I have often wondered if my name suits me. Do I look like a Mary, talk like a Mary? If you saw me on the street, would Mary be the name you'd guess for me? I've never come up with a better option, never felt connected to another name. I never had the courage to request something else, like Anne Shirley requests Cordelia, or Christine McPherson requests Lady Bird (which if you have not seen, you absolutely need to). Yet, sometimes I resent my name and all the assumptions* and cultural baggage that come with it.
"Mary McGinley? You must be Irish, then." Or, "Mary McGinley. Let me guess - Catholic." Or, "Which song do you prefer?" Or, "Well aren't you contrary."
In my old age of twenty-five, I have learned to handle these interactions with relative grace, to not pull a Darcy but just accept my fate of having a name loaded with meaning. Yet, while I can laugh off the nursery rhymes, I cannot laugh off my namesake and the example she sets for me. Mary, Mother of God. How can anyone have such a name but her?
Virgin-Mother. Immaculate. Full of grace. Blessed among women. Holy. Handmaid of the Lord. Mary of Nazareth is described in incredible ways, ways no other human being on earth can be described. For a long time, this intimidated me; I felt pressure to connect with Mary just because of our shared name, and I resented that pressure. I didn't like being the girl in class that everyone looked at during the Hail Mary. I wanted to be as far away from their stares and teasing and rosaries as possible.
After years of begrudging the association, I realized I needed to reconcile these feelings. I could not be a good Catholic and avoid Mary. In college, I began to admire Mary on an intellectual level - look! The Church DOES like women! Mary means Catholic feminism is possible! Yet it was only in these past few years since college that I have been able to cultivate a spiritual relationship with Mary. To meditate on Mary. To call out to Mary for help, for guidance, for love. And wouldn't you know, Advent started it all.
Advent is Mary's season. The Church is waiting, anticipating, aching for the coming of Christ. As an expectant mother, Mary was waiting, anticipating, aching (quite literally) too. Yet, I'm no expectant mother, never have been. What can I relate to in Advent, in Mary's season, at this stage of my life?
Fear. Gabriel tells Mary, "Do not be afraid." Recently, a priest commented that of all the windows and paintings and representations of the Annunciation, Mary never looks afraid, yet she must have been if Gabriel told her not to be. As a young woman, and in these last few years particularly, I have been afraid of many things: love, heartbreak, rent, jobs, bosses, auditions, failing. Being afraid is a natural reaction, but Mary shows me how to address that fear. Mary quickly moves from fear, to bewilderment, to acceptance, to courage. Mary has hope. Hope in God, trust that He has a plan and will not abandon her. All my fears pale in comparison to Mary's situation - an unwed pregnant woman, bearing the Christ child. Did she think she was worthy? Did it even matter what she thought? No, not really - which leads me to my next point.
Worth. Mary is worthy. Whether she thought so or not. Did she know, her whole life, that she was different? That she was immaculate? That she was intended for greatness? I don't know. Given her fear and confusion, I would guess not. Mary questions Gabriel, "How can this be?" but she resoundingly affirms: "Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. Be it done unto me according to your word." Wow. How courageous a statement! I am the handmaid of the Lord. In the midst of my fears, I have often failed to see my worth. I have not seen myself as beautiful, as talented, as employable, as lovable. But you know what, I am, and even when I can't see myself that way, God sees me that way. He has a plan, and a purpose, and He looks lovingly on His creation. When I am in the depths of self-doubt and desolation, how He sends out signs to show me otherwise! Sometimes, I don't have the ears to hear and eyes to see it. Mary reminds me to put aside my own confusion and doubt and to just always say YES. Why waste time thinking of yourself as unworthy when you can think of yourself as loved? As St. Paul says, "God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us." No matter what, I am worthy and I am loved.
Trust. Mary doesn't simply trust in God; she trusts in others. She trusts Joseph to protect her and her child. She trusts her family to support her in a time of great need. She trusts the shepherds and wise men with her newborn baby. Later on, she will trust in her son to help others, to turn water into wine. She will trust John to take care of her as her son dies on the cross. As a person who thrives on independence, I sometimes undervalue trust. Though I've never explicitly not trusted others, I prefer to do things on my own, to not require trust as part of the equation. But if my nine unstable jobs in three years has showed me anything, it's that I cannot do this on my own. I need others. I need to trust in others, and I need to know that that is okay. Requiring help or support doesn't mean I've failed. Not knowing what I'm doing doesn't mean I've failed God. Rather, I just need to trust Him.
Service. When Mary discovers she is pregnant, she doesn't sit inside and bask in the fact she is bearing the Son of God; rather, she goes out. For the first three months of her pregnancy, she goes to her cousin Elizabeth who is in her last trimester. The first three months - that's morning sickness time. That's debating-to-tell-people time. That's sit-still-so-I-don't-harm-the-tiny-baby time. But instead, Mary helps others. Now, I give and receive love through acts of service. And, like Mary, I particularly like to give of myself to expectant or new mothers, but sometimes I want to assert my singleness and not be bogged down with babies, duty, and limitations. I use discernment as an excuse for laziness: I haven't figured out my vocation yet, so I am not required to give of myself in any certain way. I'm in the undefined lull. I'm not married and I'm not a consecrated religious - I'm just waiting. Yet, waiting is not stopping; waiting moves us somewhere, as Advent and Mary show. As a single person, I have so much time and opportunity to give of myself to others. Singleness is a vocation in itself. At every state and stage in life, we are called to help others. Mary sets that example, as she goes, full of grace, to share that grace with the world.
Amidst all the amazing titles we have for Mary, sometimes we forget she was a woman - a woman who experienced life, in all its joys and trials, just as we do. Though my share in her titles will be rather limited - Virgin, maybe Mother, hopefully Saint - my share in her grace can be abundant. Mary continues to go out and share her grace with the world as she did with Elizabeth, as the recent feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe reminds us. The question is, are we open to receiving it? Though sometimes my old habits and frustrations get the better of me, Advent always reminds me to open the door to Mary just a bit further, to welcome her with a resounding "Hail!" I'm named for the single most incredible woman to ever live - why would I want it any other way?
*pun intended?
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