The Best Rosary of My Life

2014-08-23 18.07.56I’ve made no secret of my struggle with the Rosary. And while I’ve continued to struggle through fifteen years of dry Aves, clinging to my beads simply because sweet Mother Church said I should, I’d become fairly convinced that this pious practice would never be anything but a chore for me. “The Rosary just doesn’t suit my temperament,” I said, committed to praying it regardless.

And that might be true. But our God is a God of surprises, of generosity that knows no bounds, of foretastes of the Promised Land amid forty year treks through the desert. And last night he had something better for me.

I didn’t grow up with Mary. Getting to know her has been awfully hard for me. For years, I wasn’t entirely convinced that Marian devotion wasn’t paganism. Then I read Scott Hahn’s Hail, Holy Queen and determined that, as with everything else where I’d tested her, the Church knew what she was about. (And for proof, here’s everything I’ve written about the Blessed Mother.)

But accepting the Marian dogmas didn’t at all mean really loving the Blessed Mother. And I didn’t.

Or rather, I don’t.

Oh, I try to. I know I should. But there’s still that Protestant inside me screaming about my blasphemy, that 21st century Catholic wondering why I should even bother. I know all the answers on an intellectual level, but Mary’s never really been my mom. The best I’ve gotten is that she’s my best friend’s mom. Given how close I am to my best friend’s mom–I’ve gone on vacation with her while my friend stayed home–that’s pretty good. But it’s not the same.

Thirteen years ago, before I had any idea who Mary was, I got positive peer pressured into making the Total Consecration to Mary. I was pretty sure it wasn’t idolatry, so I went for it. And it changed absolutely nothing.

But Mary’s been stalking me a little. And I knew I needed to renew my consecration. Everyone raves about Fr. Gaitley’s 33 Days to Morning Glory, so I thought I’d give it a shot. Last week, I opened the introduction while killing time at a shawarma place in Atlanta. I read through the usual Mariology and settled in for more of the same.

Until this:

Mary’s task is to give spiritual birth to Christians, to feed and nurture them with grace, and to help them grow to full stature in Christ.

Now I’ve read John 19:26-27. I’ve taught those verses. I’ve made people memorize them. I get that Mary is my mother.

John 19 26-27

But I didn’t.

See, I was treating Mary as my stepmother. She’s the woman who came along when I was twenty-five standing at the foot of the Cross and now she comes to Thanksgiving at my house and maybe sometimes tells me about her Son until I get bored and tune her out.

But Mary isn’t my stepmother. She’s my mother. Adoptive, perhaps, but my true mother just the same.

The Lord speaks really strongly to me in allegory. Through images of princes taking the death penalty their adulterous brides deserve, little girls caught up out of poverty to become daughters of the king, husbands speaking words of forgiveness to their wives. Like analogies, allegories limp. So you’ll have to bear with me on this and be gentle. This is my heart.1

Andrea_Solario_-_Madonna_of_the_Green_CushionI am a poor orphaned infant adopted by the King and languishing for hunger. But the Mother of his Son has been nursing his other children so she takes me into her arms and puts me to her breast. No stepchild or foster child, I am her true child, the daughter of her heart become the daughter of her flesh. To be the daughter of my Father, I have to be nourished by the Mother of his Son.2 And so the food he gives to her becomes my food, the spiritual milk Paul tells us must be our food before we can eat meat.3 But where can we get this milk except our Mother? So she nurses me, as the King sits beside her and strokes my little head. My eldest Brother, the crown Prince, stands nearby. It was he whom the King sent out to rescue me, he who was scratched and beaten and bruised to bring me to the Father. In her arms, I become his. As I nurse, I toy with her necklace, a rope of beads with a crucified man hanging from it. And she tells me the story of my Brother’s love.4

When Jesus went to John to be baptized, he was joining in the struggle of all who sin, all who will die to sin. And your Father split open the heavens. “This is my beloved son,” he shouted. That’s the same thing he says about you, sweet girl. “This is my beloved daughter.” He loves you just that much. And all those people, they didn’t know what to think! Some thought it was thunder or maybe an earthquake. But a few, a very few, heard the Father’s words. And in that moment, they began to wonder if they couldn’t become beloved, too. Jesus had that effect on people, you know. When they looked at him, they knew just who they could be. And some people got angry and others felt hope and most everybody knew they needed mercy. But that brother of yours, he is mercy, sweet girl. Even to the ones who never ask.

And I’m looking up at her face and twisting her beads between my fingers and she’s stroking my hair and there’s nothing else but this—her, telling me about him.

Oh, that wedding feast was a marvelous one! They were some of my dearest friends, you know, and when the wine ran out I knew how desperately ashamed they would be. Jesus said he wasn’t planning on doing anything miraculous, but he couldn’t just stand by. I sometimes wonder if he didn’t hesitate at first just so I would know he was doing it as a gift for me. But no matter, he did it. He brought joy to that banquet just like he brings joy to anyone who turns to him. But the celebration was different afterwards. There was a solemnity to the joy, like the people knew something sacred had happened. Their laughter didn’t run to debauchery. They saw each other, really saw each other, and spoke the words of love they’d never had the courage to let out. It’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it? That freedom to love.

Still I can’t look away. Every time my eyes stray to the window, her gentle voice tugs me back, reminding me that I need this, I need her, to help me become his.

And you should have seen the way they followed him after that! People pushing to get to him like he was their last hope. Which, of course, he was. “Master, heal me!” “Rabbi, teach me!” “Lord, save me!” Most of them not knowing who he was, just seeing that he had something they wanted. But Jesus saw past their ailments to their true need. So he healed a leper here, raised a dead girl there. But others he left broken. That’s what they needed. And oh, how he preached. Stood on a hill and spoke for hours. About love and mercy, yes, but about sin and judgment, too. About peace and violence and prayer and action but always, always about your Father. That was the whole point, of course: to bring these dear ones to your Father. Every word he spoke, every limb he healed, every child he touched, every beggar he fed: always to speak the love of the Father, to draw their hearts to him.

The stories sound different in her voice. I’m hearing them for the first time but she’s telling them for the thousandth. They’re the stories that make her life, make my life, make every life worth living.

Poor Peter. He was so tired. Jesus had told his friends that was going to be killed and no sooner had they picked their jaws up off the floor than he made Peter, John, and James climb a mountain. They were fishermen, not shepherds, and mountain climbing didn’t come easy. So you can imagine, dear heart, how they slept when they reached the top. They might have slept right through the whole thing, but the Father knew they needed that moment to keep them going. And there Moses and Elijah were, finally seeing the Son, the one they’d been pointing to their whole lives without knowing it. And poor Peter, always a man of action, tried to build a tent. I’m sure James was trying to understand it all, figure out how they got there and what it meant. And John—sweet John—just standing there taking it all in, just being. Doing and thinking and being. They’re very important, all of them, but I hope you, my sweet one, will have the courage just to be. That is the truest path to the Father.

The Father stops by and kisses me on my forehead and I only know him because she’s telling me. Her voice pulls me in and shows me just who he is.

Sweet girl, I hope you will never know the pain of that last night. Or maybe I hope you will, if it will bring you closer to the Father by showing you what his love is worth. But your Father is such a mighty King that he made that ugly night a gift beyond compare. Jesus was about to be made a sacrifice to bring you home. You, dear one. Isn’t he marvelous? All that, just for you. And there were his friends, oblivious. Except for John. They all caught Jesus’ mood, but only John was beginning to see. “The Lamb of God. The one who takes away the sin of the world. The paschal lamb whose body is broken, whose bread becomes our food. And tomorrow the Passover.” That meal began his greatest gift, his journey to hell and back to save you, my love. He gave you his body. Do you understand what that means? No, no, of course you don’t. But you will.

And as I feed on his body given to me through her, as his flesh becomes her flesh to become mine, there’s a peace and a stillness I’ve never felt here, an intensity that isn’t from me. She pulls me off and sits me up and delights in me because I am his. Hail, holy Queen.

I don’t know how long this will last, but I get it. I finally get what the rosary is about. I don’t know if you can have this experience, or if you even want to, but it was so much more real than any other time I’ve told my beads before. It’s the storytelling—which I’m becoming more and more convinced is key to evangelization—and the way those old stories are new again and finally understanding that I need her. For an inveterate rosary-tolerator like me, it’s nothing short of a miracle. Praise the Lord.

  1. One hazard of studying theology is that you see heresy in every misplaced preposition in your prayer. I’m trying to stop obsessing over correctness—which isn’t quite the same thing as truth—and let love speak. So today I offered this prayer: Father, I want to love you completely but I know I don’t know how. So I ask you to redirect my misplaced love. If I love the Blessed Mother too much or ignore your Son for love of you, be merciful on a stumbling sinner giving you her heart. []
  2. Obviously I’m not maligning adoptive mothers of older kids here or women who are unable to nurse for whatever reason. But back in the day if nobody was nursing you, you weren’t going to make it. []
  3. 1 Corinthians 3:2 []
  4. Not a vision or a locution, just a meditation. []

Author: Meg

I'm a Catholic, madly in love with the Lord, His Word, His Bride the Church, and especially His Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity in the Eucharist. I'm committed to the Church not because I was raised this way but because the Lord has drawn my heart and convicted my reason. After 2 degrees in theology and 5 years in the classroom, I quit my 9-5 to follow Christ more literally. Since May of 2012, I've been a hobo for Christ; I live out of my car and travel the country speaking to youth and adults, giving retreats, blogging, and trying to rock the world for Jesus.

18 thoughts on “The Best Rosary of My Life”

  1. You spoke to every fear/anxiety/difficulty I’ve ever had as a Protestant to Catholic convert. It’s been over 6 years, and I still only tolerate the rosary, fail to feel anything, wonder if I should try harder, or if I don’t connect with her because it’s not God’s will. Sigh. I want what you experienced. I really do.

  2. Hi Meg! I will never forget when my daughter, Sister Ava, invited you to our home. I was in a deep state of despair as I had just learned my husband had severely betrayed our family. I didn’t think I’d even be able to come out of my room to say hello to you, but as it turned out, you were great medicine! Thank you for blessing my home.
    I am now a single mom of 7 awesome kids. Sister Ava will be taking her first vows in 2 weeks! She is very happy, but we sure do miss one another! The kids and I are still adjusting to our circumstances. I am clinging to my faith and God continues to provide. My two teens, Emily and Ryan, have rejected God and say they are no longer Catholic, though I still bring them to mass every weekend. I would be very grateful if you could pray for them.
    I also wanted to thank you for your post. Like you, I struggle with the rosary, too, but I will from now on focus on being the nursing child in our blessed Mother’s sweet lap. I have nursed 7 babies and the bonding is indescribable! I can now see myself as that little girl thanks to you. Meg, thank you for taking the leap of faith to share this imagery. I’m sure you’ve touched many hearts! God bless you dear. Please know you always have a place to stay in Texas.
    Peace and blessings,
    Julie Lynk

  3. This moved me deeply.

    Mary is my mother, though it took me a long time to get there. It’s just that my biological mother and I have a difficult relationship, so I don’t really know how one behaves toward a mother like Mary. I will have to think about this story.

    Thank you.

  4. This speaks to my heart… I was raised nominally Catholic, said a thousand rosaries because I was supposed to but never felt a connection to her. I think because I was never mothered, it’s so difficult to imagine being mothered by her. But, I’ve nursed and delighted in 9 babies… Maybe this is another way to look at it. I long for it.

    “I am a poor orphaned infant adopted by the King and languishing for hunger. But the Mother of his Son has been nursing his other children so she takes me into her arms and puts me to her breast. No stepchild or foster child, I am her true child, the daughter of her heart become the daughter of her flesh. To be the daughter of my Father, I have to be nourished by the Mother of his Son.”

  5. This was so beautiful and touched me in a really particular way this evening. So glad you experienced this and shared it with us.

  6. This is so beautiful. It really spoke to me tonight. I’ve never loved praying the rosary but this imagery is *so strong.* Maybe it’s because I’m in the middle of nursing an infant right now. Thank you for sharing your heart! (Longtime reader, first time commenter 🙂

  7. “As I nurse, I toy with her necklace, a rope of beads with a crucified man hanging from it. And she tells me the story of my Brother’s love.”

    This brought me to tears. Truly thank you for sharing your gift of the written word with us. I’m a revert to Catholicism and am going through a dry period in my prayer life especially with the rosary. This makes it seem so possible again.

  8. Wow this really touched me, and pretty much described my journey as a non-denominational convert…from Scott Hahn’s “Hail, Holy Queen” to peer Catholic Scripture Study summer study session group pressured into 33 Days to Morning Glory to one day just knowing I had to read the book by Fr Gaitley on my own again and daily re dedicate and consecrate myself to loving My Mother, Our Lady Untier of Knots! Thanks for the beautifully inspiring words, truly spoke to me and helped re inspire me again to Jesus through Mary!
    God Bless You, Meg!

  9. Your article touched me deeply. As a non-Christian in a Catholic School I enthusiastically engaged in morning, afternoon and evening prayer with the nuns, not realizing the beauty of these prayers. But the day our class of 4th graders saw the movie Bernadette, Mother Mary spoke to this little 8 year old sitting in the movie theater besides Sister Martha, and I was hers. I visited with her every lunch break in the Chapel at school. She was my confidant, my consoler, my friend. I learned to say the Rosary and did so throughout my life, because of my love for her. Never asked of anything until one day, way into my 50s I had a heartbreaking event I reached out for my rosary and asked for help. She appeared to me my beautiful and loving mother and said “Go to Him” pointing to Christ (she showed me her Son). I was scared out of my wits and did nothing. She waited for me to act, then the message this time audibly – saying the same three words. After the fourth, I was wracked with guilt, and rushed to the nearest Catholic church and went in for instruction and was baptized at the age of 60 years. I get emotional every time I tell this story. I tell it because I want the world to know the love that is there for you in the loving care of Blessed mother. My anxious depressed world is no more. I am at peace, with my Mother and my Lord. The beauty of the catholic church cannot be experienced without her. Go to her, she will take you by the hand and guide you. Let her always be at your side, in your mind and heart. My favorite prayer is simple “Mother teach me how to love Jesus as you love Him” and to Him ” Jesus, teach me to love my mother as You do” I pray everyone comes to her and finds peace.

  10. Rejoice with Jerusalem and be glad because of her,
    all you who love her;
    exult, exult with her,
    all you who were mourning over her!
    Oh, that you may suck fully
    of the milk of her comfort,
    that you may nurse with delight
    at her abundant breasts!
    For thus says the Lord:
    Lo, I will spread prosperity over her like a river,
    and the wealth of the nations like an overflowing torrent.
    As nurslings, you shall be carried in her arms,
    and fondled in her lap;
    as a mother comforts her son,
    so will I comfort you;
    Isaiah 66

  11. This photo is the one that inspired me as a teen. I later dreamed of it. It inspired me to nurse my daughters. In this little way I could be like MAry!
    Hi

  12. Thank you, Meg.
    On this eve of the feast of Our Lady of the Rosary, I sit with my tears and I thank you.
    Thank you for coming to Fairbanks. Thank you for Being with us, and for sharing His love with us. Your words still echo in my days.
    We all need our Mother, our true Mother, and we will rest with her and listen to the greatest story ever in her words as we pray the Rosary.
    Holy Mary, pray for us.

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