The Mary of your Christmas Cards
I am the Mary of your Christmas cards. I listen calmly while the angel brings me
news that will shake my life beyond all measure. I accept what has been
ordained for me. I am young and dressed in blue.
I am the Mary of your Christmas cards. Despite travelling almost 100 miles on
a donkey across a desert and giving birth in a stable, I am still immaculately clean
and tidy, cradling my infant son, unperturbed by my surroundings. I am still young
and dressed in blue.
I am the Mary of your Christmas cards, welcoming shepherds from the nearby
fields and strangers from afar; a person who treats such events as if they
happened every day, calmly pondering on them in my heart. I am still young and
dressed in blue. But is this really me? Do you have any picture of me beyond that of Christmas
cards?
Where is your picture of me in the temple, as Simeon tells me how a sword
would pierce my soul? The angel brought greetings and told me not to be afraid,
so I am calm on your Christmas cards; but do you never see the terror in my eyes
as I hear Simeon’s haunting words and I do fear what is to come?
May be you do have a picture of me 12 years later – but have I aged in your
eyes? Am I calm and serene, frantically searching for my son, lost on return from
the temple? He was calm – but not I. I was frantic.
Do you have a picture of me 30 years after your first picture of me? Am I still
dressed in blue? Are there lines on my face? Is my hair now grey?
Do you see me at the wedding feast, recognising deep within that his time was
coming and he would soon be no longer mine?
Do you see me hurt by his rejection when he declared that all the world was
his mother and his brother and his sister. I knew that he had a greater purpose –
but do not imagine that there was no pain for me in this.
How I aged in those three years. But am I still young in your picture? Was I
not grey-haired as I stood at the foot of the cross? Do you know what it takes to
watch your son being crucified? Some parents still do. As they pierced his side,
my soul, too, was pierced. Do you have a picture of me – in tears, distraught at
the anguish of my son? Or am I still the Mary of your Christmas cards?
They laid him in a tomb – it seemed so final – it seemed I had lost him for ever.
Where was the angel now to tell me not to be afraid? My fellow countrywomen
kept vigil; I was not along in mourning. But you who know what happened next,
do you let me grieve for the end I thought he’d reached?
You know the end – you know the triumph of his resurrection, the Kingdom
without end – and knowing this affects your picture of me. I remain always young
and dressed in blue, calm and serene, humble and willing – never allowed to
show fear, hurt, anger, pain and grief.
For many I remain the Mary of Christmas cards.
If I am to be called blessed, please remember all I stand for. As you receive
your cards this Christmas, please look at me and remember that this is just the
beginning.
The nurses were absolutely amazing and took excellent care of him, which was really reassuring. I stayed until my dad showed up at 8am and I just got home but he's still there. He still struggles to swallow so we're not sure when he can come home
