Half of my family are Irish Catholics, so I wasn't raised with any hostility to Mary, nor did I ever--then or now--see her as a stumbling block.
There are some Protestants in my family, but I always knew that if I were to be Christian at all, I would have to convert to Catholicism. In my prejudiced mind, it has always seemed the only 'real' form of Christianity.
Well, I suppose the Orthodox churches do seem 'real'--but too foreign to my own upbringing. And Protestantism always seemed 'not the real thing.' That is, of course, merely a misguided prejudice on my part, but I always knew that I'd sooner be at constant odds with Church doctrine and the pope as a Catholic than live without either as a Protestant.
I've always thought Mary was one of the most attractive features of Catholicism. My reasons for this might horrify some Christians--Catholic and Protestant--but you can just roll your eyes and remember who these thoughts are coming from
Mary's a nice Jewish girl on the one hand and a throwback to Isis on the other. The cult of Isis was one of the most powerful in Rome when Christianity started making headway. If Apuleius can be trusted, it was a monothestic religion: Isis was the single embodiement of all gods and goddesses. She was also a loving, ethical mother to us all. In the western world, Isis was the last great expression of God as feminine.
When Christianity triumphed, statues of Isis and her baby Horus were just christened into Mary and Jesus. And some of Isis's titles--like Queen of Heaven--were given to Mary. I never thought that was a bad thing. On the contrary, I was glad that something of Isis survived in this sweet Jewish girl from Nazareth. I don't mind our relentlessly masculine way of referring to God--just as long as there are reminders, like Mary, that God can also be female.
So strongly did I feel about Mary that I even argued with a professor once over his interpretation of the 'Wedding at Cana' story. He kept going on about new wine--I gave him a confused look and said that the story had nothing to do with that.
"Very well, then, let's hear your interpretation," he invited.
I winked at him and said, "The point of the story of the wedding at Cana is that if you want Jesus to do something for you, you should get his mother to ask him."
I got an appreciative laugh from nearly everyone in the class at that--including the professor.
It was a hard thing for me when I realized that I couldn't be Catholic. I couldn't bring myself to recite the creed when I didn't agree with anything other than, "We believe in one God, the father, the almighty." (Well, I agree that Jesus was crucified under Pilate, but that event doesn't have the same significance to me that it has to Christians.)
The interesting thing was that I made my peace with not being a Christian long before I made my peace with not being a Catholic. That's because I grew up surrounded by the Catholic mythos. Even the Catholics in my family who hate the Church are still, in that very hatred, engaged with Catholicism.
But there was one other mythos in my family that, ultimately, seemed even deeper and more real to me than Catholicism. Even when I was trying to decide about conversion to Catholicism, my most regular place of worship was a synagogue on the upper west side of Manhattan.
Late into a Christmas party this year, when there were only about five of us left, a serious discussion of religion arose. Our poor hostess was the lone Protestant surrounded by three Catholics and one person (me) who was quite sympathetic to the Catholic mythos.
We were talking about how hard it is for someone who's gay to leave Catholicism and go to a liberal Protestant church--even though it would seem in his best interest to do so. But we were agreeing that, for many people who are raised Catholic, Protestantism just doesn't seem as 'real.'
This led to our hostess having to suffer plenty of good-natured ribbing as she stood up (quite eloquently) for Protestantism. Nonetheless, the ribbing continued--and I even helped it along. Heck, I think I even initiated it.
But then I decided to switch sides. "Ok," I began, addressing myself to one of the Cathoics. "Now I'll say something against the 'realness' of Catholicism. Why would you settle for being a member of the Church when you can be part of the people Israel?"
Our hostess greeted that question with applause and approval as the Catholic in question raised his eyebrows at the unexpected assault. "Well," he said with a half-hearted shrug, "the Messiah has already come."
"But why practice the religion about Jesus when you can practice the religion of Jesus?" I teased.
We left it at that, with laughs all around, but I thought about it on the ride home. In one sense, I believe that all ethical religions are of equal value and are equally God-intended. But in another, I really do think of Judaism as more 'real' even than Catholicism. What I should think, of course, is that it's more 'real' for me. But I have to keep reminding myself of that.
And that's what I thought about this Christmas. The two great religious stories in my family are the Catholic mythos and the Jewish mythos. Consequently, despite a number of experiments, they're the only two religions that could ever draw me in and transform me.
When I sat in church with my family on Christmas, I thought about how Catholicism will remain, for me, the road not taken. And for the first time I really felt at peace with that. I don't have the luxury of meditating on the 'Hail Mary' anymore--but now each Friday night I greet Shabbat (the Sabbath) like a queen. And during services on Saturday I can reach out and touch the Torah scrolls with a prayerbook and then kiss the prayerbook. (The Torah, like Shabbat, is also feminine).
I had made my peace with Jesus--that brilliant, challenging and sometimes aggravating rabbi from Nazareth--long ago. But this Christmas I made sure to go up to Mary's statue. I wanted to thank that sweet Jewish girl for being there for so much of my journey. And I wanted to tell her that, despite my personal prejudices, I was glad that she would continue to be there for so many in my family.
