Kitchen Catechism: Featured Articles
by Lois Donahue
It took time for me to understand how the graying of Mary’s hair could become such a comforting part of my deep devotion to her.
The reason is, that for as long as I can remember, I had thought of Mary as a “young” woman...which indeed she was and that was visually evidenced in everything from children’s Holy Cards to priceless museum pieces.
From the time I was a small child on into grade school Mary was, for me, first and foremost the mother of Jesus and not only my picture books but the figured lady kneeling beside every Christmas Nativity manger showed me she was “young”.
That young woman moved with me into the next rather lengthy span of my life which stretched into my forties. Those were the years during which I really came to know Mary -- probably because that was when I learned so much more about her.
It was also when I discovered “my” Mary was (and remains) a blend. She is both my “pedestal” Mary and my “once walked this earth” Mary. In the first instance, I have indeed placed her on a pedestal because I have come to know and venerate her as the awe-inspiring “Mother of God” who reigns as “Queen of Heaven”.
Now, my “once walked this earth” Mary requires more explanation. It was during that same timeframe of my life that I learned about God sending Mary back down to speak to us through ordinary people at actual find-it-on-the-map places like Guadalupe, Fatima and Lourdes.
While the artistic portrayals I saw of that Mary may have caused me to cling to my concept of her as somehow ageless, they also helped give a human heartbeat to the paper and picture Mary of Nazareth, Bethlehem, Cana and Jerusalem. It was like first meeting someone and yet feeling you’d known them, and known them well, for a long, long time.
From then on I took great comfort in her humanness. Praying became more like talking to her and I did that often. I never hesitated to come to her with my joys and sorrows, hopes and dreams, accomplishments and disappointments.
When I was in my teens, I knew she could identify with much I was feeling because she, too, had been a teenager. The same was true as I lived through my twenties and thirties. Even in my early forties I was content in thinking that “young” Mary and I remained kindred spirits in terms of age although there was only one person, namely myself, who still thought of me as “young”.
Oh, I was always aware that there were great obvious differences between us but they seemed at least partially counter balanced by the basic sameness we shared. After all, as female children of God it seemed quite natural that we would have many of the same kinds of thoughts and feelings as each of us daily encountered life. I never doubted for a minute that she could “relate” to what I was either enjoying or struggling with and consequently, she could “understand”.
For sure I had found a very real “been there, done that” friend. But then, somewhere in time, it happened. I can’t pin point exactly when but most likely it was the day I first put on bifocals and got a good clear look at myself in the mirror. Staring back at me was a woman old enough to be the mother, or possibly even the grandmother, of “my” Mary. That I’d aged was no big surprise. I’d already had the menopause introduction to “Senior Moments”.
What bothered me more than anything was a disturbing sense of impending loss...of something or someone slipping away. I guess the real shock was that I had out-aged my Mary. Our “sameness” seemed gone. I asked myself how my spirit might be willing to think young but the flesh would be slowing, sagging and in need of naps? Fortunately it didn’t take long for a benevolent Holy Spirit to reactivate my common sense.
Thanks to Him, I faced the fact that God had chosen to create Mary a human being so, like all of us, she, too, entered into the process of aging at the moment of her birth. I could think of no logical reason to believe God intended that His mother remain “forever young”. Next came another reality. Mary would certainly have been no more than 16 when Jesus was born so, when He died at 33, she would have been pushing 50.
Now, in any human timeframe that is certainly not young. Fifty is more often than not the age when skin wrinkles and hair grays. “My” Mary 50? I have to admit, it took a bit of time for me to be comfortable with that. But I did - and then I began trying to recall what, if anything, I knew of Mary’s life after her son died. Truthfully, I hadn’t really paid close attention.
However, I did remember the Bible saying that after the Ascension she prayed with the Apostles and some other women. I also remembered seeing a picture in which the artist evidently believed she was with the Apostles at Pentecost. But the thing most revealing for me was that, from the cross, Jesus placed His mother in the care of His Apostle, John.
The thought crossed my mind that perhaps that might have been an indication she would remain on earth for at least some period of time. Oh yes, and from somewhere in my cluttered brain came the memory of reading that there had been speculation that sometime later Mary moved with John to Ephesus. Well, by that time, whether Mary lived on this earth another ten or fifteen years, or lived to be 84 like Anna from the temple, really didn’t matter because I was too busy feeling foolish.
First, for never having taken the time to think about Mary being anything but “young” and then, since I hadn’t done that, letting myself feel I was losing her because “she couldn’t possibly understand what it was to grow older”. Right about then I could just imagine “my” Mary shaking her head at my foolishness while at the same time smiling.
The smile would have been her way of reminding me that she was still here, still as loving and caring as ever, still as ready to listen, as able to understand and as willing to help. I smiled back because I couldn’t help but notice -- her hair was graying.
Most likely all of us will come to know Mary somewhat differently. Who she is for us and what she means to us depends on things we know about her, on things we feel about her and often on things we may simply come to assume and, in turn, believe about her. My hope is that each of you, regardless of your age, will never forget that a very real Mary, in the very real past, lived on this very real earth just as you do.