Sermon: The Real Mary

It is amazing how much you learn by visiting.

There is something that being away from home does to our awareness, something about the way it stimulates our openness that means that things we might ordinarily miss stand out vividly. I have noticed that it is only when travelling that I take much interest in grocers or supermarkets. I stare at the ordinary shelves, rendered exotic by the writing on the labels that I don't understand. But when I point out the object of my fascination to my travelling companions I am invariably told that the same stuff is available at home, but I have never noticed it because, should I visit the supermarket, I am in rush or a daze - or both.

Last month I was able to visit the shrine of the black Madonna at Czestochowa in Poland. I spent a fascinating and enthralling day at the medieval fortress monastery of Jasna Gora. The icon of Mary that is kept there is reputed to have been painted by St Luke on a tabletop from the home of the holy family itself. The truth is that it dates from the 6th Century and is a typical Hodigitria icon, that is to say one in which the Virgin points to the Christ she is holding as if to say ‘follow him, he is the way'.

I had known that this icon was of immense importance to Pope John Paul II but I had always assumed it was as an image of warm maternity, his own mother having died while he was still very young. What I had not appreciated was that Mary is considered to be Queen of Poland, there are churches dedicated to her as such, and that in many ways this ascription applies not to Mary herself but Mary in this particular manifestation, this image or icon - the black Madonna of Czestochowa. And that is because when in the seventeenth century the Swedish army was running amok across Poland, despite its immense superiority, it failed to conquer Jasna Gora and as a result retreated from the whole country.

But what fascinates me particularly about this icon is that it is a wounded image. There are two vertical slashes and a horizontal cut on her right cheek and six scratches on her neck.

It is not necessary to tell the story of these wounds to get a sense of their significance for our understanding of Mary. Like the marks of the hands feet and in the side of the risen Christ, they tell us that the past has been a time of suffering.

This lesson could be learnt, of course, by going to the chapel of nine altars and contemplating Fenwick Lawson's pieta. Indeed people do learn this same lesson by visiting that statue - whether as part of a once in a life-time or a regular visit to this cathedral. (For in a real sense we are all, always, visitors here.)

One of the reasons why we find it difficult to appreciate the role that Mary has in Christian spirituality is that we perceive her as sentimental, domestic and comfortable. But her life was as challenging, exciting, and dangerous as any of the early disciples. When we celebrate her we must learn to see through the clouds of piety, sentimentality and superstition and to perceive something far more robust, realistic and true.

Mary, the patron saint of visitors - of those who learn a lot while away from home.

Mary, the one who was never suburban enough to confuse the domestic with the cosy.

Mary, the one who says it as it is, (the patron saint of assertiveness training, perhaps?).

Mary, the one whose strength, like that of every Christian, is forged by vulnerability and suffering and is often experienced as weakness.

Mary, the patron saint of all who try to practice the Christian virtues of patience, humility and hospitality.

Mary, the one who encourages us all to live, as she did, a long way outside our comfort zones.

We commemorate Mary today. The real Mary. The one who not only brings Christ to us but who points us to Christ.

Stephen Cherry