Mariology – Feminism and Religion

Mary as Sister, Trickster, and Mother by Elanur Williams

The road to the House of the Virgin winds through the hills, a thin ribbon of light. Nestled on Mount Koressos (also known as Bülbüldağı, Turkish for “Mount Nightingale”) near Ephesus, its discovery in the late nineteenth century was inspired by the visions recorded in The Life of the Blessed Virgin Mary by mystic Anne Catherine Emmerich, whose descriptions led priests to identify the small stone dwelling she saw in her revelations. Although the Bible is unclear about Mary’s later life, passages such as John 19:26–27, in which Jesus entrusts his mother to the Apostle John, lend narrative weight to the belief that she followed him; whether to Ephesus or elsewhere, this is a matter of faith and ongoing historical debate. For many, the House is a place of pilgrimage and serves as a symbol of interfaith devotion across centuries. At the wishing wall, candles and paper flutter in the breeze, small, tangled petitions to the divine. I feel my own within my heart as I light a candle among the others, its black wick catching the wind.

Re-Imaging Three Marys by Janet Sunderland

The recent #metoo movement, along with young women entering Congress, has pointed to an important question. Why, in this 21^st Century, are these achievements remarkable? Why has it taken so long for women to be recognized as capable for these positions? One possible reason is the Christian mythology around women. However, to recreate the way women are viewed, we must re-imagine the women who have been standard-bearers for two thousand years.

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Between Mother Mary and Mother God: It’s a Mystery!

“It’s a mystery!” was the repeated response my mother gave to me whenever I asked her theological questions that fell outside the realm of the Catholic Baltimore Catechism. To be fair, my questions were usually a bit precocious for a young child, but who are we kidding, I was a rather strange and overly religious kid. My idea of a good time was kneeling before our three-foot statue of the Virgin Mary as our family recited our Lenten rosary. And while my brothers were contorting themselves into positions that would qualify for Cirque de Soleil, I was piously straight and focused. Mary was my pathway to the big three, The Father, The Son and The Holy Ghost. And while I knew I was suppose to desire the Three-in-One, they did not hold the same sway over me as the Mary who stood atop the world while crushing Satan in the form of a snake. My love for Jesus was more a sense of obligation for the unfair rap he had to endure while on earth, the Great Sacrifice for the sin of Adam and Eve. My image of God as a not-so-nice-Father-to-his-only-Son sealed itself into my consciousness early on. “Why,” I would ask my mother, “if God is love would he insist on such a bloody and painful sacrifice for a sin that honestly does not seem so bad.” You guessed it, “It’s a mystery!” was her response.

But I have since come to learn that it’s not a mystery, but rather a matter of shifting the theological lens from an abusive Father to a God who has been totally misrepresented. A God who is both unnameable and pronounceable. Who offers us the mystery of God’s self in every single seen and unseen element of the earth and cosmos. But still, that does not always work for me. I need more. In times of heartache or sorrow I need an image with skin and bones and a heart that is larger than my pain. I need a Creator God that will rock me back and forth, soothing my fears and yes, even caressing my face with cool breaths that remind me I will survive this latest insult to life. In these times I know what God is not. I know God is not a rock, or a wispy tuft of air. God is not the mighty King on high able to judge my enemies. Nor is God a warrior who kicks ass over the unrighteous. God is my Mother. Maybe this is why Mary has always worked for me. Maybe she never really was the mediator between Them and me, she is Them. Theologically I may be on shaky ground, but the mystery between Mary as Mother and Mother God is one I know, not one I can defend. And it is one that continues to sustain and let me know that I am never too old to be held in the Mother’s embrace.