A Century of Marian Metaphors

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Our Lady of Fatima, pray for us. (Source)

1. Mary’s heart is the prism which catches the ineffable light of the Godhead and scatters it out as all the many graces of the world.

2. Mary is the pure candle holding aloft the undying flame of the Holy Spirit – the light and heat are Christ in his humanity and divinity, come to quicken the dead earth.

3. Mary’s heart is the spotless flower from which we, like so many bees, draw forth the fragrant nectar of Christ to make sweet honey for our God and King.

4. Mary’s heart is the fresh spring of grace that flows until it has become the mighty river of all the baptismal waters through history.

5. One word spoken by Mary is more ravishing to the angels and saints than the music of our worship, the hymns of the dead in purgatory, or even that sweetest sound, the prayer of a single penitent sinner.

6. Mary’s heart is the jeweled cask that hides a treasure inexhaustible.

7. Mary is the ever-new wineskin, and she always receives the new wine of God’s undying graces.

8. As the Ark rested beneath the watchful gaze of the two angels, so Mary is attended by her two angelic forebears, Enoch and Elijah.

9. Mary’s Immaculate Heart is the pillar of fire; the breath of her Fiat is the pillar of cloud.

10. Mary is the crown of the priest and king, his finest ornament and glory as he stands at prayer for us in the Holy of Holies.

11. Mary is the priestly breastplate, the glory of the House of Israel, the bearer of the Urim and Thummim of Christ’s two natures, guardian of the heart of the High Priest.

12. Mary is the Golden Vestment of Adoring Sacrifice and the Linen Vestment of Atoning Sacrifice.

13. Mary is the triumphant sister of Jael and Judith.

14. Mary is the undying hearth in winter, and she who tends the hearth.

15. Mary is the strong tree of shelter for us and the wood of the cross for her son.

16. Mary is the threefold seat of wisdom.

17. Mary is the ring of Solomon the King, that all the demons fear and tremble before.

18. Mary is the blueprint of Heaven and its surest map.

19. Mary is the granary of Heaven, opened for us in the time of our souls’ great famine.

20. Mary is the Pelican, piously feeding her children with the fruit of her own Immaculate Heart.

21.Mary is the cup of the everlasting nuptials.

22. Mary is the abyss of all Light, and the Light is Christ.

23. Mary is the white fire; her spouse is the black fire; together, they bring forth the Word.

24. Mary is the perfect circle of the nimbus around Christ’s head.

25. Mary is Eden-Garden.

26. Mary is Bethel of Jacob.

27. Mary is Eretz Yisrael.

28. Mary is Mt. Sinai.

29. Mary is Mt. Zion.

30. Mary is Jordan-Bank.

31. Mary is Mt. Tabor.

32. Mary is Golgotha.

33. Mary is the Cenacle.

34. Mary is the Tree of Life, the fruit of which we are given to eat, now and always.

35. Mary is the Tree of Life, on which the world of the spirit turns.

36. Mary is the Tree of Life, perfectly united to Christ in His sacrifice.

37. Mary is the visible whirlwind from which God speaks to the Righteous man suffering; her spouse is the invisible whirlwind, from which the wind derives its likeness.

38. Mary is the wing of the Seraphim lifted into flight by that ghostly wind.

39. Mary is the flowering earth under the footprint of Christ, her son.

40. Mary is the willow who weeps with an inconsolable grief.

41. Mary is the first high cliff that meets the light of the rising Sun.

42. The heart of Mary is as a treasure hidden in a placid blue sea.

43. Mary is the haven of white sands.

44. In Mary, lava cascades into the sea and builds a new land.

45. Mary’s heart is the molten forge of the King’s great weapons.

46. Mary’s heart is the gift of roses and lilies upon the altar.

47. Mary’s heart is the mirror of heaven.

48. Mary’s heart is the root of a golden fruit, the sacred heart of her son.

49. Mary’s heart is the privileged parchment on which the Holy Ghost composes the chant of every Angelic choir.

50. Mary’s heart is God’s library, wherein He may read and recount His own great deeds in all of human history.

51. Mary’s heart is the throne of the cosmic King.

52. Mary is the unstained looking-glass through which we see Christ clearly.

53. Mary is the altar.

54. Mary is the Tabernacle

55. Mary is the Lampstand.

56. Mary is the Holy of Holies.

57. Mary is the parted veil.

58. Mary is the lantern we carry that spreads the Uncreated Light before us on our path.

59. Mary is the Queen of all our darkest nights.

60. Mary is she who speaks the ineffable name of God, and lives.

61. Mary is the first and perfect Veronica, keeper of the Holy Face of Jesus.

62. Mary is the first and perfect Magdalene, anointing Christ with her unblemished humanity.

63. Mary is the first and perfect Martha, laboring always for Christ and His kingdom.

64. Mary is the first and perfect Lydia, following the Gospel wherever it leads.

65. Mary is the first and perfect Priscilla, aid to all the successors of the Apostles.

66. Mary is the hidden Aleph at the start of God’s great book.

67. Mary is the firmament.

68. Mary is the firstborn of the Redeemed World according to the order of time.

69. Mary is the Golden Fountain of all graces.

70. Mary is the Garden and the Garden-Ground.

71. Mary’s heart is the thurible in the hands of the Great High Priest; her pure prayer goes up to the Father as so much fiery incense.

72. Mary’s heart is the Chalice that receives and holds the Most Precious Blood.

73. Mary’s heart is the gem at the center of God’s crown.

74. Mary’s heart is the virgin land where stands the banner of her son.

75. Mary is the ladder of the Angels.

76. Mary is the cloud that rises from the sea.

77. Mary is the one who chants the music we had forgotten.

78. Mary is the canopy of the undying marriage between Christ and His bride.

79. Mary is the neck of the Church.

80. Mary is the joy of all creatures.

81. Mary is the Star seen in the East.

82. Mary is the chariot of the dawn.

83. Mary is she who has surpassed Semele and Psyche.

84. Mary is she who shames Juno and Venus.

85. Mary is she who overcomes Minerva and Diana.

86. Mary is the unlooked-for gift.

87. Mary’s name is the shield of Michael.

88. Mary’s name is the lily of Gabriel.

89. Mary’s name is the staff of Raphael.

90. Mary’s name is the honey of the angels.

91. Mary is the black cloud bringing rain to the desert.

92. Mary is the gateway to the land of the living.

93. Mary is the orb of God’s blessing to the righteous.

93. Mary is the scepter of God’s wrath to the demons.

94. Mary is God’s royal seal upon His creation.

95. Mary is the quarry and mine of the Temple.

96. Mary is the font of new birth.

97. Mary is the Queen from whom all queens take their pattern.

98. Mary is the one enthroned in the heart of Jesus Christ, and His perfect likeness.

99. Mary is the sweet perfume of the holy through all the ages.

100. Mary is the eternity’s memory.

A Corpus Christi Meditation

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Transustanziazione,” by Giovanni Gasparro. He’s one of the best Catholic artists working today.

In my parish, as in most, the Solemnity of Corpus Christi has been moved from its traditional spot on the Thursday after Trinity to the following Sunday. There are many unfortunate implications of this liturgical change, but today I’d rather focus on what grace I received from the readings and prayers of today’s Ferial Mass.

I’d like to start, however, with a painting, “Transustanziazione,” by Giovanni Gasparro. Only in the work of Salvador Dali do we find a modern artist who captures the mystical dimension of the Eucharist in such an original way. And Gasparro’s piece is far simpler, and therefore more visually striking, than any of Dali’s several Eucharistic paintings.

Three pairs of hands, like the three pairs of wings on the seraphim and cherubim, bear aloft a bleeding host in undifferentiated space. The three sets of hands appear the samethey are, perhaps, the hands of the same priest captured over the lapse of time. This distortion of time and space lends the image a sense of eternity. We are viewing something transcendent. The Eucharist is not just an earthly event. It is also a rite which happens forever in the cosmic liturgy of heaven. And who is the Great High Priest offering that liturgy for us mortals? Who but Christ? In Gasparro’s image, Christ is present as priest and victim.

The three pairs of hands also remind us of the Trinity. When we approach the Eucharist, we truly approach the Triune God. At every Mass, the act of Transubstantiation only happens because of the work of the whole Trinity. Christ offers Himself to the Father in the Holy Spirit, through the hands of His priests and the prayer of His bride, the Church. It is meet and right that we should consider the painting at this point between the Ordinary Form celebrations of Trinity Sunday and Corpus Christi.

The painting has a certain sacramentality, in that, like the liturgy, it captures something of the invisible and manifests it to our earthbound senses. Looking at Gasparro’s painting, we have the sense that we are glimpsing something profound, unsettling, and sacredsomething ordinarily hidden from us. Do we not hear the words of St. Thomas’s Corpus Christi hymn, Lauda Sion?

Here beneath these signs are hidden,
Priceless things, to sense forbidden,
Signs, not things, are all we see.

Today’s liturgy powerfully brings this quality to mind. As we turn to the First Reading from today’s Mass, we encounter the words of St. Paul:

Brothers and sisters: To this day, whenever Moses is read, a veil lies over the hearts of the children of Israel, but whenever a person turns to the Lord the veil is removed. Now the Lord is the Spirit and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. All of us, gazing with unveiled face on the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, as from the Lord who is the Spirit.

Therefore, since we have this ministry through the mercy shown us, we are not discouraged. And even though our Gospel is veiled, it is veiled for those who are perishing, in whose case the god of this age has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, so that they may not see the light of the Gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God. For we do not preach ourselves but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your slaves for the sake of Jesus. For God who said, Let light shine out of darkness, has shone in our hearts to bring to light the knowledge of the glory of God on the face of Jesus Christ.

This, from the Second Epistle to the Corinthians.

The Liturgical Providence of God permits us to hear these words of the Apostle on a day which, in the Old Calendar, was the preeminent feast of the Eucharist as such. All Thursdays are to be read in light of the Eucharist, mystically tied as they are to this holy feast and to Maundy Thursday.

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Russian icon of The Holy Face of Jesus “Not-Made-by-Hands”(Source).

St. Paul is doing many things in this passage. It is an extremely rich vein of mystical insight, and it could yield untold spiritual fruit. But one very clear move that St. Paul makes here is the parallel he draws between our faces and the face of Christ. As the Spirit has removed the veil of sin from our faces in Baptism, so too, He removes the veil from Christ’s priestly face in the Eucharist. In the Eucharist, the Baptized stand face-to-face with God Almighty. We must grow in the likeness of Christ’s Holy Face—”from glory to glory”—but only by approaching the glory of that face in the Eucharist.

What does this transformation practically look like? The readings give us hints.

The Gospel Acclamation, drawn from St. John, summarizes the commands of the Lord in the proper Gospel. We sing, “I give you a new commandment: love one another as I have loved you.” Then, Christ tells us,

Therefore, if you bring your gift to the altar, and there recall that your brother has anything against you, leave your gift there at the altar, go first and be reconciled with your brother, and then come and offer your gift.

Eucharistic community is characterized by peace. Its members govern their actions by deliberate and conscientious love. We are obliged to strive for this peace.

The proper Psalm depicts the spiritual condition of that moral environment, when

Kindness and truth shall meet;
justice and peace shall kiss.
Truth shall spring out of the earth,
and justice shall look down from heaven.

What, precisely, is the nature of this union of heaven and earth? Here, too, the Psalm furnishes a deeper insight. We sing in the refrain, “The glory of the Lord will dwell in our land.” There are many meanings bound up in this line of Holy Scripture. Three are immediately relevant to our purposes. The passage’s Sophiological meaning is that God’s glory will ultimately interpenetrate, indwell, and crown the redeemed cosmos. The passage’s Mariological meaning is that Christ will give His own divine-human self to the Church, the New Israel, through the Church’s perfect microcosm and icon, Mary, the true Daughter of Zion.

But the passage also has a Eucharistic meaning. There is a reason we are meant to chant this particular line of the Psalter on the Thursday that was (and at some level, still is) Corpus Christi. The Glory of God will dwell in the land by its fruits—bread and wine. Indeed, the Glory of God will so fill the bread and wine that they will cease to be bread and wine. God will pour out his glory upon our offerings until our “cup runneth over.” They may appear all the same to us, but in truth, they will become the Body and Blood of Christ. No part of their original essence will remain. This single act of outpouring and indwelling is God’s privileged path of union with souls and with all creation.

As the great theologian Jean Daniélou writes, “We have already seen the Eucharist as communion, covenant. Now we see it as presence, shekinah.” It is the same presence that animates the entire liturgy of the Ferial Thursday after Trinity and that hides quietly in the simple and sacramental art of Giovanni Gasparro.

Some Occasional Thoughts on the Holy Minimalists and the Light of Tabor

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Icon of the Transfiguration, by the hand of the great 15th century iconographer of Moscow, Theophanes the Greek.

Jesus took Peter, James, and John his brother, and led them up a high mountain by themselves. And he was transfigured before them; his face shone like the sun and his clothes became white as light. And behold, Moses and Elijah appeared to them, conversing with him. Then Peter said to Jesus in reply, “Lord, it is good that we are here. If you wish, I will make three tents here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” While he was still speaking, behold, a bright cloud cast a shadow over them, then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him.” When the disciples heard this, they fell prostrate and were very much afraid. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, “Rise, and do not be afraid.” And when the disciples raised their eyes, they saw no one else but Jesus alone.

As they were coming down from the mountain, Jesus charged them,”Do not tell the vision to anyone until the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.”

These words from St. Matthew were the Gospel reading at Mass last night. Yesterday was the second weekend of Lent, and the Church directs our eyes, alongside those of the holy apostles, to the face of Our Lord in His Transfiguration. And in the Eastern Churches, today is St. Gregory Palamas Sunday. Palamas is most famous for his articulation of the Essence-Energies distinction as part of a broader polemic against the Byzantine Scholastic attacks on Hesychasm carried out by Barlaam of Seminara. One of Palamas’ key Scriptural examples of God’s energies is the “uncreated light” of Christ’s glory in the Transfiguration. St. Gregory is celebrated to this day by the Eastern Orthodox and by Eastern Catholics on their Lenten calendars; yet in the post-Scholastic West, he still holds no place on the calendar. I must wonder whether or not the readings for the Second Sunday of Lent were chosen at the revision of the Lectionary in part as an ecumenical gesture to the Orthodox, though my knowledge of 20th century liturgical innovations is shallow at best. Regardless, those who, to adapt a phrase of Pope St. John Paul II, “breathe with both lungs” of the Church can recognize the Providential coincidence of these two celebrations.

The Light of Tabor is, in a Palamite reading, the eternal Glory of God made manifest in, with, and through Christ’s created humanity. The Transfiguration is therefore an archetypal moment for every mysticnot just the Hesychasts whom St. Gregory was defending. In view of all this, while I listened to the priest reading the Gospel this evening, a song came to mind: “My Heart’s in the Highlands,” by Arvo Pärt. The lyrics are taken from a poem by Robert Burns. Here’s the chorus:

My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart’s in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
My heart’s in the Highlands, wherever I go.

A few weeks ago, when I first listened to the song, it immediately struck me as a potent metaphor for the contemplative life. Is not the contemplative’s heart set in the “high lands” of the spirit, like St. John of the Cross’s Mount Carmel? And has the Divine not been associated with wild deer throughout history, from the panting hart of Psalm 42 to the vision of St. Hubert to the White Stag of Narnia? The Apostles, like the mystics, like the chanting voice in Pärt’s song, are “led…up a high mountain by themselves.” There, they find Christ’s true glory, the energy of His divinity totally interpenetrating all they can perceive of him. The created rises into the divine, and the uncreated bends towards the creaturely; the two meet in the transfigured Christ. The dual presence of the heavenly Elijah and the Sheol-bound Moses demonstrates the moment of radiant communion between God and His creation, manifested perfectly in Christ, the Word made flesh.

Pärt’s song describes the experience of the mystic, not because Burns’ words actually refer to contemplation, but because of the way he takes up the verse and stretches it against an agonizingly poignant organ composition. He sets secular words to sacred music. Thus he accomplishes in miniature the assumption of the creaturely by the divine that comes before our vision in the Transfiguration. Art at its finest is called to participate in this lesser Transfiguration, and Pärt is a consummate master of what Tolkien might call “sub-creation.”

But Pärt is not alone in this; one of his colleagues, John Tavener, arguably a finer and more mystically-oriented composer, also transfigured profane writings into sacred pieces of music. I can think of no better example of this than his brief and delightful motet, “The Lamb.” Tavener took the lyrics from William Blake’s poem of the same name. In full, it reads:

Little lamb, who made thee
 Dost thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed
By the stream and o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
 Little lamb, who made thee?
 Dost thou know who made thee?

 Little lamb, I’ll tell thee;
 Little lamb, I’ll tell thee:
He is callèd by thy name,
For He calls Himself a Lamb.
He is meek, and He is mild,
He became a little child.
I a child, and thou a lamb,
We are callèd by His name.
 Little lamb, God bless thee!
 Little lamb, God bless thee!

Here too, we might glimpse the transfigured Lamb of God between the lines of Blake’s verse. The lamb’s “clothing of delight/Softest clothing, woolly, bright” seems to echo the robe rendered “white as light” on Mt. Tabor. Blake speaks of “the vales” when Scripture instead would bring us up to the peaks. And the question that ends the first verse is fundamentally the same as that which must have run through the minds of the bewildered apostles; who is this man? The answer, of course, comes from the voice in the cloud: “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him.” And Tavener’s eerily beautiful choral setting imbues the lyrics with a dimension hitherto unimagined. Many of his works remind one of candlelight on ritual gold, or the smell of incense flying forth with the rhythm of thurible bells, or the echo that thins out asymptotically under the glittering mosaic of a high dome. “The Lamb” is all of this, presented compactly. It stands as one of his finest works, and one of his most spiritually rich.

I recently wrote about the Holy Minimalists in a piece on the music of The Young Pope. They’ve been on my mind. But I didn’t connect their artistic project to the Transfiguration until tonight. We Christians are to become “little Christs,” imitating Jesus in all things by adoption and deification. Sometimes, that takes the form of contemplation. The apostles model that path for us in their behavior on Mt. Tabor. But at other times, and in other ways, we are called to live the life of Christ more directly. The Transfiguration provides a mystical glimpse of what happensand indeed, what will happenwhen the uncreated Light of God assumes, permeates, and glorifies the creation. Of course, the energies of God are not found in the artifices of men; but artists can practice their own, creaturely form of transfiguration. The pieces of music I have discussed are shot through with an awareness of the divine presence, and the words that began as profane poetry become something altogether different, something sacred, something nearly liturgical.

At the beginning of Lent, T.S. Eliot tells us to “Redeem/The time.” On this, the Second Sunday of the penitential season, Christ reveals in Himself how we might do soa transfiguration that Arvo Pärt and John Tavener have achieved, in some small way, through their own creative work.