La Milagrosa
Sweeney in the Lady Chapel
by M. A. Griffiths
Father, Son and Holy Ghost—praise God,
not one womb between them, unless
there is some uterine shape wavering in the Spirit,
but, adjusting our lenses, we think not.
This means not one spot of menstrual flux,
which is a good thing, monthly blood
being unclean, not shed by the hands or feet
or side, but by the leaking centre, the sink
and sump of corruption, the hole and haven
of original sin. Veil it, purge it, sew it up,
stamp on it for the width of mortal time.
Avoid the iron stench of it, the dark stain,
that moil and mutter of the nether mouth
which speaks to Satan, which is the gape
of hell, not the strait entrance to heaven.
Now let us pray, Ave to the Virgin Mary,
who was delivered of the Christ child
through the cockles of her right ear,
most becomingly and sweetly. Ave, Mother
undefiled, glory of folded flesh and fingers,
holy flower, everlasting maiden, who births
Powers from her salmon-pink tongue, who buds
Thrones and Seraphim between her pearly toes.
From Grasshopper: The Poetry of M. A. Griffiths. Republished with permission. To read more by and about M. A. Griffiths, buy her book and follow the links on this memorial website.
As a send-up of religious misogyny, the poem is spot-on. The Christian God is all male; Mary is not worshiped with the boys, but only “venerated,” and that’s only in certain denominations. And it seems she can’t even be venerated unless she’s de-sexed. She must be a virgin, and she must be “immaculate,” cleansed of the original sin handed down to us by Eve. Some conservatives even insist that Mary couldn’t have given birth in the normal way. Such attitudes beg to be satirized.
But in those ironic Aves and honorifics, I’m hearing something more. Not just a jab at misogynists, but an implied sneer at the whole idea of Marian devotion. The baby thrown out with the bathwater.
Most people who venerate Mary don’t think of her in such a weird, complicated way. Does this Mexican shrine to Guadalupe, so full of joie de vivre, look like the work of someone who was thinking, “Veil it, purge it, sew it up”?
Notice that most images of Guadalupe—patron saint of the Americas—are shaped like vaginas.
Old-school religious anti-Catholics were fond of attacking the church on the grounds that Mary was accorded too much respect. Here’s Ian Paisley on the subject:
In the true Church of Jesus Christ our Lord Jesus Christ has all the preeminence. In the Church of Rome Mary, by order of the Roman Antichrists, has all the preeminence.”
Bob Jones coined the term “Mariolatry,” meaning the idolatry of Mary, intending it as an insult. The Catholic clergy, and many lay Catholics, take it as such, and argue that veneration and worship are completely different things. What I see as a redeeming feature, in other words, they’re defensive about, like Mitt Romney apologizing for Massachusetts health care reform.
In most Christian denominations, you’re only ever allowed to pray to a male deity. You can’t even ask Mary, or any of the hundreds of saints, male and female, from all over the world, to intercede on your behalf. Yes, they let women be ministers, and that’s great, but at the very heart of things—the prayers you say in foxholes—there’s something missing, something being repressed. A human need that’s going unfulfilled.
Think of the predominantly Christian countries in which Mary is commonly celebrated at festivals and shrines—Mexico, Italy—and those in which she is not—England, Germany. The food alone says it all.
María de las Mercedes, patron saint of Barcelona
The world needs a mother. That’s why there have always been goddesses. A common criticism is that Mary is really a front for some pagan goddess or other (such as Tonantzin). That’s a stupid criticism, for two reasons. First, it assumes that syncretism is a bad thing. But why should that be? It’s a well-known, humanizing, redeeming feature of the church, not some embarrassing secret. “Oh no! The conquerors may have accommodated some of the beloved traditions of the locals instead of stamping them out! How scandalous!” Second, it makes no sense—how can you “really” be praying to A when you believe you’re praying to B? Still, it’s true that for many Catholics, Mary does represent something more than a virtuous human. She is the Blessed Mother, the universal mother figure they turn to in their hour of need:
Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of Mercy, our life, our sweetness and our hope. To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve; to thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears.
It’s not rational, it’s emotional. Even atheists are susceptible. As George Santayana famously put it, “There is no God, and Mary is His mother.”
As an ex-Catholic who totally gets that quote, I like the thought that there’s something lurking behind the Virgin Mary, an older female presence. Whether you want to call her a goddess, an earth mother, or an archetype is up to you. Whatever she is, of course she has to be contained to fit into the church’s overall vision—they only include her at all because she can’t be denied. In the fusty darkness of the church, “Mary” is the little window that lets her light in, filtered and distorted by stained glass. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. Pity the poor Presbyterians, who are denied even that! For all that’s wrong with the Catholic Church, at least it has paintings of gold-crowned women standing on the moon, draped in constellations, shooting beams of light from their hands.
Maybe the image of Mary, the “Mother of Mercy,” is too gentle for some tastes, but I prefer her to the warlike Athena, the uncaring Kali, or some Aztec corn goddess who wants to eat my heart. She’s more like the Chinese Kuan Yin, “the bodhisattva associated with compassion.” According to this essay (thanks, Julie!), the two may even share some DNA.
Kuan Yin
I send this prayer to the divine Kuan Yin, and ask humbly for benign and benevolent love and protection. In my time of darkness and need, I am all alone in this world, I feel abandoned and I am scared.—from Prayer to Kuan Yin
Like Mary, she is often depicted holding an infant.
I realize that not everyone will read “Sweeney in the Lady Chapel” the way I do. Some will see only a send-up of a select group of woman haters, in which case most of this isn’t relevant to the poem. But at least you got to look at some pretty pictures. Since it’s almost Christmas, I can’t resist throwing in one more, this one of the baby Krishna with his mother (thanks Maryann).
Happy holidays.
