It sounds like August. The cicadas wild howl. The scurrying of dry leaves across the driveway. The firm thud as the nearly ripe apple that the squirrel has claimed for its own hits the ground.
It looks like August. The evening light gives me the side eye. "Have you written your syllabus yet?"
How much more August can I wring from these days? Before September drops into my lap with a thump?
I tried writing around the block, doing a solid sketch of the arguments and data. I tried walking around the block (twice). I tried a dose of poetry (see Poetry Pharmacy). I finally just tried writing something, anything, that might launch the essay.
It has taken me a full day of writing to craft an introduction that I was happy (though not delighted) with. I wrote three different version. Well, five. The last three are all variations on the same theme. Run forward, run backward. Two paragraphs, no, let's make it three. The conclusion fell out of one draft like an overtaxed gearbox, sparks flying off the pavement.
It's not as strong as I would like, I'm still fretting about the hand off from the introduction to the body. I resorted to my default, "I would argue...". It will do. It is done for the moment, and as the saying goes at Bryn Mawr, done is good.
Happy Feast of Mary Magdalene, Apostle to the Apostles!
— Excerpt from Rejoice and Be Glad 2019 reflecting on John 20:11-18
St. Augustine called Mary Magdalene “the apostle to the apostles” because she was sent from the garden to tell the apostles the good news. Magdala means tower in Aramaic, and I find the image of Mary the Tower a potent complement to Peter the Rock. The church may be built on the rock of Peter, but Mary of Magdala ignited it with these words: “I have seen the Lord.”
Every time I hear this gospel I wonder what happened to Mary Magdalene next. Medieval legends say she retreated to pray in a cave in France, where she was fed by angels. The Orthodox Christian tradition places her with Mary, the Mother of God, in Ephesus.
“Go,” Jesus told Mary Magdalene in the garden. I doubt Jesus meant for her to take a walk and deliver his message to the disciples and then vanish. Poreuou, the Greek word translated in today’s gospel as “go,” carries the sense of heading out on a journey. Its ultimate root is “pierced through.” It is a call to reorder your life’s direction, to push a message out into the world despite barriers and with a piercing clarity. Go out, Jesus demands of Mary Magdalene, I want you to proclaim again and again, “I have seen the risen Lord.”
So I doubt Mary Magdalene stopped proclaiming the Good News when the disciples laughed at what they thought was nonsense, to quietly retire to a cave or a small house in Ephesus. I imagine her so aflame with the Gospel that wherever she went and whoever she met she could not help but deliver the message for all ages to come, “I have seen the risen Lord.” And I cannot imagine that Christ expects me to do anything less.
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It's the feast of the apostle Thomas today, and I'm reflecting on the readings for Give Us This Day. The piece was written last fall, while I was on the road in Scotland and Rome. We'd been to the National Gallery in Edinburgh (which has no Caravaggios in the collection, though it does have a portrait of Carravaggio) so visual art was on my mind. Some of my favorite churches in Rome have Caravaggios, but The Incredulity of Saint Thomas lives in Berlin.
I wrote that Caravaggio’s depiction of the scene from John's Gospel "pushes me to wonder if Jesus is seeking more than a simple “yes” or “no” in this encounter—hoping for yet more than the exclamation wrenched from Thomas’ heart, “my Lord and my God!"... [here] Jesus is shown with his head bent near Thomas’ head, his hand guiding Thomas to touch his wounds. It is an intimate moment as Jesus reaches out to draw Thomas deeply into his very self, into the woundedness that healed the world.
Perhaps this Gospel is also an invitation for to me to be drawn into the woundedness of the world, to believe that I can [ed. and do and must!] encounter Christ, bruised and pierced, at every turn."
Earlier this week I listened to an episode of a new podcast, The Spiritual Life, hosted by James Martin SJ and Maggie van Doren. This episode included an conversation between Fr. Martin and Timothy Cardinal Radcliffe which touched upon Cardinal Radcliffe's time as a patient after serious surgery.
Fr. Martin referenced Joseph Cardinal Bernadin's little book, The Gift of Peace (completed just two weeks before he died). It's short, so I pulled it off my shelf to read on Sunday. I was struck by Bernadin's view of his vocation to be present to people in his own illness. I was struck by the tangible, physical nature of his response. The handwritten note at the start of the book, the script titles to each chapter. The list of 700 names of people who had asked for his prayers, held in his hands at the altar.
What does prayer look like in our most difficult moments? Perhaps when we doubt we can find our way to prayer, Jesus takes our hands and says, "touch me, feel my wounds."
I am going to admit to being horror struck. The influencer wants her husband to treat her like a princess. Fine. Why? To let him lead, to help her discover her softer side. OK, I guess, if that's a mutual thing. It's the how that had me gasping.
She doesn't speak in restaurants. She remains mute while he lets the front desk know they've arrived. He orders for her. If he must drop her off, he will get out of the car to open her door, walk her into the resaturant and then...deal with the valet or park the car. Other people waiting to park? Hang on, the princess is getting her due. Should the host or hostess try (dare?) to engage her (having missed all her body language that says don't speak to me) while her husband goes to park, she tells them she really couldn’t say and they must await her husband. Oh..and she rarely ties her shoes. Obviously he should notice and do it for her. It’s that last that really got to me.
I would like to introduce the princess to my Parkinson's diaries. Before I was diagnosed I was having trouble tying my shoes, opening car doors, fastening my seatbelt. Medication has masked these symptoms, but they are still there, and there are times when I need help, not because I want the princess treatment, but because I have Parkinson’s, not because I want to showcase my softer side, but because I am dealing with something hard.
Parkinson’s affected my voice, will it eventually become so soft that Math Man must order for me in a restaurant, or that I have to wait for him to speak to the host/ess? Will things progress so that I will need my husband to walk me to the door and open it for me? No one knows.
I am grateful beyond measure that I can currently tie my shoes and speak for myself, that I don’t need to be treated like a princess because of my Parkinson's. I wonder if the influencer would find these attentions so attractive if they were necessities? Or if her husband needed her to tie his shoes?
I know myself well loved without having to cosplay a princess. Math Man sometimes appears with roses, for no reason other than .. roses! Or brings me a popsicle from the basement freezer. Or disposes of the deceased mice (don't ask). And should I lose my voice, I trust him to speak for me.
Math Man notes that when we waltz, I never do let him lead.
