Yesterday I tried to wrap my mind around the deaths of twenty children and six adults murdered in an elementary school. But it was not possible for me to rationally make sense of what happened and so I turned to my two default behaviors: I baked cookies and prayed.
The prayer that ran through my heart and mind was one I learned at my family dinner table as we prayed The Memorare every night at dinner:
Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary,
that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection,
implored thy help, or sought thine intercession was left unaided.
Inspired by this confidence,
I fly unto thee, O Virgin of virgins, my mother;
to thee do I come, before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful.
O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions,
but in thy mercy hear and answer me.
Amen.
Over and over, these familiar words ran through my mind and heart yesterday. As I prayed, the awareness grew that I had complete confidence in Mary's ability to intercede and bring her presence of comforting love and mercy to those in need. Mary, mother of Jesus knows the pain of the people touched by this tragedy.
Mary knows the pain of the death of a beloved child for she received into her arms the body of her son when it was removed from the cross. Michelangelo's glorious sculpture depicts the love and sorrow of a mother holding the child she carried in her body, birthed into life and now holds in death.
When I was a child living in Pennsylvania, the Pieta (pictured above) by Michelangelo was displayed at the New York World Fair. Since we literally "ate" the Memorare daily, it made sense that my parents gathered up we children and took us to experience the magnificent work of art they believed embodied our daily prayer.
Fifty years later I still remember standing transfixed on the moving sidewalk slowly taking us past the sculpture. It was not only the glorious beauty of the art that held me in absolute stillness: no, I remember feeling intense compassionate love; not simply within me for what I saw, but radiating from the sculpture.
The energy I felt was not fanciful, it is the energy of the artist who felt this story so intensely it became part of the marble he carved with his hands. This is precisely the power of great art; the ability of a human being to create in such a way the rest of us are transported out of our little lives and glimpse the transcendent.
The circular design of the liturgical calendar is a form of art. Over and over we travel through the stories of human beings and God interacting. Each year we begin the stories exactly where we are today: in the season of Advent preparing for the birth of the Christ child. Our journey of spiritual living during Advent has us ask ourselves once again: Can I, like Mary and thousands of 'saints' after her, trust God enough to say 'Thy will be done unto me." Am I willing to live in faith and joy trusting God as life unfolds?
When I chose the image of the Pieta, the thought 'this is how the story of Advent ended' flashed through my mind, but I caught the words and said no, that's not true.
The story of God Present With US did not end on the cross, nor at the Resurrection nor even the Ascension. Jesus was the beginning of a story that never ends for each of us comes to earth carrying the love of God within our spirits. Our calling - our purpose for living - is not unlike Michelangelo: we have the ability to give form to this love through our living: through living our lives as prayerful-art we are able to make God's goodness real in our world today.
Earlier this week I stated that kindness is the action of love. My suggestion for this day in Advent as we continue our journey toward Christmas with sorrowful hearts aching with yesterday's news, is that you consider what action of kindness you can do today. An action of kindness concretely affirms I have heard God's invitation and yes, I am willing to birth God's love into the world.
I cannot birth this love as perfectly as Mary the Mother of Jesus. But I am not asked to do that: I am asked if I am willing to birth God's light and love to the best of my flawed ability as me. I think this horrible tragedy is a reminder that our answer is especially important right now.
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