Have you ever stopped to picture Mary as a little girl?
No, really.
Not floating on air. Not perfectly manicured. Not glowing.
But as a little girl.
As we come upon the feast of the Presentation of the Virgin Mary,
I’m forced to stop and consider that she was…human.
That means she had fingernails, toes, and eyebrows. She had cheeks, boogers, and hair follicles.
She may have built castles in the dirt, tripped and bruised her
knees, turned small sticks into dolls and played with them. She might have
burned herself learning to cook, been sick all night vomiting, had a fever and
been drenched in sweat.
She gave a first smile. She took a first step. She said a first
word.
Did she run across a yard, delighted, to greet a favorite family
member? Did she ask embarrassing questions at top volume during synagogue time
when she was a preschooler? Was her heart broken and mended and challenged
before she understood what her life would be?
But first, a little background
The Presentation of Mary is on our liturgical calendars, but what does it mean? It can’t actually be proven historically, though we read about it in early documents (namely the Protoevangelium of James).
The Presentation of Mary follows a story of God’s faithfulness to
two people. If you’ve read about Abraham and Sarah, then this will feel
familiar: Joachim and Anne, Mary’s parents, were long in years and childless.
Not by choice, and it felt to them like a punishment.
They prayed and they fasted. They mourned separately. We’re not
told about the difficulties this may have posed for them personally: The
mocking looks of the women to Anne, the pitying gazes of the men to Joachim.
Did they argue or harbor resentment toward each other? Were they just getting
comfortable in their old age, accepting what was to be? Did they just toss up a
last “let’s see what happens” prayer?
It was clearly the last prayer, because Anne, in her old age, was
pregnant. An angel is involved, so it’s legitimately a miracle.
There was much rejoicing. (And, in my experience, much napping as
well.)
After Mary was born, you can imagine how Joachim and Anne
rejoiced! They did what any God-loving Jewish couple would do — think Hannah,
mother of the Old Testament prophet Samuel — and dedicated her to God.
Mary’s Presentation
This is where things get fuzzy for me, because I have a hard time
picturing the longing for a child and then the giving up of said child. I’d
like to pull up a chair with Anne and just chat about this. What kind of pain
of separation is that? I’m tempted to see it as a way of avoiding the turmoil
of the teen years, except that both Joachim and Anne had promised, in their
prayers and fasting, to dedicate any child they would have to the Lord.
Tradition holds that Mary took her first seven steps when she was
six months old, and Anne declared that she wouldn’t walk again until she walked
at the Temple.
When Mary was three years old — just at the age to do the very
cutest (and most maddening) things — we have her Presentation in the Temple in
Jerusalem. This involved a journey to Jerusalem, which would have been no small
thing: 64 miles (and no easy way to get there).
And then…they left her at the Temple. Though I spent the better
part of a morning searching, I couldn’t find any good source to show me what
her life would have been like. I assume she would have been surrounded by
scripture and worship. Did she learn to read? Could she write? I haven’t been
able to find out, but I suspect that she could and did.
Mary’s first steps in the Temple were to dance in front of the
altar (remember how David did that, too, many centuries before?). The stories
(legends?) say that a halo of light surrounded her, and I’m pretty sure she was
something to behold. Not only was she cute, but she was blessed right out of
the gate. Every adult there was charmed and praising God.
I can’t help but wonder: Were Joachim and Anne a little tempted
to just move to Jerusalem to stay close to Mary? Watch her grow up? Stay in
touch? According to Coptic tradition, Joachim died when Mary was six and Anne
died when she was eight.
There is a cute anecdotal story about the priests and elders
sitting around, talking about God. Mary chimed in, and you can see them all
smiling. But then, Mary had that effect on people.
History of the feast day
The Presentation of Mary, then, is a celebration of her
sinlessness, of Mary as the Immaculate Conception. Preserved from original sin,
she received a special sort of upbringing, too.
Could it be that we’re celebrating something that has been a bit
exaggerated? Something that might have happened very differently?
Well, sure.
Consider the Nativity and the many different images we have of
that event.
There’s something inherently fascinating about the story of Mary
being taken to the Temple. Picturing her as a young girl, just beyond
toddlerhood, still with all her baby teeth and wispy hair, makes her more human
and accessible for me.
Mary, the Mother of God — that makes her sound so grown-up, so
perfect, so imposing. But Mary as a three-year-old, dancing in front of the
altar? I’ve almost seen that happen with my own kids (and I was maybe more than
a little horrified).
Picture the ebullience she must have had, and the way those
around her couldn’t help but smile. Pause for a moment, the next time you pray
a Hail Mary, and think of the little girl Mary must have once been.
And when you don your blue on the feast of Mary’s Presentation — because why not wear blue to honor the Blessed Mother on her feast day? — put an extra skip in your step and give God a little something extra in thanksgiving.
✠
image: Connellsville, Pennsylvania / Stained glass window depicting presentation of the child Mary in the Jerusalem Temple by her parents, Joachim and Ann via Nancy Bauer / Shutterstock.com.
