Tag Archives: The Magdalene Mystery

Wednesday in Roma

Christine w.TMM, S.John LateranWe visited St. John Lateran, San Giovanni in Laterano, this morning. 

The gracious basilica, set back behind a swathe of rough lawn, pavement for crowds, and hawkers of scarves and jewelry, has grown more dear to me with each visit. Huge and imposing the first time, it has revealed its beauty and history over the years. It is the Pope’s cathedral, his seat as Bishop of Rome, and is seen often on telecasts of sacred events. 

S.John LateranIt is also a location in my novel, The Magdalene Mystery, where more of the mystery is solved and more questions are raised. It is the home of a gift shop run by the Missionaries of Divine Revelation, an order of nuns called “the green sisters” because of their forest green habits. 

Christine with Sr Emanuela, S.John LateranI first met Sister Emanuela, an English nun of this order with a lovely Irish accent, about five years ago when I was pitching my first novel Pilgrimage to some of the shops in Rome. The next year she took us on a lovely tour of the Vatican Museums. We kept in touch. You just might see her in The Magdalene Mystery in that Laterano scene. It was good to see her today – her eyes alight with the same twinkle of joy she has always shared with everyone. We chatted, catching up on the miracles in our lives, stunned by the love of God. She gives group tours of sacred art and recently has been in demand as a speaker. She is on fire with the faith, a miracle among us. I always learn from Sister Emanuela. She has a way of putting things clearly, to the point, with a great generosity of spirit and always a healing sense of humor.

Chiesa Quattro Coronati, Noon OfficeWe left St. John Lateran and walked a few blocks to Quattro Coronati, the Church of the Four Crowned Saints. Once a medieval fortress, you step through two courtyards to reach the front door. Popes hid here when the Lateran was threatened. So touched was I by its intriguing history and the Augustinian nuns in residence who sing the daily prayer offices, that this church was a key scene in my first novel, Pilgrimage. By grace, we arrived for the last part of the noon office, a great blessing to hear them sing again.

We trundled down the hill toward the Coliseum but San Clemente was closed for lunch; it was after all nearly one o’clock. Alas, I was not surprised. This four-levels-of-history church is a popular one, run by Irish Dominicans if I recall correctly, and they have always kept the morning/late afternoon schedule. Sensible.

So we were sensible too, and headed for a bite, club sandwiches in an air conditioned bar, for the day was heating up.

S. John Lateran Reliquaries

S. John Lateran Reliquaries

HolySacrament Chapel, S.John Lateran

Holy Sacrament Chapel, S.John Lateran

Cloisters, S.John Lateran

Cloisters, S.John Lateran

Mary Magdalene Altar Front, Middle Ages, Cloisters, S.J.Lateran

Mary Magdalene Altar Front, Middle Ages, Cloisters, S.J.Lateran

Chiesa Quattro Coronati Entrance

Chiesa Quattro Coronati Entrance

 

 

 

The Light of Candlemas

It was with some surprise and great thanksgiving that I received word yesterday that my novel The Magdalene Mystery received First Place in the Feathered Quill Book Awards for 2013. 

I was surprised again when I woke this morning, recalling this bit of news, and when I saw that it was raining, however lightly (our first real rain in California for months), I became deeply grateful, thinking that perhaps the drought was lessening. But later as I entered the warm sanctuary of our parish church, leaving the cold outside, and stepped up the thick red carpet of the central aisle, I sighed in wonder. 

I knew today was the Festival of Candlemas, the celebration of the presentation of the baby Jesus in the temple in Jerusalem. I knew it involved candles and I even recalled we in the pews held white tapers that would soon be lit by acolytes, and we would light our neighbor’s, fire catching fire. But I wasn’t prepared for the brilliance of the candles on the altar as I entered: two large candelabra, each bank holding seven flaming white tapers, framed by eight giant candlesticks aflame. I had entered a holy home, this bright house of God and his fiery love. I was cradled by the warmth and light of the space, as the clergy and acolytes processed in, swinging incense and holding the crucifix high before the burning torches, the celebrant gliding royally toward the high altar with his royal gold and white cope. We sang with many voices joined together as one, “As with gladness men of old/Did the guiding star behold; As with joy they hailed its light, Leading onward, beaming bright; So most gracious Lord, may we/Evermore be led to thee…” (52).

The nave and sanctuary shimmered in the candlelight, a contrast to the dim and wet cold outside. And so we celebrated this moment in history, when God the Son moved from the private space, the home, and entered the public space, the temple. The light of heaven entered the darkness of our world. And thus we celebrated with light, the flame from the altar lighting our tiny wicks, the candles held so carefully, so hopefully, and we turned to light the next. 

We held our flaming candles as the Gospel was read from the central aisle. In this passage, Luke 2:22+, the elders Simeon and Anna witness the appearance of their Messiah. They had waited and prayed; they had been promised this moment. Simeon took the child in his arms, blessed God, and said, 

‘Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word: for mine eyes have seen thy salvation, which thou hast prepared before the face of all people; a light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of thy people Israel…’

These words, “Simeon’s Song,” have become a treasured part of our Evening Prayer Office. We re-affirm that we too have seen this salvation, we have seen this light that enlightens, we too know this glory that came to us from the People of Israel.

Today we ended the season of Christmas, forty days after this most holy birth-day, a time span set by Jewish law, the “law of the Lord.” Today we re-affirmed that the light of the world has come and continues to dwell among us, with us, enlightening us.

The Magdalene Mystery is largely about affirming that light. How do we know this remarkable God-story is true? How should we treat those first-century documents we call the Gospels? How do we know that the account of the empty tomb is an accurate witness? Did Mary Magdalene even exist, let alone see the risen Christ?

From Dan Brown to the Jesus Seminar to the “New Atheists,” folks have spent a good deal of time and energy trying to prove the Incarnation and the Resurrection did not happen. There must be much at stake. And there is. 

My little novel has been roaming the world since June 2013 when it first was released, when it was born. As an author I feel like a mother who has given birth and sent my child, my words, out into the world to fare one way or another, to hopefully provide a flickering flame to lighten some of the darkness.

So it is a sweet moment of delight that I experience this weekend, a time in which The Magdalene Mystery has been honored on this weekend of Candlemas, when Mary presented her son to the temple, and thus to the world. 

And now, as I glance out my window, I see the sun has burst upon my watered garden, turning the grays to greens. And I believe I see a dusting of snow on the top of Mount Diablo. 

Deo Gratias.

A Stay Against Confusion

In A Stay Against Confusion, Essays on Faith and Fiction, the novelist Ron Hansen, Arts and Humanities professor at Santa Clara University, quotes the poet Robert Frost (1874-1963): 

(A poem) begins in delight and ends in wisdom, it inclines to the impulse, it assumes direction with the first line laid down, it runs a course of lucky events, and depends in a clarification of life – not necessarily in a great clarification… but in a momentary stay against confusion.

Our world is chaotic and confusing, and seemingly more so as we travel through time at an ever-quickening pace. Electronics have exploded our hours, shattering our days into bursts of activity, as we point and click, tap and swipe, answer and respond, text and email, moving on to the next message and messaging the next move. Rather than making our world more meaningful or organized or satisfying or even beautiful, we feel like hamsters racing on a wheel. Are we there yet? And where are we going?

Not only are we barraged by information and time demands, but our lack of common cultural assumptions with no governing philosophy has encouraged fragmented thought, opinion, and propaganda veiled as ideas. How do we choose what or who to believe?

So when words strike a chord in our hearts as true, we have a momentary stay against the confusion. A poem, or poetic language, provides this epiphany, this moment of clarity. I would add it helps that the image is beautiful as well as true, that it answers despair with hope and suffering with redemption.  We want answers to questions deep within us.

Ron Hansen describes good fiction as beginning in the natural world and flying into the supernatural, super-natural in the sense that goodness, truth, and beauty claim our hearts in this stay against confusion. We must write about the real world, with real senses, real passions, real loves and real hates. But at some point grace descends upon the battlefield of our lives and those lives we are creating. Grace is this poetic action of light in the darkness. As Christians we call this God’s grace. Others might simply call it art.

The music, the art, and the books that sing to me do just this. In a novel, the story, and above all the diction, invites me into the heart of a rose, calls me to fly with angels. I laugh and I cry from a place deep within, a place that knows these notes, recognizes a heavenly chorus. In a sense I am in love.

I have recently fallen in love with a collection of songs sung by an order of Dominican nuns. The music soars and dives and circles my ears with words and melody that enraptures, captures. It has surprised me that I could be so in love. The tunes haunt me at night and I wake mouthing the phrases; I am so very thankful for this bit of heavenly beauty. They are the Dominican Sisters of Mary, Mother of the Eucharist: https://www.sistersofmary.org/ and the CD is called “Mater Eucharistiae.” You can hear a bit of the music by scrolling down to the video: https://www.sistersofmary.org/our-news/news.html. The order appears to be growing, and many of the nuns are young, part of a new Catholic renaissance. Visit them on Facebook.

The CD provides a “stay against confusion.” It corrals the chaos and conflicting demands upon my mind with its beauty. Father Malachy’s Miracle by Bruce Marshall did this too, as I tried to say in my review (http://catholicfiction.net/book-review/father-malachys-miracle/ ). Mr. Marshall, through his language and homely humor, brought me to a similar place of sanity. Also, Meriol Trevor’s Shadows and Images  (review online at http://catholicfiction.net/book-review/shadows-and-images-a-novel/) brought me into the mind and heart of John Henry Newman, an Anglo-Catholic who made the journey to Roman Catholicism. Ms. Trevor writes with this same poetic diction. I also found this kind of sanity in Susan Prudhomme’s novels, The Forest and The Wisdom of Ambrose, also reviewed on CatholicFiction.net.

I pray that my own words are painted by such grace, pulling readers into a land of truth and beauty. The reviews of my just released novel, The Magdalene Mystery, have been encouraging, the most recent by novelist Bruce Judisch (the giveaway is still on): http://brucejudisch.blogspot.com/.

Today our parish celebrated the Feast of Christ the King. It is a time when we consider the kingdom over which Christ reigns. And I have found, through faithful prayer and worship, that the kingdom is all around us. Every moment of grace, God’s action upon us, opens our eyes, invites us through the doors of his kingdom, calls us with a poetry of goodness, truth, and beauty. There are times when I feel as though I straddle the border between two kingdoms, one of earth and one of heaven, but more and more I am integrating them. More and more the kingdoms weave together to form a garment of glory, a cloak of sanity in our world of confusion. We call this cloak, incarnation. We call this garment, the sacramental life. We call this the action of grace. And we thank God for every stay against confusion.