tuesday offering: mary probably knew

a reflection on mary and an original poem

I grew up in the Evangelical South so around Christmas time (what even is Advent?) we would hear the Christmas story revamped to show a new attribute of the miracle that was Christ’s coming into the world. Friends, this is legitimate. The miracle of the child God is mind blowing every day of the week, but in this story, the person that was always (and I mean always) glossed over, was Mary.

Mary who received a message. Mary who was blindly obedient. Mary who was a vessel and a very nice girl. Sweet little innocent Mary. Thank you for your service. You may go now.

I lost sweet time getting to know Mary and there’s a lot to unpack about her. I have Orthodox friends that swear up and down that she was also immaculately conceived and from a young age lived at the temple until she came of age (which is where Joseph comes in). My Baptist friends would raise eyebrows at this and probably call it heresy to assume anyone other that Jesus was immaculately conceived, and would then politely put her in her place as the mother of the son of God. Just a vessel, albeit a very special one.

I’m not trying to stir up any controversy and like the “good” Anglican that I am, I think that Mary’s actual story lies somewhere in the middle. I do know this–two years ago I asked Mary to pray for me through a Novena, and I am certain she did. During this time of grief and confusion I asked for her to bring my petitions to her son (which I was also doing) and I felt her kind hand reach over the table and hold mine.

“Of course,” she would say to me.

The post nap nap, in which Sam comes out, screams at me, then falls asleep like this for at least another half hour. I love it.

The answer I received from the petitions we both took to Christ were so clear that they felt like a ball pein hammer hitting me over the head. I couldn’t miss it. Mary taught me that asking the saints to pray for me was in no way a waste of time.

That time had me wondering about her and who she was before she was Mary, mother of Christ. I wondered what she was like as a child, a young teen. And then, after the annunciation, who she was molded into. Maybe she was Mary, the girl who previously loved to wake with the sun and walk barefoot through herb gardens so her feet would smell sweet and fresh. Mary, the girl who was easy to make laugh. Mary, the girl who disliked the taste of lamb and could make a mean loaf of bread.

I doubt that Mary ever thought of herself much before or during her time as Jesus’ mother, but I do know she wasn’t exempt from being a “typical mom”. She lost her young son and showed up to the temple relieved and questioning him (yes, she questioned God). What on Earth was he doing there? Why did you leave?! Nowhere in that passage did it say that Mary and Joseph looked for Jesus with cool heads and confidence until they happened upon him at the temple.

“Oh, that boy of ours! Of course he was at his (F)ather’s house. Obviously! Next time we’ll look there first. Jesus, would you like a snack?”

Nope. This is not how it went. And I like that it didn’t. She knew that losing her son was huge. She panicked. She questioned his choice to “wander away”. HIS choice. She knew finding him, keeping him safe, and loving him well were important. Because she knew who He was.

Mary did you know? Yeah. On some level, she sure as heck did. Mary was no sweet little Hebrew ninny. She was not some random virgin picked from a lineup. She was God’s choice to raise His son. She was more than a vessel because Jesus was more than a cut flower.

I don’t know much about who Mary was before, during, or after Christ, but I do know she was a woman, raising a very special boy, and that is something I can relate to. I do know what it is like to lose your identity in raising a child. Obviously I don’t handle parenting as selflessly as Mary probably did, but I do know something about having a child in my arms that was both fully mine, and fully not mine.

A while back, I wrote a poem about my experience of losing my identity to being a mom. It’s a tug-of-war and I struggle with my selfish heart while parenting every day, but it is an absolute honor to take a backseat to “me” if that means my child will thrive. I don’t know Mary’s full story, but I know her son’s, and I’m thankful to her for loving him well.

Mary, by Scott Erickson, featured in his book “Honest Advent”

Fully

I see now that I can’t be fully me
not anymore, not for a while at least—
To be fully yours, I can’t be me
and it is, what it is.
It is lovely and good and hard for me, you see:
I’ve only ever been mine, and I have often squandered it.

My me-ness, that is.

Oh, but to be fully yours so you can become fully you:
To watch you blossom
and burst into flame and
become a cosmic star.
An all consuming fire of beauty and love.
What a perfect apocalypse you are!
An infinite alpha to my temporary omega.

I wonder if I’ll miss me.
If in the shower, I’ll numbly scrub suds over bones unknown
and step out, staring startled into the mirror.
“Oh!” She might say.
“Who’s that there?
Do we know her?”
When that she is me and yes, we used to,
even if for a second.

Maybe at night, when you’re fast asleep,
dreaming your tiger-light-speed dreams
she’ll see a shimmer in her teacup
and for a warmed minute,

remember.

Always,
Emily

real life moment: this was written after another successful therapy appointment. I don’t think Mary or Jesus ever went to therapy, but I think they’re glad that we do.