“Yes” and “No”

Gaudete Sunday is almost upon us. In the midst of waiting in ever-advancing darkness in this Advent season, we are given a liturgical breather. In the midst of our penitential preparation for the birth of a new life and a new way, we can take a moment to rejoice that it is coming and celebrate our part in bringing forth such a gift. I cannot fail to note the gender fluid colors of the day, rose and violet, appropriately marking both uniqueness and inclusion, proclaiming hope and joy, wonder and majesty, and the births of endless possibilities opening in our midst.  

One possibility opens when all genders say “yes” from their heart, willingly, fiercely even. Mary famously said “yes” at the Annunciation, but the male writers of the Scriptures would not let such a strong affirmative go unedited. Their version of her “yes” is really a more passive, “Thy will be done,” or “May your word to me be fulfilled,” or even “Let it be done unto me.” I am a champion of humility in general but only when it comes as an inner-directed choice. Otherwise, it is closer to humiliation, the result of fear, subjection, repression and oppression. 

I think, given the only pictures we have of her life, Mary’s “yes” seems far more confident than the Church would have us believe. She immediately champions a radical social justice that topples the powerful and elevates the poor; with unwavering faith in his identity and mission, she calls forth Jesus’ first miracle at Cana; in spite of possible danger and reprisal, not to mention unbearable inner anguish, she stays to suffer with him at the cross; she is present at Pentecost witnessing the Holy Spirit once given to her now given to all who are willing.

And yet the Church turned that “yes” into so many prohibitions, so much exclusion, so much propaganda for perpetuation of injustice. Dorothy Ann Lee on the website The Conversation mentions a speech in 2014 in which Pope Francis said, “The model of maternity for the Church is the Virgin Mary” who “in the fullness of time conceived through the Holy Spirit and gave birth to the Son of God.”  Lee points out: 

“If that were true, women could be ordained, since their connection to Mary would allow them, like her, to represent the church. If the world received the body of Christ from this woman, Mary, then women today should not be excluded from giving the body of Christ, as priests, to the faithful at Mass.

The Virgin cult cuts women off from the full, human reality of Mary, and so from full participation in the life of the church.

It is no coincidence that in the early 20th century, the Vatican forbade Mary to be depicted in priestly vestments. She could only ever be presented as the unattainable virgin-mother: never as leader, and never as a fully embodied woman in her own right.

The irony of this should not be lost. A fully human Gospel symbol of female authority, autonomy, and the capacity to envision a transformed world becomes a tool of patriarchy.

By contrast, the Mary of the Gospels, the God-bearer and priestly figure – a normal wife and mother of children – confirms women in their embodied humanity and supports their efforts to challenge unjust structures, both within and outside the church.”

As we say “Yes!” and “Amen!” to that, we can return to Gaudete Sunday with a renewed sense of rejoicing. John P. Slattery, University of Notre Dame theology professor, reminds us of Mary’s meeting with Elizabeth, soon-to-be mother of John the Baptist: 

“The joyful news that God’s promise is being fulfilled is first shared person-to-person not by a few high priests in the temple, but between two lonely pregnant women, rejoicing in their God and in their company far away from the scorns of the community.

Then, relieved, hopeful, and rejoicing with Elizabeth and Mary, we are encouraged by the Apostle to the Gentiles to rejoice! At all times! Pray! Give thanks! Hang in there and cling to hope and joy, Paul states, for God’s time is nigh. Trust in the peace of God and hold fast to what you know is true.”