Mary and the Art of Presence

“I’m so glad you were born!” 

Our rector, the Rev. Beth Fain, exclaimed this, shining with authenticity and her signature loving presence, to each individual kneeling at the rail as she went around giving birthday blessings before we shifted into Eucharist on Sunday mornings. 

What a gift to hear these words! I found them so impactful that they have found their way into my classroom when we celebrate the birthdays of my students. 

When Mary, a poor girl from Nazareth, engaged to be wed, in a time when virginity was seen as a non-negotiable to be married, lived with the knowledge she was with child and not married, she may have found despair, anxiety, and fear in moments throughout her pregnancy, her humble and explicit acceptance of her call to Gabriel notwithstanding. That’s a hard time in one’s days to appreciate life. In the Gospel of Matthew, we are privy to Joseph’s initial doubts as well. But oh, how glad we are that they were born! 

At a young age, and under the most unusual of circumstances, Mary became aware of her purpose in life. Despite a period of turmoil and uncertainty, in a time that required absolute faith, she was sustained by Joseph and her knowledge that she was meant for more, to continue. The life she lived models faith, presence, love, loss, and hope for all of us.

Beyond the annual celebration of one’s birthday, how do we remind our children just how glad we are that they were born? How do we reiterate that they are meant for a bigger purpose? That they are part of a bigger plan? How do we combat the myriad messages that break them down in the world and fortify them against the more challenging moments that can chip away at their sense of hope? 

My grandmother used to put her hand on mine, look me in the eyes, and tell me, “I’m so glad to be with you.” And while it felt almost uncomfortably intimate at some ages in my life, when I look back on those moments and the other times she sought out my company as a child, I realize she was pouring love into me that fortified my heart against some of the anxiety and trials I’d face later. She was setting an example for love and showing me how to love others who came along after she was gone. 

Because regardless of how we live it out, our purpose is to love others, and it’s on us to help our children learn that. First by loving them, then loving alongside them, then letting them go to love others in their own ways, beautifully lived out by Mary in her life with Jesus. 

Loving others can also look like how we share ourselves with others in a less direct way. When we consider mediums of art—2D and 3D art, the performing arts, the written word, the preached word—they all require vulnerability. They require putting ourselves and our lived experiences out in the open for others to see and feel, and connect to our purpose in the world. 

These artists offer us so many gifts: connecting with ourselves and others, modeling a vulnerability that reminds us it’s human and universal to have emotions and experience feelings, to let our curiosity lead us into periods of creativity. Each gift is a reminder that from the hardest moments, when we’re on the run, no one has a place for us, and the pain of childbirth carries us into the night, surrounded by barnyard animals, for example, may make us feel wholly alone, there is light and there is love in the whole of life’s lived experience, as we see in Mary’s Magnificat. 

Art in childhood helps our children practice expression of their feelings in ways they can continue accessing as they grow and their feelings get deeper or more nuanced. Opportunities to engage our children’s creativity are everywhere, regardless of how creative we may believe we are as adults. These ideas are offered with an emphasis on the art and creativity of the child rather than on correctly formed sentences, proper spelling, or any other rigidity that could limit heartfelt expression. 

• Thank you cards 
• Get well cards
• Playing make-believe
• Baking cookies for a neighbor
• Singing in the bathtub or in the car together
• Dance parties in the kitchen
• Pulling out crayons and paper (or a pen and a journal) when sad, angry, or disappointment feel big 

The common thread in the time we spend with others and the time we spend creatively is communion. There is an intimate connection between presence and reflection. There is an acknowledgement of human experience and seeing that life or loss in another. And let us not forget that Mary’s most famous song, the Magnificat, is itself a prayer, a song of praise, reminding us again through her life of connection to the Holy, even in quiet moments of solitude. 

Mary’s life is a model for us of faith, love, hope, loss, and what a gift to us that she was born!