Our Mother 

by Christopher Cuddy 

I went to Rome during Spring Break last year (2004).  Having the opportunity to travel with a Catholic apostolate to “The Eternal City” was a big deal to me for a number of reasons.  The first of which had to do with the fact that flying/traveling is not a regular practice in my family.  Thus, for a “country boy” like me, boarding an airplane and leaving the United States was an event of monumental significance.  The second reason had to do with the fact that I was a relatively new Catholic--I had only been received into the Church about a year previous--and I was looking forward to experiencing what is perhaps the most Catholic city in the world. 

We only spent about a week in Italy, but my memories of the “Rome pilgrimage” are some of my fondest.  Although our time there was short, we crammed an enormous number of events into the trip.  We attended one of Pope John Paul II’s Wednesday audiences.  We toured the Vatican Museum.  We were able to celebrate Mass in St. Peter’s Basilica.  We sampled some of the fine Italian cuisine.  And (of course!) a couple of us made sure to make some thorough passes through a number of the wonderful used-theology-bookstores that lined the streets.   

Of all the places that I went, however, there is one that sticks out in my mind as particularly “special” and blessed.  We visited it towards the middle of the trip, and it shaped my perspective on the rest of the pilgrimage.  The place is a basilica affectionately known as “Saint Mary Major.”  And although we visited a number of beautiful churches on our pilgrimage, Saint Mary Major definitely was--and remains--my favorite. 

I can still remember praying in front of a large statue of the Blessed Virgin in one of the Saint Mary’s side-chapels.  I had been Catholic for a year, but many “Catholic things/practices” were still new to me.  As a Protestant, I had abhorred all “icons” and “statues” of Jesus and the saints.  I had thought that they were (too) dangerously close to the idolatrous “graven images” that God forbid in Exodus 20.  But while I detested all such icons and figures, none caused me as much consternation and anger as statues of Mary. 

But there I was: A recent convert, praying in a chapel, half-way around the world from all of my Protestant friends and family members, kneeling before a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary.  Talk about weird!  To be honest, I almost felt guilty; and I kept shooting nervous glances around the chapel, half-expecting one of my old Protestant professors to jump out, point, and yell: “See! You Catholics do worship Mary, don’t you!?!?” 

No Protestant jumped out however, and the only people sitting in the chapel with me were a couple of elderly Italian women dutifully praying their rosaries; completely oblivious to the nervous thoughts that were running through my mind.  I watched one of them for a couple of minutes.  She was small, round, and wrinkled.  Her hair was white.  Her eyes were closed.  Her brow was furrowed.  Her lips moved silently. 

She was praying; praying to our Lord. 

Praying to our Lord with His Mother. 

Mother.  My gaze turned back to the statue, and the more I studied Mary’s beautiful face the more my anxieties began to dissipate.  I began to meditate upon the life of Jesus and His work on the cross--laying down His physical life in love so that we might regain spiritual life.  But then I began to realize: for all that Jesus did, He did not do it alone.  As the old proverb says: “Behind every great man lies a great woman;” and we Catholics can say: Behind the greatest Man ever lies the greatest Woman ever. 

Yes, our Lord did all that He did because of His infinite love and being.  But no one experienced the fullness of that love and being in a more real and dynamic way than His Blessed Mother.   

As I meditated upon these things I began to wonder what it would be like to meet the Blessed Virgin.  How would I even address my Lord’s Mother?   

Then I remembered that while I am free to imagine how I, personally, might react to an encounter with Mary; there was at least one person who had such an encounter and knew exactly how to address Mary…

Shortly after the angel Gabriel appeared to Mary and told her that she was to give birth to Jesus, she paid a visit to her cousin Elizabeth.  The Bible tells us that Elizabeth (who was also pregnant--with John the Baptist) was “filled with the Holy Spirit” (Luke 1:41).  Elizabeth greets Mary by saying “blessed are you among women” (v. 42) and then goes on to express how unworthy she is that “the mother of [her] Lord” should come to visit her (v. 43). 

I admit that I was a bit troubled the first time I read this verse.  I was still an evangelical Protestant at the time, and while I had the utmost confidence in the complete truthfulness, inspiration, and infallibility of the sacred Scriptures, I was a little bothered by Elizabeth’s declaration that Mary was the “Mother of God.”  I reasoned that Mary was the mother of the man Jesus, yes; but she most certainly was not “God’s Mother.”   

God is infinite and Spirit.  Mary is finite and human.  There was no way that Mary could be God’s “mother.”  It was simply impossible. 

Yet there it was, clearly stated in the Bible.  And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I shouldn’t try to “divide” the person of Christ like that.  Sure, He has two natures--a divine and a human nature--but these two natures are joined in His one divine Person.  While there are distinctions that can be made between his divine and human natures, He cannot be “divided” up into two different persons.  Jesus is one divine Person.  He is God. 

Eventually, I set it up like this: 1) Mary is the Mother of Jesus.  2) Jesus is God.  3) Therefore, Mary is the Mother of God.   

A profound mystery, yes; but true nonetheless.