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When I was coming back into the Church in my late 20s, Mary was a bit of a stumbling block to me. I didn’t have enough education to make a distinction between worship and veneration, for example. And though I respected the Blessed Mother, I cringed at the way she had been portrayed so often: a pale, passive, perfect Madonna. I thought, there has to be more to Mary than that. Looking back, my ignorance is embarrassing.
And Mary was exceptionally patient with me in bringing me slowly and surely into a greater understanding of her role. I had a real breakthrough moment on a writer’s retreat one weekend. We were given this creative exercise: envision a door, behind which our creative gifts would find their place and flourish. The door was a three days’ journey away. The assignment was to tell the story of those three days.
As I began the exercise, I could not envision a door but sensed instead a precipice of some kind, high atop a mountain draped in heavy fog. I couldn’t see the precipice, but I felt it there, hidden in the dense clouds that were drifting down to overtake me. This precipice was drawing me to it, as if a rope were tied around my waist and pulling me up, but I was frightened to yield to the pull. I also sensed that I was not alone; Jesus and Mary were with me. We huddled together to discuss our course, and I told them I was afraid to begin the journey, that I couldn’t see but one step ahead of me because of the fog. Jesus said with complete authority, “Follow me. I know the way exactly.” He turned and took off up the mountain. Startled and a bit panicked, I looked to Mary as if to say, “Where’s he going so fast?” She smiled and said, “Keep your eyes on him, and I’ll be right behind you.”
When I started after Jesus, it was as if my feet barely touched the ground. Soon we were moving so quickly, so surely and with such great agility that I was filled with exhilaration. The desire to keep up with Jesus drew me forward. He was nearly flying up the mountain, his eyes fixed ahead of him, seeing through the fog what I was unable to see. He moved over the rocks without one misstep. I was aware of strength in my legs and of a quiet, unnamable strength that called no attention to itself supporting me, carrying me up the hill. Mary, trailing behind us, was so quiet, that I sometimes thought we had lost her. But when I turned around to check, there she was, smiling and urging me to “just keep your eyes on Jesus.”
Mary’s life, her message, and her meaning have never been anything different from that — a beckoning to fix our eyes on the Shepherd, who knows the way exactly. This is Mary at the Annunciation: “Yes, fill me with your purpose.” This is Mary whose spirit rejoices, “Great things he has done for me!” This is Mary who pondered in her own heart, “And a sword shall pierce your own soul, too.” This is Mary at Cana: “Do whatever he tells you.” And this is Mary at the foot of the cross: keeping her eyes on Jesus even to the end.
Our Lady of the Rosary, in this month when we celebrate you in a more pointed way, praying especially for the end to legal abortion in our country, we remember the power in your purity, and like you, we pray for the grace to keep our eyes on Jesus. Amen.
Kelly is the award-winning author of nine books, including “Love Like a Saint” and “Jesus Approaches.” She travels speaking and leading retreats throughout the country. This article was adapted from Kelly’s award-winning book, “50 Reasons I Love Being Catholic.” Visit her website at lizk.org.
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