many good desires yet is too weak and wretched to put them into practice unless you grant Your heavenly grace.  This I beg, O Merciful God, through the passion and resurrection of Your Son, in whose honor I consecrate this and all my days.")

St. Louis de Montfort's book True Devotion to Mary contains a method called "This Devotion at Holy Communion" which suggests some ways to pray before, during, and after Communion.  I tried to follow along in the book a couple of times while I was in Mass but found it too cumbersome.  Because it doesn't exactly contain prayers but more an instruction on how to pray, and it's wordier than it has to be.  So finally I sat down and wrote out some pithy prayers that, if I prayed them, would be in accord with de Montfort's method.  (It was a little better, but I still need to tweak it.  The Mass follows a different rhythm now than it did in the saint's time, and it's harder to slip long personal prayer into it.   The intent of the vernacular Mass is, after all, for us to pray along with the Mass.)

I looked around at Mass and of course I always see many people thumbing well-worn prayer books and Magnificat issues and breviaries and things during the wait to go up for Communion or after communion or just before or just after Mass.  (I wonder how long before people will dare to use their Kindles and iPhones to access prayerbook apps in Mass?  I've seen people do it in the adoration chapel.)   But I know from experience that I get distracted by a thick book of prayers.  What I need is a book of just exactly the prayers I am working on using.  A morning prayer, an evening prayer, a short method of meditation before the Blessed Sacrament, a thanksgiving after Mass.  

So I got me a little Moleskine, the cheaper, thinner, brown-paper-covered kind, and began writing prayers down in it.  

I like it.  There are dozens of "morning prayers" to choose from; I can put in just the one or two I really am likely to use, plus I can write out my "own" one that I developed from St. Francis's method.  I can copy out prayers in Latin that I would like to learn.   (Working on the Anima Christi right now.)  I can write out an examination of conscience that leaves out the sins I am not likely ever to commit, and thus saves time.  

I think once I have it filled up I will want to do another draft.  Already I have crossed out and rewritten a few sections that turned out not to sound right, that I kept wanting to say differently.  But in the meantime I am finding it fruitful to have my own words, or at least words chosen by me, at my fingertips.

Let me give you one example.  So, one thing I've never been in the habit of doing is kneeling to make a prayer of thanksgiving after Mass.  (I was never catechized to do it, and although there are always some people that I see praying after Mass in the pews, of course most people are up and socializing, even at my solidly orthodox parish.)  I went looking for something, and OH MY they are loooong.  There is no way I could realistically do any of that with the four kids all wanting to get downstairs before the best doughnuts are gone.  So just as a practical matter I needed a short one.  

For the time being I used the "Hail Holy Queen" as a placeholder while I tried excerpting some of the longer ones, and I tried composing my own.  But what kept popping into my head was a musical antiphon from one of the psalms:  "How can I make a return to the Lord for what he has done to me?"  I didn't know which psalm, so I googled it, and found that it comes from Psalm 116.  

The whole psalm isn't really what I was looking for, but the second half is.  So I used just a few verses from that Psalm as my Thanksgiving After Mass:

How can I repay the LORD for all the great good done for me?

I will raise the cup of salvation and call on the name of the LORD.

I will pay my vows to the LORD in the presence of all his people.

Dear in the eyes of the LORD is the death of his devoted.

LORD, I am your servant, your servant, the child of your maidservant; you have loosed my bonds.

I will offer a sacrifice of praise and call on the name of the LORD.

I figure it works as well as anything else.  Having looked for a prayer with a Marian flavor, I liked the "child of your maidservant" bit. 

Anyway, I have a number of more prayers to add to the little book before it has everything I need on a daily basis, but it does seem like a good start, and I'm already using it regularly.  I'm totally going to recopy it more neatly, though, when I've got it all together.  Because that will be something I can do one of these days to put off actually praying.   Naturally.

Quick-takes style, Marian consecration edition.

1

I'm doing this seven quick takes thing because of my weird blogger's block.  I'm not actually going to bother with Mr. Linky.   Incidentally, another reader emailed me and said that she felt oddly introspective while doing the 33-day Montfortian consecration, and so it rang true that I am having trouble writing while doing it.

2

But this seems kind of strange to me, because (what with school starting and all) I can only do a wussy version of the consecration prep.  There's a little bit of reading, and a couple of prayers, both grabbed whenever I have time; a different focus in my spontaneous prayer throughout the day; a general attempt to turn from "the spirit of the world;" and I'm noticing more  frequently how often I screw up and prove myself a very worldly person.  The Montfort subroutine is running in the background of my real life.  Hasn't crashed the system yet.  

I'm aiming for Our Lady of the Holy Rosary, Oct. 7, or more likely, the next day, which is a Saturday when I can attend Mass and go to Confession.

3

After I read St. Louis de Montfort's True Devotion to Mary, I felt unsatisfied.  All the people who'd told me about it claimed it was this amazing, mindblowing work, but it didn't really ring with me.  Really, except for the explanation of the consecration itself, it all just seemed like a repeating string of assertions about Mary, little of which were new to me (but maybe they were new to the people he was writing to back then?) and none of which were backed up by any arguments that weren't themselves simple assertions.

"God in these times wishes his Blessed Mother to be more known, loved, and honoured than she has ever been."  Okay -- how do you know?  Why particularly in these times?  "God the Son imparted to his mother all that he gained by his life and death, namely, his infinite merits and his eminent virtues."  Where does that come from?  How do we know this?  

I think it is meant to be inspirational writing, rather than thought-provoking writing, and I am peculiarly un-susceptible to inspirational stuff.  

And lookie here what I found:

"Were I speaking to the so-called intellectuals of today, I would prove at great length by quoting Latin texts taken from Scripture and the Fathers of the Church all that I am now stating so simply.  I could also instance solid proofs... But I am speaking mainly for the poor and simple who have more good will and faith than the common run of scholars.  As they believe more simply and more  meritoriously, let me merely state the truth to them quite plainly."

Well, there's my problem.  I believe complexly and not quite so meritoriously, I guess.   Let me hope I can glorify God in my infirmity.

 

4

On the other hand, the idea of the consecration itself was thought-provoking and interesting.  So I went looking for more modern writers, less concerned about writing simply and plainly.  And I found a gem of an online book:  Mary in Our Life, by Rev. William C. Most.  It was written in the 1950s. The link goes to a table of contents that links to all the chapters, online, for free.  Much more my kind of "inspirational" writing.

5

This is the kind of Marian writing that makes the tops of Protestants' heads blow off.  The word "Co-Redemptrix" is bandied about, for example.  And as I read it, I found myself struggling with some of the concepts, precisely because of the Protestant, anti-Marian influence in American Christian culture.  It was very edifying, because intellectually, Father Most's arguments make a great deal of sense to me.  And yet the logical conclusion of his arguments suggests an attitude toward the Blessed Virgin that feels radical to me.  Deep down, it seems, I feel a sort of repulsion against fully embracing the idea of Mary as intercessor, which as I search my history seems can only have come from contact with American Protestantism.  I didn't even realize that I felt that internal repulsion until reading Fr. Most's arguments forced me to confront it.

 

6

At the same time, it's exciting to have read this, because it's the first time in a long while that I have had a theological concept of any kind to grapple with in a radically new way.  I think it's funny that the concept itself isn't particularly new, and is even uber-traditional.  But it's really blown my mind and I still have a lot to think about.

(And yes, I could write more details, but I am having trouble expressing them.)

 

7

Meanwhile, all sorts of odd little messages from outside seem to be finding their way to me, encouraging me to keep on with the Consecration such as I can.  I'm aware that human beings are great at finding patterns where really there is only random noise, and that it's unsurprising that if I'm thinking Marian thoughts, I would see signs everywhere (such as, having just prayed for discernment about whether to make the consecration, being handed a business card 15 minutes later, on which was printed a call to people to make a Marian consecration!  That was a fun example).

It's time for me to get back to work, and writing this has exhausted my creativity.  Have a great Friday!

Consecration bleg.

Would any of my readers like to comment on the class of devotions that are commonly known as the "Total Consecration to Jesus through Mary" or sometimes just the "Total Consecration to Mary?" I am discerning whether to make such a consecration and would be interested in hearing any experiences or insights about the nature of the devotion. I am not really sure I understand it, and though I get the impression that most folks enter into a deeper understanding of it as they go along, I am trying to take seriously the cautionary language l am seeing in some sources about the need for discernment first.

The most well-known form of the consecration under that name is, of course, the method of St. Louis de Montfort; but I have seen a couple of websites and books claiming that this is just one possible method, and that the same consecration can be enacted under one of several other methods, some of them being other well-known Marian devotions. The examples I have seen mentioned are the Sacred Heart devotion of St. Margaret Mary Alacoque; the Brown Scapular; and the Militia of the Immaculata consecration of St. Maximilian Kolbe.

I will maybe write more about my thoughts on this later -- I have read de Montfort's _True Devotion to Mary_ and some twentieth-century writings on the subject by Rev. William G. Most, and the experience has been thought-provoking to say the least -- but I thought first I would solicit comments from readers. Anyone?

Titles.

Simcha has a brief post up about images of Mary that aren't Mary.

There was a lively and fascinating discussion about portrayals of Mary a few weeks ago after Steven Graydanus’ post The Many Faces of Mary and after my response, Even More Faces of Mary.  It’s been a wonderful revelation to see how Mary is depicted in different cultures at different times—both in miraculous visions and as she appears through the lens of different cultural sensibilities.  This variation is, of course, a feature and not a bug:  the mother of us all is going to look different to different people, because we need her in different ways.

...Several commenters in my “Even More Faces” post made the point that the heartily despised new statue in the new L.A. cathedral doesn’t look like Mary, because it didn’t have the easily-identifiable signs of either humble virgin or exalted queen. 

I wasn’t actually crazy about that particular statue in itself, although it seemed okay to me.  What I liked about it was that it made me think about Mary in a slightly new way—a way which is often harder to access in more traditional imagery, which can be clouded in a haze of overly familiar symbology. It’s debatable whether or not that this unfamliarity made the image inappropriate as a feature in the sanctuary of the church—but I believe that, for private devotions, we can only benefit by looking for Mary everywhere in art, whether the artist had her in mind or not. 

I also rather like the pictured statue, even though it has been stripped of most of Mary's imageries that are particular to certain peoples, places, devotions, and times.

These statues and images can get quite specific:  she’s shown in a Carmelite habit, or wearing a traditional South American maternity belt, or with a lap full of harvested fruit, or holding a rosary, or breastfeeding the infant Jesus, or all in white, or all in blue, or… you get the picture.  Queen of Heaven, Queen of Martyrs, Immaculate Heart, Immaculate Conception, Daughter of Zion, Star of the Sea… so many particular titles.  And of course many of the parishes and cathedrals and basilicas dedicated to her are named after these titles.  It’s usually not just “St. Mary’s” but “Queen of Peace Parish” or “Immaculate Conception Parish.”

And maybe it was a mistake for Our Lady of the Angels to miss a chance to depict Mary, Queen of Angels.  Since that is her particular title in Los Angeles.

But I try never to forget that one of Mary’s most exalted titles is “Woman.” 

Remember who came up with that one?

It doesn’t have much in the way of “easily-identifiable” signs to it. 

Still... I have to say... wouldn’t “Our Lady, Woman” be an awesome name for a parish?  

 

Heart to heart.

Earlier this month I had a conversation with some other women in my parish about various devotions that one might take up.  I had been bemoaning how I can never make it through a novena without forgetting, and how I lack the courage to try going to daily Mass with the children, and that sort of thing.  And then I was reminded of the Five First Saturdays for reparation to the Immaculate Heart of Mary -- a devotion I hadn't really thought about in several years -- and I realized that I had absolutely no excuse not to at least try to make the FFS devotion, right now at exactly this point in my life.  

Because (a) Saturday mornings are a time when I can usually rely on Mark to care for the kids,

(b) I live within easy driving distance of a parish that actually has a Saturday morning daily Mass (even though, fyi, a Saturday night vigil Mass is sufficient for the devotion)

(c)  it's only five, how hard can that be, and

(d) maybe my situation will change soon and it'll suddenly get harder to make it to Mass on Saturday, who knows?

So I resolved to give it a shot on the very next first Saturday.  Which is today!

OK, so here I am, up and ready to head off to Mass.  And you know what I know now that I didn't realize until only a few hours ago?

It's the Feast of the Immaculate Heart of Mary!

Cool!

Now I really have no excuse.

Here's something I wrote on the same feast last year:

I think when we speak of a "heart" that can ponder, a "heart" that can love, we are speaking of something natural, embodied, enfleshed.  Often we speak of the flesh as being opposed to things of the spirit.  The flesh, our bodies, tempt us to turn away from spiritual goods and crave selfish things.  But haven't you noticed that our bodies tempt us to love as well?   We have natural inclinations (for example) to care for our offspring, hormones that surge to reward us for nursing our babies, that overflow into strength and aggression to help us defend them from harm.  Could that be the heart that loves -- the biochemical, physical mechanisms that urge us to lay down our lives for the ones we are attached to, that urge us to attach to each other in the first place? 

A body that tempts us to love:  could this be the "heart" we mean?

If so... this is a kind of love unknown to the angels -- a kind of love unknown to the universe before the advent of the human race.  God MADE this kind of love,  the love of the human heart; He did not possess it according to God's eternal nature.  Father, Son, Holy Spirit had no heart, no body with which to love as bodies love.

At least not until the Incarnation.

It is interesting to think that upon the Incarnation the Son of God received for the first time a nature through which He could be tempted by Satan in the desert.  Through that nature He could also, for the first time, be tempted by the flesh to love.  God's love is perfect and always was perfect; and yet in creating human beings He created a kind of love that He did not possess, and that He only made his own upon His conception.  Think of the baby relaxing into his mother's arms; of the frightened toddler fleeing to the safety of his father's side; the grown man in justified anger, driving corruption from his Father's house; oxytocin, cortisol, testosterone; the heart, the body tempted to act in love.

Odd, but true: that even though the Son of God, being eternal, pre-dates the Mother of God, in a sense is His mother's own creator; but Mary's heart pre-dates the Sacred Heart.  All that it is truly came from her.  And so to take a pious formula -- to "flee to the shelter of the Immaculate  Heart of Mary" is to say, Shelter me where you sheltered the Lord; form my heart in the womb where the Sacred Heart learned to beat.

Have a blessed Feast (and, in the USA, a safe and fun holiday weekend.)

Happy Nativity of Mary!

I went for the chocolate and almond cake after all.

Man, I'm a bad photographer.  But you can blame my sneaky little children's fingers for the smears of icing around the edge of the plate.  I told them they couldn't touch the cake, but they interpreted that to mean they could touch the plate and any icing that might be on it.

We have a chocolate-almond butter cake with chocolate buttercream-yogurt frosting --- really I think I should call it chocolate butter-yogurt frosting, it hasn't any cream --  a little red decorator's sugar, a little coconut, a little melted chocolate and a few blanched almonds.

I will provide a recipe if we decide it is tasty!  And I will try a Tres Leches cake next time we have a Marian feast, I think, because I thought that was just a great idea (and I've never made one and would like to try.)

P. S.  I never did manage to make dinner.  Leftover night!  (plus cake.)

Hearts of flesh.

I wrote this some time ago and didn't polish it, and haven't time to do so today, but I thought I'd put it up for its timeliness, as today is the Feast of the Immaculate Heart of Mary.

* *  *

I will take your heart of stone and put a new heart of flesh within you. (Ezekiel 36:26)

And Mary kept all these things, reflecting on them in her heart. (Luke 2:19)

And a sword shall pierce through your own heart.  (Luke 2:35)

- - -

I am fond of Ezekiel 36:26 and use its language in petition whenever I need to tap into reserves of compassion I don't naturally possess.   I think we all intuitively grasp the meaning of the term "heart" in that passage -- it's not a literal reference to a blood-pumping organ, obviously, and we English speakers are surely familiar with the word "heart" to symbolize emotions, or love, or vitality, or the embedded core of something real or abstract.  And yet...  Are the English associations the ones meant by references to "heart" in Scripture and Tradition?  Why does Mary ponder in her "heart" and not in her mind?  Why does Simeon prophesy "And your own heart" [sometimes "soul" but often "heart"] "a sword shall pierce"? .  Why is there a pious devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, to the Immaculate Heart of Mary?  What is this "heart?"

Set aside what we moderns know about anatomy and physiology.  The ancients knew this much:  the heart is a bodily organ, necessary for bodily life, an organ in constant motion as long as the body lives.  Even if the "heart" has a symbolic meaning, representing capacity to love, or an inner core of the self in some way -- there is something fleshly about it. 

If so, it's quite different from the mind and from the will.  We believe that even dis-embodied persons -- angels, the souls of the dead, God the Father -- have a mind and a will, and therefore are capable of knowing and of loving. So if it's the mind that knows -- how can Mary ponder the mystery of her son
in her heart?  If love is an act of the will and not a feeling -- why do we represent the Sacred Heart burning with love? 

I think when we speak of a "heart" that can ponder, a "heart" that can love, we are speaking of something natural, embodied, enfleshed.  Often we speak of the flesh as being opposed to things of the spirit.  The flesh, our bodies, tempt us to turn away from spiritual goods and crave selfish things.  But
haven't you noticed that our bodies tempt us to love as well?   We have natural inclinations (for example) to care for our offspring, hormones that surge to reward us for nursing our babies, that overflow into strength and aggression to help us defend them from harm.  Could that be the heart that
loves -- the biochemical, physical mechanisms that urge us to lay down our lives for the ones we are attached to, that urge us to attach to each other in the first place? 

A body that tempts us to love:  could this be the "heart" we mean?

If so... this is a kind of love unknown to the angels -- a kind of love unknown to the universe before the advent of the human race.  God MADE this kind of love,  the love of the human heart; He did not possess it according to God's eternal nature.  Father, Son, Holy Spirit had no heart, no body with which to love as bodies love.

At least not until the Incarnation.

It is interesting to think that upon the Incarnation the Son of God received for the first time a nature through which He could be tempted by Satan in the desert.  Through that nature He could also, for the first time, be tempted by the flesh to love.  God's love is perfect and always was perfect; and yet in
creating human beings He created a kind of love that He did not possess, and that He only made his own upon His conception.  Think of the baby relaxing into his mother's arms; of the frightened toddler fleeing to the safety of his father's side; the grown man in justified anger, driving corruption from his Father's house; oxytocin, cortisol, testosterone; the heart, the body tempted to act in love.

Odd, but true: that even though the Son of God, being eternal, pre-dates the Mother of God, in a sense is His mother's own creator; but Mary's heart pre-dates the Sacred Heart.  All that it is truly came from her.  And so to take a pious formula -- to "flee to the shelter of the Immaculate  Heart of Mary" is to say, Shelter me where you sheltered the Lord; form my heart in the womb where the Sacred Heart learned to beat.

Heart:  the body that tempts us to love.