~ by guest writer Lauren Bishop-Weidner who says: I am essentially a kept woman who loves words, though I do have a day job teaching writing. I live with my family near Muncie, Indiana, the birthplace of Ball canning jars and home to Ball State University. I don’t have some big important Truth to share, just little tidbits and nuggets and foibles. At its best, I like to think my writing is grace-filled, like the U2 line from their song by that name: “She carries a pearl, in perfect condition / What once was hurt, what once was friction.” I hope you’ll find pearls and not pebbles in my writing. Website: www.laurenbishopweidner.com
"The Little Madonna" by Roberto Feruzzi (year 1854)
Roberto Ferruzzi’s painting known as the Madonna of the Streets has an appealing grit to it. This Mary is not the beatific, blue-robe-clad, halo-wearing, ageless beauty we so often see in paintings. Ferruzzi portrays a very young, slightly defiant, earthy girl—a teen mother. You might see her at the mall, or on the subway, with that same edge of desperation, twinge of rebellion, core of strength. She and the little one will carry on.
That is the Mary I believe in. She makes sense to me—a woman, a girl really, at the beginning. Strip away the rose-colored nostalgia, the cute kids in homemade Nativity pageants, the legends, and think about the biblical account (Matthew 1:18-19; Luke 1:28-33). The poor girl has a bad dream, where a big scary guy she doesn’t know comes in and tells her she’s going to have a baby. That’s the Blessed Announcement? “Hey Mary, you’re going to wake up pregnant. God has chosen you—you’re going to be famous! Aren’t you lucky?” Say what? I mean, no offense, Mr. Angel, the wings are really cool, but a baby?
Mary’s response, though, is one of grace: “My soul magnifies the Lord.” This young girl, knowing that her pregnancy could get her stoned to death, knowing that at the very least it will cause a scandal and embarrass her family, knowing that her fiancé would be within his rights to break the engagement—knowing the consequences, Mary says yes.
This is a woman who can do. Shortly after her rather unorthodox marriage, Mary rides a donkey to Bethlehem. Have you ever ridden a donkey? I haven’t, but I’ve ridden a lot of horses. The smaller they are, the bumpier they are, and a donkey is the size of a pony. Mary is pregnant, and far along. Suffice it to say, ouch.
One of my husband’s favorite jokes involves the line, “And Mary rode Joseph’s ass all the way to Bethlehem.” Yeah. I’ll bet she did. Once at their destination, there’s no place to stay, so she ends up in a barn, with critters and hay and dirt. Joseph is a good guy, too, worthy of more time than I’m giving him. He is, after all, the one who cons the innkeeper into letting them stay in the barn, which certainly beats yet another night camping out in the open. And he is loyal to Mary, too, standing up to the gossip, holding her hand through the dark night, despite the nagging questions that surely plague him.
Mary bears Jesus, with the support of Joseph and the God who has sustained her. He is born in the same way you and I were. It is messy, bloody, scary. And it is a miracle.
The story of the virgin birth is specifically Christian, but Mary’s appeal is far broader. Mary says yes. In a world where she was oppressed for her ethnic background as well as her gender, a world where she could be executed for fornication and divorced for far lesser crimes—in this world, Mary says yes.
Courage, strength, fortitude, confidence . And grace. We can look to that model of womanhood.
A tear
on the edge
of forgiveness
gleams in her eye
And I am pierced by
rays of light
invisible*
*(Tom Ewing, from “Lux Invisibile”, used by permission)
