Mary Whose Name Means Rebellion

By Penny Anne Beaudoin
This article appeared in Catholic New Times and is reprinted with permission of the author.

They say babies can hear things even in the womb. I wonder what Mary hear as she floated suspended in the dark chalice of her mother's body. Did she hear the fervent prayers of her parents beseeching God for a boy? And when she finally entered this world, red-faced and raging, tiny fists clenched in defiance, did the unladylike caterwauling drown out the midwife's sad announcement of the birth of a girl-child, and the condolences of her parents' friends wishing them "better luck next time "?

Was her mother's milk mixed with the bitterness of facing an 80-day period of impurity and isolation, instead of the 40 days prescribed after the birth of a boy? Not yet an hour old and already causing trouble.

And as she grew up, what did she think when she was told that a woman was to blame for the corruption of humanity and the loss of Paradise? Did she find it strange that the Great Decalogue-with its admonition not to covet 'thy neighbour's wife'- seemed addressed to the men of Israel, the only ones covenant in their own bodies? Did she ever ask why the blood of a male sanctified while the blood of a female defiled? Did it rankle that every month she was considered unclean and that anything or anyone she touched would catch her 'contagion'? Did she ever wonder about the restrictions and expectations placed on her simply because she had been born with a womb?

Before she was 12, she, would be betrothed to a man her parents would have selected for her. From then on her whole reason for being would be to produce children, preferably male children. A conventional life of housekeeping and mothering was her preordained destiny. But when she watched the religious ceremonies in the temple from her segregated place in the Court of Women did she ever gaze toward the holy of holies and wish, even for moment, that she could be what she knew she could never be - a priest of the Lord?

Did Mary want to be a priest? If she had expressed such a desire, it would have been ridiculed, dismissed, censured. A woman priest? Only the pagan religions countenanced such things! The idea - was heretical, blasphemous and probably insane! The stage had been set long ago for Mary to live out the rest of her existence within the carefully: circumscribed life of a wife and mother in ancient Palestine, just another peasant woman on the margins of a patriarchal society. Silent, unseen, unremarkable.

Enter God

God had an outrageous, scandalous plan to turn Mary's safe little world on its ear. This young girl was chosen to conceive a child without the aid of a man, even while she was betrothed to Joseph. And no ordinary child either but the Messianic Child. God laid out the particulars for her during an angelic visitation and then waited- yes, actually waited on her reply! No coercion, no intimidation, no automatic assumption of agreement. Mary would participate as full partner, as co-creator with God, or not at all. And while she doesn't exactly jump at the chance, neither does she immediately bow her head in submissive acquiescence.

Rather, she thinks it over! She asks for more details, and then and only then does she consent. It is immensely interesting to me that her question, "How can this be?" was one of mechanics only. She doesn't inquire about Joseph, never mentions her parents and seems surprisingly unconcerned as to what the neighbours would think. And once she is certain that her magnificently profane woman's body is showing the unmistakable signs of gravidity, she doesn't hide herself in seclusion, which would have been the seemly thing to do. Rather, she runs away, apparently on her own, to the dangerous hill country of Judea, to find the only other person who might understand: her kinswoman Elizabeth. The centuries-old tradition of teaching women their place and keeping them in it cracks to its very foundation as these two women embrace: the pregnant crone and the pregnant virgin, the first community of God's new order, a tender circle of feminine love and compassion. Then, as John dances his embryonic two-step, Mary chants her singularly subversive canticle. She acknowledges herself as 'lowly,' and then brazenly proclaims her ability to make God greater, to 'magnify the Lord!' No priest, no prophet, no holy man would ever have dared to be so bold! She looks ahead with her spirit?eyes and foresees the havoc the reign of God will carry in its wake: the mighty torn from their thrones, the rich stripped of their possessions, the proud tripped up by their own devices. The time is coming, she declares, when the ones who have been crushed under patriarchy's heavy boot will be lifted up, liberated and filled with every good thing, a time when there will be no more hierarchical pyramids but circles, no more 'powerover' but empowerment of all. There will be no more waiting for justice but fulfillment.

And in the end, she says, all generations will call her - what ? Queen of Heaven? Mediatrix of All Graces? Mother of God? No: "All generations shall call me happy (blessed)!" She is happy to see the reign of God arrive, happy to inaugurate it in her own body.

True, she would never be a priest. But the last thing anyone needed was another priest of either sex if it meant the perpetuation of an oppressive, elitist caste. When Mary says 'yes' to God's plan, she sets in motion a mighty earthquake that shook the foundations of institutional orthodoxy and still rattles the teeth of those in power today. Any system built on the sands of oppression or injustice or human arrogance will not stand forever. And so when patriarchy, hierarchy and oligarchy lie in ruins; when sexism and elitism and the absurd scandal of denominationalism are no more; and when the false power of clericalism finally fails, as we know it must, then let the women stand ready to carry out the vision of God, given through Mary.

Let them step out confidently from the margins and create a holy space in the centre where there is room for all and no one gets left behind. Let them, in the strength of their hearts, extend the table to include not just their own, but also those who once were their oppressors and detractors. And let them remember that there is none of them so weak, so inconsequential, so little that they cannot 'magnify the Lord!'

Penny-Anne Beaudoin is a freelance writer who lives in southwestern Ontario.