WHOA.
I've just finished reading Looking for Mary: (Or, the Blessed Mother and Me) by Beverly Donofrio. This was a recommendation I found via Pinkshoes' reading recommendation list...I took that list to library and requested a bunch of the books on it and oh, my, how my reading life has grown in depth, richness, interest. How many murder mysteries can one gal take!?
Seems very timely that Mary would show up in this amazing book just when I am thinking so intently about Mary this Advent.
I am going to need to re-read this book at least once (I read very, very fast and miss a lot). Because this book aroused in me, several times, the reaction of "What!?" or "You've got to be kidding!" and I need to get past that.
Let me explain. My basic theory on culture (after 20 years working in international education) is that culture is what we say, "Of course!" about.
So, the Protestant religious culture I was raised in says, "Of course Jesus Loves Me! The Bible tells me so!" One of my dearest religious images (I suppose it's an icon) is a wonderful wooden puzzle-style Good Shepherd that I have had for many years. The lamb is a wooden cutout that fits snugly in the middle of the Jesus block. And just that way, in my mind, Jesus is looking for me all the time, and when He finds me, (and I am willing to be found) I fit just perfectly into his loving arms. He has a place made just for me.
Beverly, on the other hand, was raised in a religious culture that told her Jesus and God were mad at her, and she'd better check in with Mary, who would intercede on her behalf. "I'm highly resistant to adoring Jesus..." she says. "Why would I want to adore someone who tortured me in childhood?"
furthermore...
I have no trouble believing in miracles and miraculous healings. I grew up with that stuff to an extent. The Holy Spirit was the main figure there, and Jesus. Mary was NOT mentioned.
In the book, Beverly has completed an NPR documentary on Marian sites in the US (as a skeptic and lapsed Catholic) and then takes a Mary miracle tour to Medugorje and through Southern Italy. The miracles that are described at those sites are truly amazing. The scent of roses, associated with Mary, follows her everywhere. She finds through the trip (which is NOT all roses!) a real connection with Mary and with her faith. She makes her first confession and takes her first Holy Communion in 35 years.
Varieties of Religious Experience, indeed.
Back to my life...
This afternoon we had a wonderful English Christmas Tea at church, put on by a number of British and Australian ladies in the congregation. This is the 14th year for the Tea, but my first. I am so happy that my mom was able to join me for it! We had crackers with paper crowns and toys; we had an insane amount of delicious food: cucumber sandwiches; ham sandwiches with horseradish; egg salad and chicken salad and who knows what; scones and clotted cream and jam; mincemeat pies; lemon curd pies; liquorice allsorts; sausage biscuits...wonderful! And the tea kept coming.
Each table had a "mum" who was in charge of pouring out the tea (that was me!), which was interesting because the tea was "real tea," that is, loose tea that had to be poured out into each cup through a strainer. I was instructed that the milk went in FIRST before the tea, if people liked it with milk. Definitely a cultural experience!
Our Rector and his wife were there briefly, but left early as she was very tired. She begins chemotherapy tomorrow. She shared with the group before they left that she had been at the doctor's last week (having the mediport installed, I think) feeling very scared, and then felt a great wave of peace come over her as she felt us all praying for her.
The power of prayer, indeed. Miracles, to be sure. Way bigger than I can understand, and coming from lots more places than I can imagine at this point.
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