Pop 89: Under the protection of Mary
By Madonna Hamel
Most Franco-Saskatchewan villages began as Catholic parishes, my village, Val Marie, being one of them. Fr. Claude Passaplan was the first French missionary in this parched land known as Palliser's Triangle. He named the village Val Marie with the intention of putting the valley under the protection of Mary, hoping her intercession would protect the region from drought. He held masses in the local pool hall before the permanent church was established and named.
If you're Catholic you are familiar with the habit of praying to Mary for protection. Most holy cards of The Blessed Virgin Mary, otherwise known as the BVM, have a version of the Memorare on the back of them: "Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help, or sought thy intercession, was left unaided. Inspired by this confidence I fly unto thee, O my Mother. To thee do I come, before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, hear my petitions, and answer me. Amen."
How it is known that she always arrives when asked, I do not know. Catholics see her care at the wedding at Cana, where she noticed a need and asked Jesus to help, as a sign of her constant presence and availability when we call for help. And, speaking myself as a daughter rescued by her own mother from bullies' taunts, broken hearts, emptied bank accounts and myriad other catastrophes and conundrums, I feel safe in assuming the Great Mother will show up in some capacity when I call, which is often the recitation of the rosary, which is a litany of prayers, not unlike mantras on mala beads. The prayers hail Mary and highlight key moments, known as Mysteries, in her life and that of Jesus. They run the gamut of the family's life, namely the Joyful, Sorrowful, Glorious and Luminous events that marked a time in history. Each Mystery asks that the mother help us obtain everything from humility to perseverance, to self-giving love to an increase in hope.
As a family we recited the rosary on special occasions called Holy Days of Obligation: during Lent and Easter, in times of tribulation, such as illnesses, deaths and, I recall, threats of war, in particular during the Cuban Missile Crisis. And we began every summer vacation with a decade of the rosary, ending the litany with "Mother of Perpetual Help, pray for us. St. Christopher, protect us." St. Chris was, and is, Mary's wingman, riding shotgun, bearing the Christ-child on his shoulders while passengers keep vigilant on their journey, safe from nutty drivers and falling asleep at the wheel.
Often my father would drive to Victoria to pick a group of us up after our last classes of the year and drive us home to Kelowna. Suffice it to say not all my friends were Catholic, so one Friday in late summer, when the radio was suddenly switched off, the windows rolled up and the litany began, and the car suddenly fell silent, I could not help from laughing when my friend Avril sitting beside me started looking around herself wondering what the hell was happening and where was the nearest exit. "I thought I'd been kidnapped by some kind of cult," she joked.
The first mass I attended in Val Marie was at the Nativity of the BVM, across the street from the Convent Inn. When I heard the church bell ringing I ran across the yard, making it just in time for Fr. Joe's homily on the feast of the Pentecost. This is one of my favourite of all Catholic holy days, mostly because it features the descent of the Holy Spirit, the dove descending on Mary and making her one of them and giving them all the gift of speaking and understanding all languages. Present in the Upper Room with the other apostles, she joins them in continuous prayer.
That Mary is at the centre of this Glorious mystery has always filled me with a sense of pride in my profession, reminding me that words are my vocation and right use of language is my responsibility. And in a secular society religious language can be the most misunderstood of verbiage.
Last winter I was introduced to a newcomer to Val Marie and, like so many people who learn my name, the first thing they want me to do is sing "Like A Virgin." I usually reply, "I'm older than her, and no, I didn't name myself after her." I told him the nuns of Val Marie were The Sisters of Mary's Assumption of the Blessed Virgin and lived in the convent next door to me, which is now an inn and was once my mother's school where she flourished as a young musician. "Wow, this place has a thing about virgins," he snickered. I was tempted to say, "I suspect you do too."
Virginity is to me about her inviolability, I went on to say, unbidden. Her existence in the world less as a ripe body, a commodity as valued by right-wing purity culture fundamentalists as by left-wing liberals confusing porn with an unfettered "celebration" of the female body. In university I studied mythology and came to understand that the virgin goddesses were autonomous. Celibacy was about independence, but also a way of protecting oneself from the lusts of others, remaining entirely unswayed by romantic or physical distractions. In the days of Mary's youth protection from the advances of men feels no different than today's communication of our sexuality.