While revisiting photos from a recent family reunion, I thought about the Mother of God. She had no baby pictures of Jesus, no camera, nor any digital images. No wonder she had to ponder so much in her heart!
God knew that Jesus and Mary would write no journals, and we would be left to our imaginations when building a relationship with the Holy Family.
I love talking about my four children, so I imagine that Mary would too. She might share about her adventures with Jesus, both when he was young and after she traveled with him during his public ministry. I love retelling stories of funny moments; maybe she did too.
I can imagine that, even while Jesus was alive, Mary loved reminiscing with extended family as the caravan traveled home from the temple, just as I retell stories from our family reunion. I extrapolate that she bid goodbye to a relative who took a fork in the road to get home, and Mary promised to update her again “next year in Jerusalem.”
In subsequent years, how many times did she retell the story of Jesus alone three days in Jerusalem?
“Oh, I can laugh about it now,” Mary might say, “but back then I was horrified that I’d lost sight of the child God entrusted to me! I didn’t realize what would be involved in parenting when I said ‘yes’ to the angel. Talk about blind trust!” Maybe she laughed then. I recognize that I, too, had no idea what my “yes” to God would involve. Our colloquies are personal and honest.
Each of us imagines Mary differently when we hold conversations with her. I noticed this when I watched the recent movie, Mary. The filmmakers’ imaginative portrayal varied widely from the woman to whom I talk.
I see her rocking Jesus long after he fell asleep, because he was such a marvel, and his face expressed pure freedom as he slept. I think this when I hold our five-month-old grandson. I imagine Mary clipped a lock of Jesus’ baby hair and saved it in a scrap of swaddling clothing after he grew into a toddler.
I’m sure Mary was brave, eager to help others (She ran off to help Elizabeth, didn’t she?), and surrounded by loving women in Nazareth, who could teach her the basics of childcare and parenting in the first century. How did she potty train Jesus? I celebrated this growth step with my children. I know that Jesus was fully human and fully divine. Mary washed skinned knees, comforted a sad little boy, prepared meals that Jesus didn’t like, taught him prayers, and listened to his relationship woes.
Sometimes I go to Mary through a colloquy, because I’m having trouble framing what I want to say to Jesus and his dad. My loving relationship with my biological mother helps me imagine leaning my head against Mary’s comfortable bosom and talking things out with her.
I wonder if Mary was extroverted, like me, and loved long conversations. Just because Scripture leaves her mostly speechless doesn’t mean that she was shy, subservient, or any different from me as a mother. Well, except for the Mother of God part.
Our lived experiences and relationships color what we imagine during Gospel contemplation. And God knew this would be the case. I thank God for inviting me to have a personal friendship with Mary.
