While staying at a Camaldolese guest house in Rome, I discovered the nearby Church of Saint Alessio, where this splendid 12th-13th century icon of the Mother of God is enshrined. She is Maria Advocata ~ Mary, Our Advocate.
The visitor gets the feeling that the Holy Mother is in motion - on her way - and catching sight of us, she stops and rotates slightly, as if to leave the frame, to interface with each of us, whose hearts are heaped up with concerns.
To emphasize this connection, the artist has edged Mary's maphorion with gold. Her lock-on gaze is the first thing we notice. She looks to the margins, where we can hide in anger and fear. She misses no one.
I have nicknamed her: Mary Without A Phone. She is other-referred, which means her energy, her direction is other people, without the techno or emotional walls we place between ourselves and others. In the bowling alley the other day, the young dad, busy text-ing, missed his ten year old son's first strike.
I have nicknamed her: Mary Without A Phone. She is other-referred, which means her energy, her direction is other people, without the techno or emotional walls we place between ourselves and others. In the bowling alley the other day, the young dad, busy text-ing, missed his ten year old son's first strike.
Notice that while she is not carrying the Divine Infant, her hands are active. Her left hand (under the fancy broach someone gave her along the centuries) while interceding or advocating on our behalf, is an empty hand. That's all we have - our emptiness. There are great paintings which depict the saints and benefactors laden down with crosses, palm branches, candles, books, instruments of their suffering, miniature churches and monasteries they founded. But really, for all our achievements, we come before God with surrendered, empty hands, anticipating the searching kindness of God's love, which fills and fulfills.
Next up: Some thoughts about Mary's raised right hand. Stay tuned.
Next up: Some thoughts about Mary's raised right hand. Stay tuned.
