The Immaculate Conception

For those who are not Catholic or from a tradition that follows a similar liturgical year, today is the feast of Mary's conception, not Jesus'. Jesus' conception we remember in March (nine months before Christmas), and the story of how it came to be is for later this month. Today, though, we celebrate Mary's coming into the world.

Monday, I traveled down to Missouri Candle Company and purchased new candles for the Mary altar in our church. Then I went to Baisch & Skinner to find roses. Finding none, alas, I thought to use lilies. None that I found were soon to open. They were expensive. I was annoyed. Every year, for three years now, we have decorated Mary's altar for Immaculate Conception and kept it up through the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, which is this Saturday. Roses in multicolored vases, candles, and we prop up a mosaic image of Guadalupe against the altar itself. It is always striking and beautiful, all the color where usually there is only white marble. Roses, of course, are symbols of Guadalupe, and I was, as I say, annoyed to not find any. Lilies are symbols associated with Mary and several other saints. But no.

I went to the second building and into the greenery cooler where the carnations were. It felt like an honorable mention in a race that only had two places, but I found carnations in pink and pretty white with pink edges and white with maroon edges that reminded me of traditional Mexican folk dance costumes. It felt right. I brought them back to the parish and set things up. I was in a hurry--Leo hates being at church when I decorate. He knows he's being neglected and makes sure I know as well. When everything was finished, I had him on my hip and we went down to sit in the front pew to see what I thought about it. It was lovely, of course, but the carnations instead of roses, the crying baby instead of how I used to spend my time here--in chilly solitude, away from noise and cares outside--sank in and I felt discouraged.

My friend Ann often passes these kinds of moments off with the words, "it isn't my time of life yet." Usually she's referring to her husband's international business travel while she ferries kids around town. It came to mind for me, too. Two years ago I could spend an hour in church alone and feel refreshed. Now I run in and out, kids are mad, I'm flustered, I don't like it. But it isn't my time of life yet again to enjoy it. It needs to be done and I'm the one to do it. I'm not about to forfeit it and miss out on it later when it is my time again. I'm going to do the work and trudge through and hope for some reward from it later when Leo's in preschool and I have a few spare moments on a Thursday morning.

And as many things do, this made me think of Mary. Her time of life. She cast aside childish things early to say yes to the angel. She handled a baby as best she could, one that I can only assume demanded her attention as much as any other. She had a toddler to protect. She had a child to educate. And then we know how the story goes.

The photo above is at the monastery where I am an oblate. It is in their chapel--the upper walls are filled with mosaics depicting the life of Mary and her son. The one above is obviously Pentecost. Mary is in the center. When I look at this, I am stuck not only by how central she is, but also by the peaceful look on her face. It's her time again.

It will be yours and mine soon enough.