Normal Rockwell Mary, Queen of Heaven

 

I love this painting of Mary. It reminds of something between a Norman Rockwell scene and a 1930s children’s book. Not your typical Mary painting. But I like it because she reminds of these scenes, so approachable and nostalgic. When I saw it in the Magnificat Magazine, I was inspired to write a little tribute in honor of the Memorial of the Queenship of Mary today.

Because of my dad's job I spent a significant part of my childhood in Madrid, Spain. In fact, I don't remember anything before Spain. My paternal grandfather was from Spain so we also spent a lot of time traveling the country, visiting family in their little mountain village in León (it's literally on a mountain). It was their I learned about real Spanish Catholicism, the centuries old devotions that are still meaningful today. How to practice a faith that is so rich and intoxicating and strong. A faith that's in the soil of that place. This was where my Catholic roots were born.

I have also been shaped by living in New England for many years. Trust me, the Puritans may be gone but the traces of their legacy are still around, if you look. New England is, in many ways, as far from that manifestation of Catholicism as it is possible to be. And because of this Protestant heritage (which I have learned from as well) there is sometimes a tendency to downplay our enthusiasm for Our Lady and tradition in general. 

As you may have seen in World Youth Day, this is not the case in traditional Spanish Catholicism.

Yeah. These are brought out every year for Holy Week (Semana Santa) in cities all over Spain--believe it or not--where and carried through the solemn procession of other floats/wooden statues like this depicting various moments in the life of Christ (usually the Stations of the Cross). These statues usually weigh a lot are are covered with the most decadent, beautiful flowers of whatever town they come from. They are also carried on the shoulders of sinners. Catholics (usually men), who cover themselves head to toe in either a black robe or monastic garb, because they do not want to be seen. Images of Marys like this were abundant in my family's homes. Little prayers and thoughts and pleas that came out easy as breathing were sent up all day to "La Virgen." Rosaries were always nearby and said constantly. She who held Christ as our sins finally took His breath away, always held us, always close.

While the Norman Rockwell Mary is beautiful in her own way, this is the Mary I bring my sorrows to. This Mary's heart has been pierced with a sword; she knows great pain. This is the Mary who will cover me in her mantle and gently guide me to the throne of Christ. She is elegant but fierce, strong, she can bear the weight of our prayers. When I see this Mary, I feel closer to my grandfather who know sees her face to face; I feel closer to myself, in a way, because I am closer to my roots, to my Church, to the history inscribed in my blood and my bones. 

If anyone has any special devotions or memories of Mary in their own heritage or just thoughts you would like to share, please do! I would love to hear your experiences!