Breaking News: Mary Knew
On the Sunday after Christmas a few years back I had to drive home after visiting family in North Georgia. Instead of going to Mass in Atlanta, or trying to find a parish somewhere on the road, we decided to leave early enough on Sunday morning to make it back home in time to attend the afternoon service at our own church.
After dragging the kids out of bed and herding everyone into the car we were on the road with a singular goal – make it home in time for the 5:00 pm Mass. With minimal stops and a shaky adherence to posted speed limits we made it home with time left over to shower and change before Mass.
When the worn-out old minivan rolled wearily into the parking lot of the church it would be an understatement to say that I was tired. I was truly exhausted from the 750 mile trip completed in just over 24 hours with very little sleep. But I was content and more than a little proud. Here we were at our local parish fulfilling our Sunday Mass obligation even under trying circumstances.
When I opened the church doors we were greeted by the blasting screams of an electric guitar accompanied by the boom-boom-boom of an electric bass. Playing this style of music during the sacrifice of the Mass is offensive enough, but that’s a subject for a different tirade. What I found inexcusable about the music that afternoon was the song that had been chosen to meet worshipers as they entered the sanctuary – Mary Did You know.
If you’re reading this and you’re a Protestant you’re probably confused as to why anyone in his right mind would find such a beautiful Christmas song offensive and inexcusable. Probably many Catholics reading this are thinking the same thing.
Here’s why. Are you ready? Because Mary knew. She knew all along. Every question asked in that song can be answered with a definitive YES. Of course she knew. All one needs to do is read the first chapter of Luke when Mary was first told of her stunning pregnancy by the angel Gabriel.
”He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his ancestor David: he will rule over the House of Jacob forever and his reign will have no end.” – (Luke 1:32-33)
So, did Mary know that her baby boy would one day rule the nations? Uh yeah. It’s actually one of the very first things out of Gabriel’s mouth.
I literally never attended another Mass at that church. Literally, not one.
Complete disclosure: I had many other issues with that particular parish long before I was so appalled by the Christmas season rock concert disguised as a Catholic Mass. I already had one foot out of the door, and the ear-splitting performance of that song provided the final push I needed to make a full exit. Daddy hit the road that day and unlike Lot’s wife, I never looked back.
The parish that I decided to join next was appropriately named Mary Queen of Heaven. Kind of funny that I went from one church that implied (through song at least) that Mary was an unknowing participant in God’s plan for human salvation, to a parish that shouts out to the world that she is the queen of heaven in its very name. Two parishes separated by eight miles, yet a world apart in their treatment of the hand-picked mother of God.
Approximately ten months after I officially moved my family to Mary Queen of Heaven I was approached by a neighbor and invited to attend the fall carnival at his church. He asked if I went to church and if so which one. I hesitated. It wasn’t a long hesitation, it wasn’t an awkward hesitation, but I hesitated nonetheless. I wasn’t concerned about telling him that I’m a Catholic, but I was embarrassed to tell him the name of my church. Why? Was I ashamed of the Marian devotion that authentic Catholicism teaches? Was I worried that he would think I was crazy? Or uncool? I don’t really know the answer, but I do know that in that moment when I should have stuck out my chest and raised my head high, I instead hesitated and said, “A Catholic church in Argyle.”
Finally, my guilt got the better of me and I told him the name of my parish. I didn’t go to his church’s carnival and we’ve barely spoken since then.
In the past few decades there has been a lot of political debate about whether America should remain a Christian nation. There’s even been debate over if it’s ever really been one in the first place. Much discussion has occurred over the intent of the founding fathers, and the concept of the separation of church and state has been defined, debated, and redefined many times over. But one thing is not debatable – the United States has never been a Catholic country. The founding fathers were overwhelmingly Protestant and many were Masons (read as “anti-Catholics.”)
The bottom line is this – Catholics are and always have been a cultural minority in the US. The Irish and Italian immigrants in the early 1900s may have brought their Catholicism with them from Europe, but the most blatant and visible Catholic aspects of their faith were kept hidden away so as not to amplify their own personal differences from the more established Americans.
And in the Deep South? Oh boy. To this day there still exists at best a gross misunderstanding of the Catholic faith, and at worst an outright suspicion and hatred of it. Even Protestant members of my own family still believe the stereotypes about Catholics worshiping statues, the Pope, and Mary. There we are – back to Mary again.
Within the past year I have consecrated myself to Jesus through Mary using the formula developed by Saint Louis de Montfort in the 18th century and simplified by Fr Michael Gaitley in his book 33 Days to Morning Glory, published in 2011. It’s a complex devotion that I don’t have the space (or intellect) to properly explain here, but I would recommend it to any serious Catholic. Just Google Saint de Montfort or Fr Gaitley and you’ll find hours and hours of material on Marian devotion and consecration. It is a consecration TO Jesus THROUGH Mary. Authentic Catholicism has a strong devotion to the mother of God, it does not worship her.
As a part of my consecration I now wear a brown scapular. It’s just a small wool square/rectangular medallion worn around the neck under one’s clothing. As a member of the Brown Scapular Confraternity I recite the rosary daily and agree to wear a scapular at all times. The scapular itself serves as a silent prayer. If you have any questions about the brown scapular and its powerful benefits, the Sisters Of Mt Carmel are a great resource.
Last April I went to my nearest Starbucks to get my free birthday coffee – if you’re not taking advantage of this, you’re basically throwing away a $5 birthday present, but that’s a discussion for another time. Anyway, after ordering my birthday latte, I retreated to the men’s room while my barista prepared the drink. When I looked in the bathroom mirror I saw that my scapular had creeped up and was clearly visible through my open collar. I instinctively panicked, buttoned my collar, and stuffed the scapular back down under my shirt. Let’s be honest, Starbucks doesn’t exactly have a reputation for being the most pro-Christian organization in America. As I caught the image of my reflection anxiously hiding the brown scapular, I was truly ashamed of myself. It was just like that day in the front yard with my neighbor when I hesitated to admit the name of my parish. I sighed, shook my head, and pulled the scapular back up into full sight. I collected my latte, thanked the barista, and walked out with the scapular in full view and my head held high.
I have come to the inevitable conclusion that it doesn’t matter what some random barista thinks about my faith. It doesn’t matter what my neighbors, coworkers, or even family thinks about it either. What really matters is what God thinks. And God knows when I feel embarrassed about him or his mother. And He knows when I hold my head high and proclaim my faith proudly and resolutely in a society where it is rapidly becoming more unpopular and even dangerous to do so. God knows, and so does Mary, regardless of what that stupid song says.
After dragging the kids out of bed and herding everyone into the car we were on the road with a singular goal – make it home in time for the 5:00 pm Mass. With minimal stops and a shaky adherence to posted speed limits we made it home with time left over to shower and change before Mass.
When the worn-out old minivan rolled wearily into the parking lot of the church it would be an understatement to say that I was tired. I was truly exhausted from the 750 mile trip completed in just over 24 hours with very little sleep. But I was content and more than a little proud. Here we were at our local parish fulfilling our Sunday Mass obligation even under trying circumstances.
When I opened the church doors we were greeted by the blasting screams of an electric guitar accompanied by the boom-boom-boom of an electric bass. Playing this style of music during the sacrifice of the Mass is offensive enough, but that’s a subject for a different tirade. What I found inexcusable about the music that afternoon was the song that had been chosen to meet worshipers as they entered the sanctuary – Mary Did You know.
If you’re reading this and you’re a Protestant you’re probably confused as to why anyone in his right mind would find such a beautiful Christmas song offensive and inexcusable. Probably many Catholics reading this are thinking the same thing.
Here’s why. Are you ready? Because Mary knew. She knew all along. Every question asked in that song can be answered with a definitive YES. Of course she knew. All one needs to do is read the first chapter of Luke when Mary was first told of her stunning pregnancy by the angel Gabriel.
”He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his ancestor David: he will rule over the House of Jacob forever and his reign will have no end.” – (Luke 1:32-33)
So, did Mary know that her baby boy would one day rule the nations? Uh yeah. It’s actually one of the very first things out of Gabriel’s mouth.
I literally never attended another Mass at that church. Literally, not one.
Complete disclosure: I had many other issues with that particular parish long before I was so appalled by the Christmas season rock concert disguised as a Catholic Mass. I already had one foot out of the door, and the ear-splitting performance of that song provided the final push I needed to make a full exit. Daddy hit the road that day and unlike Lot’s wife, I never looked back.
The parish that I decided to join next was appropriately named Mary Queen of Heaven. Kind of funny that I went from one church that implied (through song at least) that Mary was an unknowing participant in God’s plan for human salvation, to a parish that shouts out to the world that she is the queen of heaven in its very name. Two parishes separated by eight miles, yet a world apart in their treatment of the hand-picked mother of God.
Approximately ten months after I officially moved my family to Mary Queen of Heaven I was approached by a neighbor and invited to attend the fall carnival at his church. He asked if I went to church and if so which one. I hesitated. It wasn’t a long hesitation, it wasn’t an awkward hesitation, but I hesitated nonetheless. I wasn’t concerned about telling him that I’m a Catholic, but I was embarrassed to tell him the name of my church. Why? Was I ashamed of the Marian devotion that authentic Catholicism teaches? Was I worried that he would think I was crazy? Or uncool? I don’t really know the answer, but I do know that in that moment when I should have stuck out my chest and raised my head high, I instead hesitated and said, “A Catholic church in Argyle.”
Finally, my guilt got the better of me and I told him the name of my parish. I didn’t go to his church’s carnival and we’ve barely spoken since then.
In the past few decades there has been a lot of political debate about whether America should remain a Christian nation. There’s even been debate over if it’s ever really been one in the first place. Much discussion has occurred over the intent of the founding fathers, and the concept of the separation of church and state has been defined, debated, and redefined many times over. But one thing is not debatable – the United States has never been a Catholic country. The founding fathers were overwhelmingly Protestant and many were Masons (read as “anti-Catholics.”)
The bottom line is this – Catholics are and always have been a cultural minority in the US. The Irish and Italian immigrants in the early 1900s may have brought their Catholicism with them from Europe, but the most blatant and visible Catholic aspects of their faith were kept hidden away so as not to amplify their own personal differences from the more established Americans.
And in the Deep South? Oh boy. To this day there still exists at best a gross misunderstanding of the Catholic faith, and at worst an outright suspicion and hatred of it. Even Protestant members of my own family still believe the stereotypes about Catholics worshiping statues, the Pope, and Mary. There we are – back to Mary again.
Within the past year I have consecrated myself to Jesus through Mary using the formula developed by Saint Louis de Montfort in the 18th century and simplified by Fr Michael Gaitley in his book 33 Days to Morning Glory, published in 2011. It’s a complex devotion that I don’t have the space (or intellect) to properly explain here, but I would recommend it to any serious Catholic. Just Google Saint de Montfort or Fr Gaitley and you’ll find hours and hours of material on Marian devotion and consecration. It is a consecration TO Jesus THROUGH Mary. Authentic Catholicism has a strong devotion to the mother of God, it does not worship her.
As a part of my consecration I now wear a brown scapular. It’s just a small wool square/rectangular medallion worn around the neck under one’s clothing. As a member of the Brown Scapular Confraternity I recite the rosary daily and agree to wear a scapular at all times. The scapular itself serves as a silent prayer. If you have any questions about the brown scapular and its powerful benefits, the Sisters Of Mt Carmel are a great resource.
Last April I went to my nearest Starbucks to get my free birthday coffee – if you’re not taking advantage of this, you’re basically throwing away a $5 birthday present, but that’s a discussion for another time. Anyway, after ordering my birthday latte, I retreated to the men’s room while my barista prepared the drink. When I looked in the bathroom mirror I saw that my scapular had creeped up and was clearly visible through my open collar. I instinctively panicked, buttoned my collar, and stuffed the scapular back down under my shirt. Let’s be honest, Starbucks doesn’t exactly have a reputation for being the most pro-Christian organization in America. As I caught the image of my reflection anxiously hiding the brown scapular, I was truly ashamed of myself. It was just like that day in the front yard with my neighbor when I hesitated to admit the name of my parish. I sighed, shook my head, and pulled the scapular back up into full sight. I collected my latte, thanked the barista, and walked out with the scapular in full view and my head held high.
I have come to the inevitable conclusion that it doesn’t matter what some random barista thinks about my faith. It doesn’t matter what my neighbors, coworkers, or even family thinks about it either. What really matters is what God thinks. And God knows when I feel embarrassed about him or his mother. And He knows when I hold my head high and proclaim my faith proudly and resolutely in a society where it is rapidly becoming more unpopular and even dangerous to do so. God knows, and so does Mary, regardless of what that stupid song says.
Comments
Post a Comment