Thank God for the Blessed Mother

by Joseph Stoutzenberger

The beginning of the Nicene Creed, recited by Catholics at Mass, refers to God as “the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth.” The creed was composed by bishops called together in 325 by the non-Christian Roman emperor of the time, Constantine. He wanted Christians who were fighting among themselves to resolve their differences for the good order of the empire. It’s easy to imagine that when the bishops called God the Father almighty that they had the emperor in mind. By contrast, practically every chapter of the Islamic scripture, the Quran, is preceded by referring to God as al Rahman, al Rahim, the all-merciful, the all-compassionate. The creed does say that Jesus was born and died for us and our salvation, truly an act of compassion. However, in the context of the infighting of the time, a Father almighty might conjure up an image of the proverbial warning used by exasperated mothers to settle down her children who are fighting each other: “Wait till your father gets home!”

Thank God for the Blessed Mother. There’s no hint of judgment or wrath in her, only pure love and nurturing. She is mentioned once in the creed, as the one through whom Jesus is born; but she has played a much more prominent role in Christianity, especially in the Orthodox and Catholic traditions. Miryam, as Muslims and Jews call her, is mother of Jesus but indirectly is mother of us all. Her image is a far cry from “Father almighty.” Granted, some mothers are not motherly; they are incapable of being loving and nurturing or might even require their children to take care of them. There have been and continue to be mothers who are judgmental and even malicious toward their children. (In fairy tales, these examples of churlish mothers are typically not real mothers.)  

Real mothers, regardless of their biological relationship to children and little ones, are caring and loving, often unconditionally so. In one of the few stories about Mary in the gospels, she is attending a wedding with her son and realizes that wine is running out and the party isn’t close to being over. She exhibits compassion even in this mundane situation, saying to her son simply, “They have no wine.” In Luke’s gospel, Mary identifies herself in song as one of the lowly ones. If you feel depressed, deprived, or left out, Mary is the one to go to; she’s been there and knows what it is like. In recent centuries there have been accounts of her appearing to children or people who are downtrodden. She appeared in 1591 to an indigenous Mexican peasant named Juan Diego on a hill outside of Mexico City. He wonders who she is at first, and eventually she tells him: “Am I not here? Am I not your mother?”

My own mother was a great baker. When she baked pies, she baked enough to fill the many pans she had of assorted shapes and sizes. She had one pan that was less than four inches in diameter. When I sat at the kitchen table and watched her prepare her pies, she would whisper to me, “This one is just for you,” as she kneaded and filled the little individual-sized pan. No doubt she said the same thing to her other five children when they were with her; but it made me feel special; it made me feel her love. As was customary in those days, my mother never said “I love you” in words. She said it in pies and cakes and other expressions of love. One evening when I was grown up and had moved away from home, she called me unexpectedly and said, “I love you.” I responded, “I love you too, mom.” She said that she was watching Leo Buscaglia on PBS, and that he said if you love someone, you should tell them. Thank you, Leo Buscagila.

 For some time now, a more loving, less distant and judgmental image of God has become dominant in Catholicism. However, Mother Mary has not gone away in the Catholic imagination.  An image of the Blessed Mother that modern Catholics are familiar with is that of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, popularized in France in the early nineteenth century. She is depicted with her heart held in front of her chest, pierced with a sword. The image exudes compassion and offers solace to those who are suffering. In 2022, Pope Francis dedicated the people of Ukraine and Russia to the care of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, praying for her intercession to bring peace to the war-torn land. Mary is a mother with a heart. Doesn’t she represent what we want to see in our God?