Prelude to the Assumption
If you’ve ever seen a rendering of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary into heaven, then you have likely gazed upon the heavenly hosts and earthly blesseds enraptured by the sight of the Mother of God floating into the sky. Apostles, friends, relatives, cherubim, seraphim, etc. crowd around the levitating Mary celebrating her triumph and the impending reunion with her beloved son.
Other works depicting just the death of Mary are no less filled with spectators from above and below with the usual suspects: angels, saints, holy men and women, and even Jesus himself reaching out to her from the heavenly realms. As beautiful as these visions conceived by artists throughout the ages are, I have always found them somewhat incongruous with the character of the simple woman from Nazareth whose quiet yet profound influence on Christianity still radiates into modern times.
Not that I object to the celebration or sorrow depicted in these artworks. In contrast, however, I envision a more subdued series of events leading up to the Assumption, and in the midst of it all is her dearly beloved Son coming to get his Mama and bring her to glory.
While a reverential crowd of spiritual superstars makes for a nice religious tableau, not only for artists but for theologians and other church folks, it doesn’t seem to jive with the facts concerning the Blessed Mother’s activity in early Christianity. Essentially, she vanishes after Pentecost in the Acts of the Apostles. There is no mention of her in any of the Epistles, and only an allusion to her in Revelation as the woman with the crown of 12 stars. Of course, if one wants to wade through apocryphal accounts of her life after that depicted in the scriptures, there is a plethora of extracanonical sources.
Throwing caution to the winds, and ignoring scholarship and artistic interpretations, this is what I envision when meditating on the events leading up to the Assumption of the Blessed Mother.
We are in a small, quiet, candlelit room. In bed is our dear Mary, older that we normally picture her, and looking somewhat shrunken though still serene with shallow, steady breathing. Seated nearby is an elderly woman in a silent prayer vigil, bent over from years of supplication to the Creator. There are no others in the room, and though others may be elsewhere in the house, they too are subdued, making no sound to disturb the peace of this sick room.
Slowly our prayer warrior begins to fall into a deep sleep and shortly afterward, the barely audible breathing of Mary ceases. At that moment Our Lord appears at his mother’s bedside, and touches her hand. Her eyes open and her countenance is transformed from drawn and weary to young and vital and she appears as we picture her in modest robes as a young adult woman.
For a brief interlude they gaze into one another’s eyes, reconnecting in person after years of being joined spiritually. There is no need for words, for they can read each other’s hearts. Jesus, through a gesture, indicates that they are leaving. Mary wordlessly counters indicating the woman asleep in mid-prayer. Jesus understands that his mother does not want to distress her companion by disappearing from the room without a trace. As Mary and her Son begin to fade away from the room, the hunched over figure straightens and catches a glimpse of them as they vanish from the material realm.
Those who wish may now insert the artistic visions of the Assumption and the faithful servants of God celebrating this glorious event. I think that I will remain in that quiet room, meditating on the image of mother and Son together again and leading the way to eternity.
