The Bedside Altar
Perhaps it is a little ironic that a large part of my
bedside altar involves Mary Magdalene, the, “redeemed whore.” She sits in a
peaceful repose of ivory resin. Her eyes closed, her body in a restful upright
position. She keeps her alabaster jar upon
her lap and reminders of love (a lamb) and resurrection (a nest of eggs) within
arms reach. Perhaps she was the ultimate sinner, cleansed of her seven demons
by love itself, a divine love. The love she knew was not only fulfilled through
spiritual exercises but also realized through human intimacy. The bed now seemingly is an apropos symbol of
the Magdalene but not in a lewd way. Rather as a means to express human
completeness through relationship with each other.
A pillar candle towers next to the Magdalene statue. Not as
noble or rare as my cast of Mary Magdalene but as significant. The candle
depicts the Virgin of Guadalupe. This is one of many manifestations of the
Mother and the one I tend to be drawn to the most. Perhaps because of exposure,
having grown up in the Southwest or perhaps because this Mary appeared to a peasant.
Regardless, my candle stands on the altar and serves not only as a reminder of
God the creator but as a divine assurance that I am being cared for in the most
basic and important of ways. I think of it as a promise of a mother with a
mother’s love arching over my existence. It also functions as a reminder to me that God
is constantly being born into the world and one of my functions, especially as
a mother, is to be a co-creator.
Slightly hidden behind the candle, I have propped a
laminated St. Martha novena prayer card. It is slightly curled on one side,
having come too close to the lighted Mary one night. The image on the front
depicts St. Martha in her full Kelly green robe. She holds a cross topped
scepter in her hand. At her foot is a lifeless dragon. The prayer on the back
implores God to watch over and provide for the needs of the family and other
loved ones. My archetypal self is St. Martha. Oh Martha. Do you ever know when
to sit down? Or to stop? Or to listen? Or to rest? My life is lived at a neck
breaking Martha pace. Martha symbolizes the spirit that sustains my necessary
busyness. She carries me from dawn until I drop into bed.
Adjacent to Martha there is a small, carved talisman of a
tortoise. It was placed there by one of my children. I almost removed it and
then realized that it had a meaningful place on my altar. The tortoise is a
symbol of longevity. For me it holds the place of God’s existence in nature and
Her presence since before time and into a place beyond time.
As I lit my candle one morning and stared at my diminutive
place of worship, it hit me that I had unknowingly concocted my own entry point
to the Trinity. Mother Mary being my
creator, (the big Kahuna so to speak) serves as the God that I need so much to
know is omnipresent and ever loving, no matter my or anyone else’s human
faults.
Mary Magdalene being the redeemer for me. The window I could
use to see Jesus in a meaningful light in my life. Up to this point the
historical Jesus has been a hang-up for me (to say the least). Mary Magdalene
has changed that. Her reciprocal love with Jesus and her total giving over of
herself to love and to be loved has resounded with me in a shifting of my
internal axis kind of way. I close my
eyes and imagine that the love Mary had for Jesus is akin to all of the love I
have ever experienced in my life. My love for my children, my husband, my
friends, my students, my animals, my adolescent infatuations, my boy band
crushes, my experiences of physical and emotional intimacy all rolled into the
ultimate human love. A love that can really only be imagined because to feel it
would possibly kill you. That to me is the love of Jesus felt through his
counterpart and in that I can enter the story.
Martha for sure is my Holy Spirit sustaining my need to
constantly busy myself. She illuminates in me the ability to give my divine
resources to others. Martha was the first to profess that Jesus was the Messiah
while might I add actually leaving the
house to go out and meet with Jesus to get her brother resurrected. She was
able to hold faith and get a job done.
Every time I look at my bedside altar I think, “there is my
personal Trinity”: Mother Mary, Mary Magdalene and St. Martha. This could be and
probably is heresy and I am trying not to care but old thoughts and long held
dogmas die hard. At this point I feel like I have a working hypothesis that I
can at least play with and examine in a manner that is comprehensible for me. I
will work on worrying about Church doctrine later or maybe never.
