bearing blog

I mentioned a few posts ago that I had recently read a thought-provoking book about the role of the Blessed Mother. The book is _Mary in our Life_ by Fr. William Most, and it can be read for free online here: http://www.catholicculture.org/culture/library/most/getwork.cfm?worknum=213

The book treats a number of aspects of Marian theology that I had poorly understood. I took notes while I was reading it. And found myself keeping two lists: one of Catholic dogmas concerning Mary, some of which I never really “got” before this; and a second list of conjectures, not dogmatically declared by the church, but which we are permitted to believe and which Fr. Most argues for in his book.

So, for example, on my first list was written something like “Mary has the title ‘Mediatrix of All Graces,” and “Christ is the New Adam,” and “The Fathers refer to Mary as the New Eve,” and “Mary co-operated at least remotely in the sacrifice on Calvary by willingly being the Mother of the Redeemer.” On the second list I had “Because Mary is the New Eve, it is fitting that she would have participated on Calvary through her willing offering of her Son in the Sacrifice on Calvary, and so the sacrifice on Calvary is a joint offering. Her Son is the victim, and she it is who provides the flesh of the victim for the sacrifice.”

The church does not call Mary “co-Redemptrix,” possibly because no one can merit that title, but also possibly because the time is not ripe for her to bear it. There was a time before the Church called her the Immaculate Conception, after all.

Father Most’s arguments are compelling, even though I am not sure whether I feel comfortable saying I am convinced by them. As I wrote before, this is the kind of stuff that upsets Protestants, and that we Catholics can get instinctively uneasy about because we know it is going to be tricky to explain to people already wary of Mary in our lives.

I have been turning the arguments over and over in my mind, though, and seeing other angles. Most of his arguments have to do with seeing a parallel between the Fall and the Redemption, a parallel which he insists the Church Fathers saw clearly. The thesis is that as Christ is the New Adam, there must be a New Eve, and Mary is that Eve; that Mary’s obedience all the way to Calvary is a participation in the Redemption, and that it is the parallel of Eve’s disobedience which was a participation in the Fall.

I find that one reason I recoil from this is that it seems at first glance to give Mary far more responsibility for the Atonement than even Christ bore! But then I realize that this comes from the old feeling that it was Eve, not Adam, who “started it all.” Certainly historically the woman has been blamed more often than the man for the way the story goes.

But Father Most notes that the early church understood that Eve’s disobedience alone was insufficient to cause the Fall — that her disobedience was a participation, but a subordinate participation in the fall of the human family. It was Adam who ought to have led in obedience, and instead he followed in disobedience, and that was in a way the primary and sufficient disobedience to seal the Fall. So, as Eve’s disobedience was secondary and insufficient, Mary’s obedience and offering was also subordinate to Christ’s. The least offering of Jesus would have been sufficient to redeem us; but it pleased God to accept a total gift of self from Him, and it also pleased God (says Father Most, at least I am trying to paraphrase) to accept as part of the Redemption a secondary offering, the willing suffering of the Blessed Mother.

I hope this intrigues you as much as it intrigued me! Again, this is not an officially declared dogma of the Church. It isn’t something that we must believe. I find myself meditating quite a bit on the “what if?” of this idea. If this is a true explication of the role of Mary, how does this change how we understand Christ’s sacrifice? What do the Gospels’ depiction of the mother and Son seem to say about this possibility? What is its effect on me?

I had an insight the other day that turned me a little more favorably towards the idea. I often like to think about the image of God as a community of persons: the Trinity is a community of persons, and so are a number of human situations that image God. A marriage is a community of persons, for example. Only when you have a community of persons can there be love. And it occurred to me that if there is a joint offering on Calvary — if there is a Co-Redemptrix as well as a Redeemer — then there is a community of suffering on Calvary, too.

I thought: yes, Jesus’s suffering was sufficient to redeem us. Still, maybe it is more fitting for God to accept a total suffering that is more than what one person can offer. And isn’t it true that to watch another suffer — especially someone we love — is itself a kind of suffering? We know that Mary was on Calvary; we know she suffered, beholding her son; we know that he saw her suffering below. There is a sort of infinite recursion there: I suffer because of your suffering because of my suffering… Put it that way and it seems easier to grasp an idea of what “co-Redemptrix” might mean. The love between the two strengthens and sharpens the sacrifice. Without Mary the sacrifice is still sufficient. But perhaps because she is there the sacrifice is more total, more of what humanity has to offer of itself. Jesus’ suffering was more complete because he witnessed her presence suffering with him. And if her suffering was willingly accepted, then, could it not be in some way an immediate participation, a cooperation, in the redemption on Calvary?

I don’t know if it is an effect of the Montfortian consecration prep or not, but I seem to be drawn more strongly to the Rosary these days.

The Rosary has never captivated me. “To each their own,” I would say, “the Rosary is nice, but it’s the Divine Office I love.” I prayed the Rosary once in a while, and when I did, I truly got something out of it, every time. I was always glad afterwards. But I would never have said that I loved it, or that it had changed my life, the way that some people do. And I never looked forward to it, or felt that it fed me.

Lately it seems different. I don’t pick up the beads every day, but I find myself wanting to at odd moments (sometimes when there isn’t time). I got to Mass early this morning and borrowed my daughter’s clunky blue plastic rosary to use while we waited. Most of the time I can never get five decades in before Mass, even if we arrive quite early, because of squirrelly kids. Today it happened that Mark had the baby and the five- and seven-year-olds were interested in their books, and so I prayed all five decades, finishing the Salve Regina as the processional hymn started up.

Do you find that you begin each mystery thinking about it the same way every time? I do. The Ascension, for me, begins always by meditating on the Scripture verse, “This Jesus who is taken up from heaven shall return in the same way you have seen him go.” (paraphrasing from memory). And, for another example, the mystery of finding Jesus in the temple begins with a meditation on the idea I have that Mary must have thought the twelve-year-old was with Joseph and the men, and Joseph must have thought he was with Mary and the women and children.

Even though I always begin the same way, the meditations can take me in very different directions once I start. That is some thing that I find pretty cool about it. I keep expecting to run out of new (to me) thoughts about them, but I almost never do. I mean, not for all five mysteries each time do I think a new thought, but almost every time there is something new there.

Today, on the Ascension, I thought that maybe the “in the same way that you have seen him go” mainly means “don’t expect him to come the way he came the first time, born again as a helpless baby.” And that this maybe is connected to the identity of Mary as mother of God, because the flesh she gave him is sufficient for eternity. But another time, I found myself wondering why this particular event was marked by angels, and not others.

The last time I thought about the finding of Jesus in the temple, I wondered if the doctrine of her sinlessness meant that losing Jesus must have been Joseph’s fault, or if they could both have made honest mistakes. But another time I thought about how it will not be long before I have a twelve-year-old, and how that is an age when many parents fear they are “losing” their children, and what a comfort the story could be to such parents.

Do you start each mystery the same way? What strange places have they taken you?