Tag: Adrienne von Speyr

totus tuus: knowledge of Mary

knowledge through the Rosary

Mary lived with her eyes fixed on Christ, treasuring his every word: “She kept all these things, pondering them in her heart”. The memories of Jesus, impressed upon her heart, were always with her, leading her to reflect on the various moments of her life at her Son’s side. In a way those memories were to be the “rosary” which she recited uninterruptedly throughout her earthly life.

Pope St. John Paul II, Rosarium Virginis Mariae

About a year into my Catholic inquiry, in a moment of fervor, I google’d “how to pray the Rosary” and printed out instructions, all the while glancing furtively to the doorway of the office, hoping my parents wouldn’t find me with this verboten literature. But these thrilling moments would pass, and I would be back at square-one, uncomfortable with Mary. Every time I looked upon an image of Mary or even thought about her, I was physically uncomfortable.

There were times I was genuinely frustrated with myself because I knew it was strange to be afraid of someone so obviously good. Even if I didn’t grow to love her, couldn’t I at least respect her? Only through my teeth could I acknowledge her importance. My head had submitted to the Marian dogmas, but my heart was lagging behind.

By my senior year of high school, I had decided I would be Catholic when the time was right. I was in an unofficial catechumenate phase of penitence and prayer. The Rosary still made my skin crawl. So during Lent I resolved to say it once a day, usually in the morning while I drove to school via daily Mass, half-expecting to burst into flames from the wrath of God, and thereby resolve to turn from my sinful pseudo-Catholic ways.

I did not burst into flames. (Though I almost got in a car accident when my rosary caught on my signal-turner and burst, beads flying everywhere. As it turns out, it is not necessary to hold your rosary while driving.) Nor did Mary appear to me and say, “Thank you, daughter, for finally praying my rosary.” It was more like a quiet, still grace that continued to pervade my life during a really, really difficult time.

My Lenten practice did not continue. I prayed the Rosary sporadically for the next… well, up until now, to be honest. We’re not one of those families that prays a rosary every night, except during the month of October, the month of the rosary. But now, during this period of the 33-day consecration, I’m asked to pray a rosary daily.

What has made a difference for me this time, though, is that I have recently read two spiritual writers who speak of Mary in a language I can understand. English writer Caryll Houselander’s Reed of God describes how Mary is an open and willing vessel to God’s divine will. She describes moments in Mary’s life and offers her insight into Mary’s heart, while also applying each situation to modern times and situations. Swiss writer Adrienne von Speyr’s work Handmaid of the Lord beautifully and poetically describes her own contemplation of Mary’s interior life. Both of these works have made Mary more real to me, more like a real woman, wife, and mother. With Houselander and Speyr’s descriptions, the mysteries of the Rosary enter my heart in a deeper way than before.

Below is one excerpt from each book.

A contemplation for the mystery, “Finding Jesus in the Temple”:

Why did Christ treat Our Lady this way?

It was not to show His absolute trust in her or her trust in Him (although she was the one human being to whom God’s will was completely unhindered). It was because Our Lady lived the life of all humanity. Concentrated into her tiny history is the life story of the whole human race, the whole relationship of the redeemed human race with God… Naturally, then, she experienced this loss of the Child because it is an experience which we all have to go through, that our love may be sifted and purified.

Reed of God, Caryll Houselander

A contemplation for the mystery, “The Crucifixion”:

Whoever says Yes to a child consents to that little being’s whole future work and fruitfulness, which extends into the unforeseeable… [Mary] hears what [Jesus] says to the thief- that this word contains a promise and that he, although in the midst of dying, does not cease to make promises, because nothing, not even death, not even forsakenness, can violate his mission. Thus he promises no less on the Cross than he would promise as God in heaven: namely, Paradise together with him. His promises, therefore, are not dependent upon his present condition. His word is valid with a divine impartiality, however he may be faring as a man. Everything around him and in him is falling apart; only his mission remains intact. He cannot see the thief without letting this mission become effective for him. The mother can draw on this and realize that her own mission- namely to say Yes to everything that God intends for her- is uninfluenced by her sorrow and her inclusion in the Son’s night.

Handmaid of the Lord, Adrienne von Speyr

totus tuus: day 12

self-gift

I’ve come to the end of the period within the 33 days of consecration known as the “preliminary days”, which concentrate on some of the not-so-basic basics of Christianity, like the persons of the Trinity, divine providence, sin and mercy. I feel like I’ve been putting mental bookmarks into thoughts and ideas along the way, like “ooh, I want to learn more about that” or, “I wonder why THAT was so hard”, some of which I wrote about, a lot of which I kept private.

I mentioned this before, but St. Louis de Montfort’s consecration is nothing like I imagined it to be, but really digs its heels into one’s perception and love of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. It truly is a consecration to Jesus. It’s humbling in a soul-stripping sort of way, satisfying in a getting-truly-fed sort of way. It’s hard work, and I think it’s going to get harder in the days to come.

What’s becoming increasingly clear, though, is Mary’s role in the consecration, the “why” of growing closer to Jesus through Mary. I’m sure to many Catholics, that’d be followed by a “well, duh”, but I know I’m not alone in the suspicion/curiosity/befuddlement of why Mary has to be involved, and why this would become increasingly clear in contemplating the Trinity.

About a year ago, a friend recommended I read the 20th century Catholic theologian Hans urs von Balthasar, as well as Adrienne von Speyr, a Swiss Catholic writer. Balthasar is a theologian I never knew I always loved. Even though he makes a distinction from theologians and the lover-saints, I think he approaches God as a lover-theologian; he strives to explain mysteries of God with a lover’s heart and theologian’s mind. And Adrienne von Speyr is a feast to read; I started with Handmaid of the Lord, a contemplative insight into the mysteries of Mary’s life. I had to take it in pieces, ponder it, then go back to read more. The timing of having just read (and still reading) these writers is providential as I work through the consecration and draw upon the wisdom and insight of both Balthasar and Speyr.

I imagine I will write more on this, but the most repetitive and potent point right now is the nature of self-gift in both the Trinity and in Mary’s fiat. Balthasar explains the Trinity as an on-going giving and receiving of love. Jesus’ obedience to the Father, therefore, is “essentially love”. Speyr writes, “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ is given to us only through the self-giving love of God the Father, so that we can participate in the fellowship of the Holy Spirit” (The Holy Mass). And St. John Paul II writes, “In the Holy Spirit the intimate life of the Triune God becomes totally gift, an exchange of mutual love between the Divine Persons” (Dominum et Vivificantem, as quoted by Fr. McMaster in Totus Tuus).

Because of our sinful nature, it is not natural for us to think in terms of self-gift. To give of ourselves is an effort that requires grace. But we were created for self-gift, since we were created in the image of God. Before the fall in Eden, I assume we were able to enter into that giving of self and exchange of mutual love, freely and beautifully. Now by the merits of Christ, we are invited into that exchange, but it is a constant struggle with our sinful nature.

Yet for Mary, who was without original sin by the grace of God, it wasn’t against her nature to act in total self-gift. It is natural for her to give of herself without reservation to God and His will. She unites her will to His; His mission becomes hers; His desires become hers. Even while experiencing great suffering and trials, while watching her Son and Lord be tortured and crucified, she is confident in the good design of the Father. This is why she’s the example to all Christians: “Her obedience is the prototype of every future instance of Christian obedience, which draws its whole meaning from the life of prayer and the perception of God’s will” (Handmaid). Even if Mary’s immaculate-ness (that she was born without original sin) makes you uncomfortable or you don’t believe it, you would have to agree that she followed and carried out God’s will as no one else had before her (or since).

During my life as a Catholic, whenever it has come to Mary, my brain takes a detour; the radius of space around her has slowly slimmed down, but I have been reticent to get much closer. I’ll write more about this later, but at this point, in large part thanks to von Speyr’s comprehensible descriptions of Mary and these first several days of the consecration, I truly do see and completely embrace the why of growing closer to Jesus through Mary. Through her, we learn perfect Christian obedience, perfect surrender, and perfect unity with God’s holy will, which all flows from perfect love.