The Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary

On December 8, we celebrate the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Blessed Pope Pius IX formally proclaimed Mary’s Immaculate Conception in 1854—that God preserved her from the stain of original sin.

Between February 11 and July 16 of 1858, fourteen-year-old Bernadette Soubirous (now a Saint) began having visions of a beautiful Lady in Lourdes, France. On March 25, Bernadette asked the Lady who she was at the urging of her parish priest. The reply which came forth, “I am the Immaculate Conception,” meant nothing to Bernadette, who’d never heard of this dogma proclaimed less than four years prior.  Notice that Our Lady of Lourdes did not say, “I am immaculately conceived.” In perfect humility, Mary defined herself entirely by proclaiming the work of God in her soul.

The Immaculate Conception
by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo
(c. 1767-1769)  

Why was this revelation to Bernadette, a simple, sickly girl, and not some great theologian? Perhaps because God, in His infinite wisdom, rarely chooses as we would expect.

As I ponder what Mary as “Immaculate Conception” means to me in my day to day existence, I must back up to the very beginning of the story of salvation history—all the way back to the “garden.” God created Adam and Eve in an unblemished state to enjoy an intimate relationship with Him directly. At some point, the first couple chose self-indulgence over obedience to God, thereby separating themselves, and all of creation, from God’s plan of perfect harmony and introducing death. We have inherited the rotten fruit of our first parent’s choice (original sin) and thus bear an inborn tendency toward sin (concupiscence) and inevitable death.

After the fall, God the Father’s perfect plan redeemed us from eternal death through the sacrifice of His Son, the God-Man, Jesus Christ, which brings me to His Mother Mary. At the moment of her conception, the good fruit of Christ’s redemption was imputed to her by a “singular” grace. (CCC 491) It is important to note that Mary had to be redeemed, just like us, as she is fully human, sharing our nature but “full of grace” sufficient to allow God to “tabernacle” within her womb. However, unlike us, Mary is uniquely holy, never made a single choice of self over obedience to God.

Baptism washes away original sin–but not our concupiscence. If Mary was free from original sin, was she also free from concupiscence as we are? Since the twelfth century, Catholic theologians have universally agreed that Mary was free from sin her entire life. St. Thomas Aquinas maintained that, at the time of Mary’s conception, concupiscence was present but bound—never actualized. Further, that only when Mary conceived Christ in her womb was concupiscence wholly removed. (Summa Theologica, 3, q. 27, a. 3) If so, then can we then still look to Mary as our model for holiness? And if her only Son was perfect, can she love a sinner-daughter like me?

Mary has been called the “Reparatrix” for her part in the divine plan to “untie” (or repair) the “knot” of Adam and Eve’s disobedience.  As the “new” Eve, Mary is my “supermodel” of holiness and obedience. I rejoice that God’s pinnacle of creation was a woman and that His plan of redemption required her “Yes.”  Adam and Eve were free from original sin, yet they weren’t able to give that 100% “Yes” to all that God asked of them, as did Mary.

God desires to integrate us into the communion of love called the Trinity. Mary has a special relationship with each Person of the Trinity. She is the daughter of God the Father, the Mother of God the Son, and the spouse of the Holy Spirit¹. Every single woman alive, regardless of her vocation in life, is mirrored through at least one of Mary’s relationships with the Persons of the Trinity.

Mary’s Immaculate Heart is intimately bound by mutual love to the Sacred Heart of her Son. When we place ourselves under Mary’s mantle, she leads us directly to her Son. Her perfect humility reflects all glory back to God. Just as the moon has no light of its own and reflects only the light of the sun, Mary reflects the light of the Holy Spirit. Oh, if we could all proclaim, “My soul magnifies the Lord!” as did Mary.

By meditating on the Mysteries of the Rosary, I have deepened my relationship with and admiration of Mary. Freedom from the nastiness of original sin didn’t preserve Mary from pain or suffering, any more than it spared her Son. I know that I can run to her for intercessory help.

Mary experienced the trauma of an out-of-wedlock pregnancy that required an angel’s intervention to put Joseph at ease with its scandal. Mary and Joseph experienced horror at losing their twelve-year-old Son in a big city. I doubt that Mary fully understood what God asked of her at the Annunciation and throughout her life with a precocious and miraculous son like Jesus. Mary, like all young Jewish women, knew that the Messiah would come from a virgin birth, but only time would unravel the meaning that the Messiah would be something other than a political king. At the Annunciation, the angel said, “and his kingdom will rule forever.”  As Mary witnessed her Son’s passion and death, she never faltered in her trust that God knew what He was doing.

That is the kind of trust that I want for myself!  Mary is my go-to saint of “All the Right Choices,” “Unfailing Trust,” and “Perfect Humility.” She loves me despite my many bad choices, or when I’ve lost heart too quickly, or stumble over my pride.  Christ bequeathed His Mother to us as she stood at the foot of the Cross. Consider accepting her spiritual motherhood.  She is the mother who always knows best. 

1. See https://saintmaximiliankolbe.com/who-are-you-o-immaculate-conception/ for more on Mary as the spouse of the Holy Spirit.

The Feast of Our Lady of Sorrows

September 15th is the Feast of Our Lady of Sorrows. My favorite image of Our Lady of Sorrows is “Dolorosa,” painted by Bartolomé Esteban Murillo in 1670. Here Mary appears not sad with tears streaming down her face; instead, the artist depicts Mary with eyes, face, and hands lifted in prayer. Murillo portrays Mary’s entire body in supplication as if offering her sorrow and grief to the Father.

Through Mary’s Immaculate Conception, she received a special grace that allowed the merits of Christ’s redemption to be applied at the moment of her conception. (1)  Because of that, we may dismiss or minimize the testimony of Mary’s life and her sacrificial suffering. We may think that she had no choice but to say, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word,” ¹ and was incapable of sin. But we would be wrong—Mary had free will just as we do.

Perhaps we forget that the first woman, Eve, was created without the stain of sin in her soul. Moreover, Eve certainly had no worries or anxieties before the fall. Yet the absence of concupiscence, as original sin confers to us, did not keep Eve from sinning (nor her husband, Adam).

Mary’s Immaculate Conception was not sufficient to preserve Mary from sinning—Eve demonstrated that through her unfortunate choice. But because the Son of God was to "tabernacle" and grow in Mary’s womb and she was to give birth to the Son of God, her Immaculate Conception was necessary to provide honor and glory to whom Jesus was and is! And although Mary had free will, rather than sinning, she chose to cooperate fully with the extraordinary graces given to her. (2)

Thus, the Immaculate Conception was necessary to honor Christ’s divinity but not sufficient to keep Mary free from committing any sin. A life lived free from sin required effort on Mary's part. The Feast of Our Lady of Sorrow reminds us that Mary did know unspeakable suffering and sorrow. Her complete trust and submission to the will of God through the events associated with this Feast of Seven Sorrows and, indeed, agreeing to carry Jesus in her womb before she lived with Joseph, all took place in a fallen world. She had choices and she chose well.

The Seven Sorrows of the Blessed Virgin Mary that are historically associated with this feast are:

1.      The prophecy of Simeon that a sword would pierce the heart of Mary at the Presentation of Jesus in the Temple (Luke 2: 34-35).

2.      The Holy Family’s terrifying flight into Egypt to save the child Jesus from Herod’s massacre of the Holy Innocents (Matthew 2: 13-14)

3.      The loss of Jesus at age twelve in the Temple of Jerusalem after Passover (Luke 2: 41-50)

4.      Mary’s encounter with Jesus on His way to Calvary while carrying His cross (Traditional Fourth Station of the Cross)

5.      The Crucifixion of Jesus (Matthew 27:45-56, Mark 15: 33-41, Luke 23: 33-49, John 19: 17-20)

6.      Mary witnesses the piercing of the side of Jesus and holding His body removed from the Cross (John 19: 31-37)

7.      The burial of Jesus. (Matthew 27: 57-61, Mark 15: 42-47, Luke 23:50-56, John 19: 38-42

When I pray the Mysteries of the Rosary, I often reflect on just how much Mary must have trusted in the Lord when her understanding was lacking or incomplete. She watched as God’s plan of salvation unfolded without the complete picture that we, who are on this side of the Cross, are presented with through the Scriptures.

Mary understands our pain and losses more than we do because her Immaculate Heart is perfectly united to her Son’s Sacred Heart. Mother Mary is the pinnacle of God’s creation and worthy of our love, honor. 

Mary, Mother of Sorrows, pray for us!

(1) See https://www.ncregister.com/blog/did-mary-need-to-be-redeemed.

(2) See https://www.catholic.com/qa/did-mary-have-free-will.

The Divine Beauty Parlor

Many times I have attended a funeral only to hear, “Well, at least he is not suffering anymore,” or “She is in a better place now.” Before I reverted to my Catholic faith when I fancied myself an Evangelical Protestant, I felt a bit uneasy when I heard these statements. My childhood Catholic roots would gnaw at me even though I tried my best to dismiss them. 

I now recognize that my discomfort with those well-meaning words, intended to console the living, suggest that the departed ones no longer need us when they may need us most!

According to the Catechism of the Catholic Church (which is my second favorite book after the Bible), purgatory is not so much a place but a state of the soul. In purgatory any remaining attachment to or needed reparation for sin is purged from the soul so that it may enjoy the full beatific vision:

“All who die in God's grace and friendship, but still imperfectly purified, are indeed assured of their eternal salvation; but after death, they undergo purification, to achieve the holiness necessary to enter the joy of heaven.” [1030]

I think of purgatory as the final preparation of the soul for its wedding to the Lamb. This wedding (or divine union) is the eternal vocation of each person. It is why God created us. I like to call purgatory the “Divine Beauty Parlor” of the soul.

Purgatory by Peter Paul Rubens [Public domain]

The primary cause of the suffering of those in purgatory is their separation from God. The purifying love of God mercifully removes the rust of sin that would interfere with our perfect union with God. Souls in purgatory happily submit to this great blessing, although there is great suffering, too.

The souls in purgatory can no longer make reparation for their sins or intercede for themselves; that possibility ended with their bodily death. St Catherine of Genoa and St. Maria Faustina have much to say about the souls in purgatory their need for us to pray for them.  

The tradition of praying for the dead did not begin with the Catholics; it began with the Jews as recorded in the book of Second Maccabees [ 2 Macc 12:46]. The Councils of Florence and Trent reaffirmed this tradition based on the New Testament Scriptures. [1 Cor 3:15; 1 Pet 1:7]

The month of November is specifically designated to pray for the souls in purgatory. A wonderful way to intercede for our deceased loved ones, and all the souls in purgatory, is to pray the Rosary. A fervently prayed Rosary placed in the hands of Mother Mary supercharges our prayers for the dead. I love the image of Purgatory by Rubens because it shows Mary interceding for the souls in purgatory.

If you have tried to the Rosary and struggle with it, perhaps my book can help you.

The Blessings of an Open Hand

What is poverty of spirit? Others have defined it as utter dependence on God or as the emptying of self to allow room for God’s love—both excellent definitions.

Poverty of spirit requires daily work on my part to defer to God’s will without a fight and with joy when it conflicts with my own will and involves personal sacrifice.  Something like holding my “stuff” in an open hand and allowing the Lord to pluck away what He wants.

What kind of stuff? For me, it could be my health or that of a loved one, material possessions or financial security, or even my dreams and plans, all the while trusting that He has something different but better for me in the long run.

It is one thing for me to pass on a new pair of shoes, or to do something I don’t want to do occasionally, or to accept limitations of an older body, but releasing the grip on my plans for the next four years and allowing them to be changed entirely. Well, that is a bit harder. Okay, it’s downright tough.

When I realized that my retirement would be spent babysitting my adorable grandkids instead of focusing on my writing projects, gardening, and traveling at will with my husband, I finally owned that I was going through a grieving process—even though I was confident that babysitting was God’s will.

Three months into the ten-hour to eleven-hour day of caring for two toddlers five days a week, I can honestly say that it is the best job I ever had. Mothers that stayed at home may not be surprised at my “discovery,” but I was never a stay-at-home-mom. I always had a full-time career that sometimes required transcontinental travel.

Finally, I have relaxed into my retirement “overhaul” and allowed the Lord to pry my fingers loose from my plans to accept the gracious gift of His plan.  And the bonus: my husband is job-sharing with me, 50/50. Yep, that took a while, but it happened. Wahoo!

 For I know well the plans I have in mind for you—oracle of the LORD—plans for your welfare and not for woe, so as to give you a future of hope. (Jer 29:11, NAB)

The Gift of Earthen Vessels

The earthen vessel of my body is wearing out. The passage of time is etched in a growing crop of wrinkles, verified by once-black hair now salt-and-pepper, and further evidenced by taut muscles and stiff joints. My brain occasionally takes a circuitous, slow route to retrieve and deliver that perfect word to the tip of my tongue. Retinal detachment nearly cost my vision in one eye.

I see my closest friends transitioning to a new relationship with their bodies, too. My best friend, since grade school, recently came to visit.  Although not quite old enough to draw a social security check, my friend now wears hearing aids to help manage a hereditary late-onset hearing loss that will result in the severe deafness. Another friend is dealing with more frequent and severe ulcerative colitis flare-ups.

We all hear, half in lament and half in jest, “Growing old is not for the weak of heart,” or “If I knew I was going to live this long, I would have taken care of my body!” But consider the bright side associated with the breakdown of our bodies: we have the opportunity to face our mortality head-on. We become keenly aware that we will not live forever—on this side of the grave. That awareness is the gift!

My awareness of the transience of life is an invitation to take inventory of my life, to decide what is most important, to commit to a daily routine of prayer for the living and the dead, and to cultivate devotions, like the Rosary.

I ask, "What do I want the last third of my life to look like?" and "What lessons I have learned through the mistakes of the first two-thirds of my life?" I look back to see the hand of God gently, patiently teaching me—using even my sins—covered over with His Grace and Mercy. I am learning to lean more into God because it is clear that I cannot do everything like I used to do.  That realization is a gift!

I observe non-Christian friends and family members searching for the meaning of life.  I rejoice to know that even dead-end detours, leading away from the path of Truth, will result in disequilibrium because of the powerful homing device planted in my loved ones' hearts by the Creator. One of my favorite saints, St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross (Edith Stein), said that all those who seek truth, seek God, whether it is clear to them or not. (https://bit.ly/2MCFiDb) I confidently pray that my loved ones will knock at the door where Christ stands waiting for them.  That confidence is a gift and springs from the prayers of a broken earthen vessel that God still uses.

“But we hold this treasure in earthen vessels, that the surpassing power may be of God and not from us.” (2 Cor 4:7, NAB)

When Things of Heaven Are Wed to Those of Earth

This short article explores the tie between the first part of the Easter Vigil celebrated on Holy Saturday and Divine Mercy Sunday. 

The Catholic Church celebrates the Easter Vigil sometime after sunset on Holy Saturday and before sunrise on Easter Sunday morning.  The Easter Vigil, with its four distinct parts, is notably absent from celebrations during Holy Week by our Protestant brothers and sisters.

The Easter Vigil service can last several hours, so perhaps that is why many Catholics do not attend. I find the Easter Vigil to be one of the most beautiful liturgies of the year and a celebration that directly anticipates Divine Mercy Sunday, which follows on the Sunday immediately after Easter.

When possible, the vigil begins outside the church structure with the blessing of both a small bonfire and the brand-new Easter candle. The priest prays for our protection by the “holy and glorious wounds of Christ,” and that the “light of Christ rising in glory [may] dispel the darkness of our hearts and minds.” [1] The Easter candle is lit from the bonfire, the people light their candles from the Easter candle, and after the prayers of blessing, all process into the church following the lighted Easter candle.

During this first part of the Easter Vigil, the interior of the Church is completely dark with the only light emanating from the large Easter candle and the people’s flickering luminaries.  The cantor sings the Easter Proclamation or Exsultet. The words of the Exsultet describe the symbolism of the Easter candle’s light while tracing man's journey from “ancient sinfulness,” starting with the first parents, to the end of “gloom of sin,” through Christ’s death on Good Friday and His anticipated resurrection on Easter Sunday morning.

About half-way through the Exsultet, the cantor chants,

“O truly necessary sin of Adam,” 

and then two lines later 

“O happy fault.”

A few stanzas later we hear,

“O truly blessed night,

 When things of heaven are wed to those of earth,

 And divine to human.”

The idea that the sin of our first parents is a happy thing or necessary may sound confusing, at best, and wrong, at worst.  Why has the sin of our first parents been recast as something necessary and happy?  And why is the Holy Saturday Vigil said to commemorate “when things of heaven are wed to things of earth, and divine to the human?”

I find the answers to these questions in the Divine Mercy of God which is celebrated on Divine Mercy Sunday.[2] Without the knowledge of my sins and the acknowledgment of my brokenness, I have no hope to understand what God offers me in His forgiveness of my sins. When I see my sinfulness, stripped naked of all excuses and illuminated through God the Father’s sacrifice of His only beloved Son and the Son’s complete obedience to the Father’s will, I could find myself in total, abject desolation.

I refuse to take the road to desolation; instead, I choose to view even my sins as a path, paved with God’s unfathomable Divine Mercy, which leads me back to Him. Thus the cantor proclaims “O truly necessary sin of Adam” and “O happy fault.”

God’s Mercy, as exercised in the forgiveness of my sins, and coupled with the knowledge and repentance of my sins, brings me to the intimacy with God for which I was created. All my hope in this life is made possible through Christ’s obedience, death, and resurrection—His glorified wounds—and celebrated uniquely in the Easter Vigil service on Holy Saturday.

Though the transformative grace of Christ’s death and His Easter morning resurrection, all sin can now be sourced into hope.  Sin becomes redeemed, resurrected through grace. Our "happy faults" expose our utter dependence on God. And what is God's response? Divine Mercy—God's New Covenant—sealed in the glorified wounds of Christ

How fitting that even in the glorified body of Christ the wounds of His crucifixion are still present.  How appropriate that Divine Mercy Sunday follows the first Sunday after Easter!

“Mercy, like every grace, always enters through a wound.” [3]

My cross will always be a crucifix. 

It is this Mercy that is the topic of my first novel to be published in 2019.

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[1] For more on the Catholic celebration of the Easter Vigil see: http://www.usccb.org/prayer-and-worship/liturgical-year/easter/commentary-on-easter-proclamation-exsultet.cfm

[2] For the history and message of Divine Mercy Sunday, see http://www.thedivinemercy.org/message/history/marianconnect.php

[3] Fr. Peter John Cameron, Editorial, O.P. Magnificat, April 2018, Vol 20, No. 2., pg. 4.

The “Spreading Ashes” Thing

I’ve had a bumpy start to the New Year.  The weather has been a bit “unfriendly” with more cold temperatures, snow, and ice than my part of the mid-South typically gets. Campus closures, due to inclement weather, have chopped out teaching days from the current semester with instructors and students left to compensate for the shortfall in creative ways without sacrificing content.

Another bump of sorts was my plunge into a snow-filled ditch as my car slid ninety degrees perpendicular to my intended direction of travel on an icy, snowy curve. The laws of physics and vector mathematics overtook my driving skills on one of the many hilly, twisty back-country roads that lead from my home into town. Tennessee men, passing by in big trucks, unable to control their urges to rescue women and extricate cars lodged in snowy ditches, came to my rescue.   

I have a heaviness in my heart that is due to more than reworked lesson plans, a now-melting snowpack, or snow-imposed cabin fever.   I recently learned of two deaths in the last couple of weeks: my first cousin and a dear college friend.  Both lives ended so wrong, and that wrongness represents so much of the tangled thinking that chokes and characterizes our world today.  I lament the confusion that my children and my grandchildren must overcome to blaze a path to truth in this life.

I received a late Christmas card informing me that my cousin Jim* had taken his own life last summer.  According to the note from his sister, Ann*, his suicide note offered no indication as to why Jim ended his own life.  Like so many, who take their own life, there were no red flags to suggest that Jim* was contemplating suicide.  He had a good relationship with his children, who lived nearby, and he did not live alone.  

Jim and Ann were a big part of my life growing up as my mother babysat them weekdays while their mother worked full-time. We all graduated from the same high school, and Jim and I were in the same graduating class. We spent all holidays together, and their family joined ours most Sundays for dinner after evening Mass.  

 

Many people are blessed to have temperaments and life experiences that make suicide incomprehensible to them. I can understand a bit about how someone can become so depressed and disoriented such that death seems like a welcomed release. Jim had heavy burdens growing up that were evident even to me as a self-centered teenager.  Those loads did not lighten with time. He left whatever remnants of his Catholic faith behind along with his hometown and, according to Ann, he did not have any sense of spirituality to guide him. 

There was no funeral, and his ashes will be spread in the spring by his adult children at his favorite fishing spot.

A few days after learning of Jim's suicide, I received news that one of my dear college friends, Jane*, had succumbed to ovarian cancer after a protracted, painful battle.  I expected that the disease would end her earthly life, but I prayed that before her death she would return to her Christian (Catholic, in particular) faith.  

Jane’s inner glow radiated outward from the moment that I first met her during my freshman year of college. I had never met anyone like Jane. She would frequently and unabashedly tell me, "I love you," instead of saying, "Goodbye."  I was both awed by and envious of her ability to communicate love so effortlessly. The last time I saw her was a year and a half ago on a trip out West when she was back in treatment for recurrent ovarian cancer. She still glowed.  

Over time this woman, who after college spent time discerning whether she had a vocation to the religious life, was swept away into the world of political correctness and abandoned her Catholic faith. She traded in Christianity for a pantheistic-like belief system that had no place for Jesus Christ. She still exuded love and volunteered her time in humanitarian service, but the boundary between Creator and His creation had blurred into a theological jumble.  

Upon her death, an email informed me that there was be no funeral. Her family plans to spread her ashes around her childhood home and in a favorite vacation spot.  There will be a party, at Jane’s request, with ice cream, music, and sharing memories to celebrate her life and provide “closure.” 

The now familiar practice of spreading ashes leaves me profoundly sad—especially when I think of Jim and Jane. Cremation is not my issue so long as it is not done to deny the Christian faith or to reject the resurrection of the body. For most people in the U.S., the decision for cremation seems to be a monetary one. The Catholic Church permits cremation but requires that the faithful inter the remains in cemeteries or other approved sacred places. (2)

Editorial credit: Andreas Zerndl / Shutterstock.com

My issue is spreading human ashes. It denies the sacredness of the body as a temple of the Holy Spirit.  Christ's Incarnation shines a light on the human body. When we spread the ashes of our loved ones, we attempt to squelch that radiance, no matter how reverently we believe we are acting. The underlying philosophy behind scattering ashes is non-Christian and by the very action asserts that human beings are merely one of many interchangeable cogs in nature with no particular divinely-accorded status.    

The immortality of the human soul sets human beings apart from all the rest of God's creatures. God invited only members of the human race to become His adopted children.  Through the Incarnation, Christ's human nature became part of the Trinity. Our adoption as children of God through Baptism elevates our human body to a temple of the Holy Spirit. 

While it is true that the soul leaves the body after death, the body was the “house” of the immortal soul.  Spreading ashes does not show the proper respect to the body as a temple of the Holy Spirit.   

Our secular culture (and even many Christian faith traditions) have lost a correct understanding of the Theology of the Body.  Should it be a surprise that we have lost the proper understanding of the Theology of Death, too? Of course not, the two are related.  Celebrations of life make it easy to unharness the human creature from his Creator.  The Catholic funeral Mass and burial rite properly exhibit and reverence the tie between the deceased and His Creator. We are His—and that is the celebration of our lives.

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*I have changed the names out of respect for the families.