Mary: Merely the Womb that Carried Jesus to Term?

I've been engaged in a number of conversations with various non-Catholic Christians who are opposed, heart and soul, to the Catholic Church.  And while they usually have a laundry list of favorite grievances, one of the biggest that usually crops up in any conversation revolves around perceived Catholic "worship" of Mary.

Thoroughly convinced that Catholics make too much of Mary--that their devotion steps well over the line into idolatry and blasphemy--non-Catholic Christians often argue that True Christians should steer clear of that dangerous ground and leave Mary alone.  "After all," someone asked me in a recent exchange, "why honor her?  She was just a regular woman.  The only thing that made her different is that God picked her to carry Jesus to term."  

Really?  That's all that made her different:  she carried Jesus to term?  Other than that, she was just like everyone else?

In another post, someday in the future, I'll tackle the issue of devotion to Mary.  But before we get to that, we need to first address this idea that Mary was just a regular woman.  And the reason we need to start here is  because so much of the non-Catholic disapproval of devotion to Mary hinges on the fact that they think of her, speak of her and regard her in this mundane, common manner.  It's a common argument amongst non-Catholics and yet, the reason this argument is espoused is due not to reasoned thought, but rather to a failure to reason--a resolute refusal to think things through to their logical conclusions and to realize the ramifications of their arguments.

For example, let's start with this:  many non-Catholics sincerely feel it's a requirement of faith and their love for Christ to drag Mary down to "our level".  Conversely, they feel that any veneration or honor paid her must be profoundly offensive to God the Father and Jesus the Son and almost certainly the Holy Spirit as well.  That's the thinking.  But does that make any sense?  Let's pare it down even further and ask it this way:  is it really right and true to say that one of the best ways to lift up the Lord and exalt His name and honor the Father, Son and Holy Spirit is to verbally assault or trivialize or blandly ignore Christ's Mother? 

Is this how it works in our world, in our experience?   Are we honored and pleased when someone praises us and then verbally backhands our mom?   Of course not.  If someone were to do that, we'd be offended.  Or angry.  (Or, if we feel neither of those emotions, it likely could be suggested that we're rotten, defective, thankless children.)

And yet, somehow, we think that with Jesus, this situation is somehow different.  Somehow we imagine that nothing demonstrates our love for Jesus quite as much as when we argue that "the woman who bore You was simply a vehicle to get You here.  A womb to carry You to term.  A birth canal for you to enter through?"  Really?  We really feel that's a legitimate way to honor the Lord?   

As bizarre as it sounds, apparently the answer is yes.  At least, that's the view many non-Catholics are endorsing when they criticize, downgrade and/or trivialize Mary.  That's exactly what's going on with my non-Catholic friend.  His argument, remember, is that Mary is nobody special:  she was picked simply to "carry Jesus to term."  In other words:  once Jesus was here, born, breathing the air in that stable on that first Christmas night, Mary's job was over.  Done.  She could clock out.  God had no more use for her.  She had gloriously fulfilled her Supremely Utilitarian Role and could now slink back into the shadows of obscurity from whence she came.  Isn't that the story?  Isn't that the Christian narrative?  Isn't that the resounding teaching of scripture?

Of course not.  It's sad to even suggest it.  The short-sighted nature of the statement completely overlooks the roll of a Mother.  Mothers don't simply and only carry a baby to term.  Oh, that's the beginning--but that's all it is:  the beginning.  Once the baby's here, the real work begins in earnest.  There are diapers to be changed, feedings to be accomplished, clothing to be washed (and re-washed and re-re-washed) and hours and hours of holding and rocking and lullaby-singing. 

Babies, after all, need full-time attention and love and are psychologically damaged when they don't get it.  Mothers nurture, protect, teach, love, inspire, patch bruises, hug away hurts, nurse broken hearts and dry tears.  Mothers capture every moment in their memory (even in Jesus' day, when cameras and iPhones weren't readily accessible):  the first toothless, drooly smile.  The first real, honest-to-goodness laugh (as well as what caused it).  The first steps, the first words, the first teeth, the first day of school.  Mothers capture these memories and ponder them in their hearts.

But that's not all.  While they're snapping pictures, catologing and archiving every little moment of their child's , life, they're also continuing to teach, to shape, to lead.  And perhaps most of all, a Mother spends her life living vicariously through her child.  And I don't mean this in some derogatory, modernist, mom's-got-to-let-go-and-get-her-own-life kind of way.  I mean, a Mother feels pride when her child excels, pain when he suffers, sorrow when he aches and joy when he's happy.  A Mother's life is indelibly bound and wound with and through and around her child's and the relationship that results is truly unlike any other human relationship.

And that is the relationship that Mary had with Jesus.  In fact, that's not taking it far enough:  that is the relationship that Mary had with God--her Creator.  The "most Christian" of us (if that terminology could be used for this one instance) still doesn't have a relationship with God quite like the relationship Mary had with Him. 

God takes our lives and our hearts and makes us look like Him.  But with Jesus, God made Him first look like her.  And then, He made her look like Him.  When the neighbors peaked at the baby for the first time, they may have pointed out that "he has his Mother's eyes" or "his Mother's chin."  After the Cross, the Resurrection, and the Ascension, the early Church began to look at her and started to point out that "she has her Son's heart."

But that's, only scratching the surface of this unique relationship.  Remember:  Jesus lived with Mary for thirty years.  He spent just three with "us" in his ministry and look what happened:  he changed the world.  In just three years, he completely changed those coarse fishermen into leaders.  In three short years, He turned the religious system of the Jews on its head.  In thirty-six months He effectively changed the entire course of human history.  Think what change must have taken place in the soul of Mary over the thirty years they spent together.

During those thirty years of scriptural silence, Mary lived with God in her home in physical form.  She could speak with God and actually, physically, hear him speak back.  Not just once or twice on some mountain top in the middle of some profound religious experience, but day in and day out for thirty years.  From "pass the salt" to "what did Moses really look like?" to "what was it like before there was anything but You in existence?" 

If you had twenty minutes with God--face to face--what would you ask Him?  Mary had thirty years.  The questions could come slowly and could delve deeply because there was no rush.

But that's not all:  God lived under her roof.  Can you imagine what that must have been like?  Oh, we conjure in our minds  pictures, for example, of Jesus laughing.  We often joke that God has a sense of humor--especially when we watch the Cubs.  Mary however, knew the facts on both of those counts:  she saw Jesus' first laugh and hundreds more.  She knew exactly what he found truly hilarious--she understood his sense of humor:  knew when he was laughing for real and when He was laughing politely at something that really wasn't all that funny (we've all been there).  She knew all of that and, hard as it is to fathom, was most likely able to make the God of the Universe laugh so hard his stomach hurt and tears rolled.

But that's still not all:  when He was a boy, there were likely times she sat up late with Him, holding Him on her lap or in her arms until He fell  asleep.  And then, when He awoke, she would be there, ready to jump awake at the sound of his voice.  Mothers are like that, after all. 

When He was startled, she was there.  When He was hungry, she was there.  When He was happy, she was there.  When he was frustrated, nervous, excited, concerned, she was there. 

There were no "can you not watch and pray one hour with me?" questions for Mary.  She'd likely been doing that ever since that first Christmas night.

Mary was given the role, the job, the opportunity, the blessing, the gift of being the human being, chosen amongst all human beings, who was to comfort, care for, nurture, hold, protect and, yes, carry to term, the God of all creation.  

Pause for a minute.  Let that sink in:  she raised God in His human form.  The same God Who watched Adam and Eve, Who threw them out of the garden and Who promised a new Woman and a new Son who would set things right.  This is the same God who spoke to Abram, changed his name, promised him a people and came through on that promise.  The same God Who spoke to Moses in a burning bush, Who rained plagues down on Pharoah, Who led he Israelites through the Red Sea and, eventually, into the promised land. The same God Who spoke through the prophets and Who promised redemption.  That same God, all-powerful, only-wise, everlasting, took up residence in the womb of a young Jewish girl and then later referred to her as "mama" (or, at least, the Aramaic equivalent).

It's mind-boggling to think of the impact that must have had on Mary.  

And it's also mind-boggling to imagine that a simple human being could be asked by God to have that kind of an impact on Him.  

We are called to love Him and praise Him and honor Him.  She did that all--and it came more naturally to her than to anybody else in all of history.  Why?  Because only she could love God in exactly the same way a  Mother loves a Son.  It's an effortless, fluid love.  You don't have to work at it.  To struggle for it.  To reach for it.  Ask any mother and they'll tell you:  one look into that wrinkled, twisted, one-eye-open, matted hair face of her baby and she's head over heels in love.  Before he or she's spoken a word, mom's hooked.  

Mary loved God in that way.  And yet, though the love came easy, it cost her dearly.  For only she, in all of human history, truly lost a Son when we gained our redemption.

To call her a "vehicle"--a woman chosen to simply carry Christ to term--is to overlook all rational thought, to throw aside honesty, and to play far too cold and calculating with the heart.  And besides, it can't sit well with her Son.