I recently read You Are Not Alone: A Sermon On Mary, Elizabeth and Being Given to One Another by Nadia Bolz-Weber. The sermon has many insights but three stood out for me. First, she notes how God provides us companions for the journey. Second, she speaks of our lives as puzzle pieces and states that " the jagged parts of our ourselves are what connects us to each other and God...." However, it was the main characters in her piece, Mary and Elizabeth, that jumped off the page and into my heart.
I am a cradle Catholic. Attending Catholic school, there were Marys everywhere. If you didn't have Mary as your first name and your parents had a Mary in the family, you were going to have Mary as your second name. My family was overflowing with Marys and a sprinkling of Elizabeths.
There was my mother, Mary Elizabeth, cousin Mary Monica, Adria Mary, Aunt Mary, my Grandmother Elizabeth and finally the best of all combinations, Mary Elizabeth...that would be me.
As a little girl, I loved the month of May and making a crown for the Blessed Mother statue at school. Growing up, my mother had a gorgeous, old fashioned statue of Mary on her dresser. Mary was radiant and peaceful and with one of her feet she crushed a serpeant. I respected that about her. She was confident and faith-filled and she simply crushed evil without breaking a sweat. What's not to love?
In my teen years, the name "Mary" lost some of its meaning for me. It seemed old-fashioned. When I introduced myself, people said, "Catholic, right,?" I wanted to have an exotic name. I wanted to be Monique or Chloe. I saw my parents as suffering from a poverty of imagination. I forgot why you give names in the first place. By the time I got to college, I just wanted to be chic and foreign.
I hadn't thought about my name in years. When I read Ms Bolz Weber's piece, it struck me: My parents named me after two women who walked the walk and talked the talk. They both were asked to walk on faith and they both said "God whatever your plan is, I know it's good." Mary was an unwed mother in a culture that frowned on that. Elizabeth conceived in her old age after years of infertility and social criticism. Not only did they have faith in God, he rewarded them with companionship for their journeys.
I am named after two strong women who were asked to do God's will without seeing the whole picture. They embodied a quiet, deep faith. If I can emulate their faith, their loyalty and their kindness, I come full circle and reclaim Mary Elizabeth. What seemed old fashioned before, is actually timeless; now I understand.
I am a cradle Catholic. Attending Catholic school, there were Marys everywhere. If you didn't have Mary as your first name and your parents had a Mary in the family, you were going to have Mary as your second name. My family was overflowing with Marys and a sprinkling of Elizabeths.
There was my mother, Mary Elizabeth, cousin Mary Monica, Adria Mary, Aunt Mary, my Grandmother Elizabeth and finally the best of all combinations, Mary Elizabeth...that would be me.
As a little girl, I loved the month of May and making a crown for the Blessed Mother statue at school. Growing up, my mother had a gorgeous, old fashioned statue of Mary on her dresser. Mary was radiant and peaceful and with one of her feet she crushed a serpeant. I respected that about her. She was confident and faith-filled and she simply crushed evil without breaking a sweat. What's not to love?
I hadn't thought about my name in years. When I read Ms Bolz Weber's piece, it struck me: My parents named me after two women who walked the walk and talked the talk. They both were asked to walk on faith and they both said "God whatever your plan is, I know it's good." Mary was an unwed mother in a culture that frowned on that. Elizabeth conceived in her old age after years of infertility and social criticism. Not only did they have faith in God, he rewarded them with companionship for their journeys.
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