Epigrams to a Victorious Mother

“The house of the Virgin, like her Son, was destined to become a second gate of God. An ark hath appeared holier than that of old, not containing the tables written by God’s hand but having received within it God himself. Here are the fountains of purification from the flesh, here is redemption of errors of the soul. There is no evil circumstance, but from Her gusheth a miraculous gift to cure it. Here, when She overthrew the foe, She destryed them by water, not by the spear. She hath not one method of defeat alone, who bore Christ and putteth the barbarians to flight.” (Paton, W.R. The Greek Anthology, I, 121 [London: William Heinemann, 1927])

Εδει γενεσθαι δεθτεραν Θεου πυλην

Της παρθενου τον οικον, ως και τον τυκον

Κιβωτος ωφθη της πριν ενθεεστερα

Ου τας πλακας φερουσα τας θεογραφους,

Αλλ αυτου ενδον τον θεον δεδεγμενη.

By now it has become a tradition to write a reflection regarding the Solemnity of the Assumption/Dormition of Our Lady, also called “Our Lady’s Pasch”, so rightly celebrated for centuries. Last year, I looked at this mystery through the prism of the Misteri d’Elx, one of the few existing medieval mystery plays in Europe. This year, I would like to look at this through the medium of Greek epigrams, many of which adorned Churches dedicated to her. This one quoted above adorned the Church in the Blachernae Palace in Constantinople, and so was visited by members of the Imperial Court. Of course, themes of conquest and empire since the era of Constantine were wedded almost seamlessly into the authority of the Emperor, and of Byzantium as heir to the Roman Empire. The Byzantines did not view themselves as mere heirs to Rome: they were Romanioi, Romans true, inventing the concept of Translatio Imperii, or the transfer of empire. In a sense, this concept may seem strange to modern people, even illegitimate. Yet, as a concept which was evolved within a Christian political framework, it is eminently understandable. Christ, the conqueror of the Devil and his works, supplanted him and took his spoils. This idea of transfer from one empire to another is even alluded to by Saint Paul, who both in the beginning of his epistles to the Colossians and the Ephesians remind ancient Christians that through their redemption, they have been made citizens of heaven.

Translatio Imperii, scripturally speaking, can also be seen allegorically, such as when St. Peter calls Rome “Babylon” (1 Peter 5:13), as well as St. John. Babylon as a physical city had long since fallen into a shadow of its former self by the 1st century AD. The ‘New’ Babylon, according to the mind of early Christians, was the ‘Old’ Rome. This spiritual topography, so prevalent in the prophetic and apostolic writings, would have made a translatio imperii seem not only a natural right of conquest, but an inevitability of an epochal change of leadership.

Yet, as Christians have believed for centuries, all Christians are citizens of heaven, and so wheresoever a physical Church exists, whether it be in the heart of Byzantium or in frigid, rural Scythia of old, everyone is visiting ‘native land’ when they enter a Church. What is so interesting about the aformentioned epigram is that it clearly weds three concepts which are very familiar to ancient Christians: the childbearing of the Virgin Mary, the Church as believers, and the Church as a physical building. Each is corporately referred to in the feminine, something which is happily now reflected in the new 2011 English translation of the Roman Missal.

Epigrams, like poetry, often make use of layers of imagery in order to convey a point. What I find so interesting theologically above is that the ‘water’ of the Virgin’s childbearing is compared to the ‘water’ of the Crucifixion of Christ (along with, presumably, his own baptism), and the baptism of believers in the present day. Here, much like I mentioned in my reflection In Exitu Israel de Aegypto, the passing of the Ark of the Covenant through the Jordan River is a type of the passing of the Virgin Mary into heaven. Here, the same image is also used to refer to Christ’s own baptism, which is another perfectly valid typology.

Another epigram, attributed to St. Gregory of Nazianzus, famous as one of the so-called Cappadocian Fathers, mentions another type of translatio which is not uncommon among others who commentate upon the Dormition of the Virgin. He says, “The disciples, their hearts uplifted by the divine command, came calling to each other in glittering robes to the house of the immaculate and blameless woman, some from the East, some from the West, others from the South, and others came from the North, seeking to inter the body of Her, the world’s saviour.” (Ibid, I-94)

This idea is also echoed in the Misteri d’Elx, and just like its political version, physical translatio was not foreign to Christians, because of the Biblical occurences of it. By translatio in this case we also mean the bodily ‘transfer’ of an individual, by miraculous means, from one place to another. This took place in the writings of the Prophet Habakkuk (immortalized in sculpture by the master Bernini), and also in the Acts of the Apostles, when the Deacon Phillip was taken away from the presence of the Ethiopian Eunuch after his baptism. Ancient peoples, granted their intellectual sophistication, did not bristle at analogy as much as modern people do: hence, the Virgin is referred to as a “savior of the world” (το σωσικοσμοιο). This is, of course, technically true, because she is the sine qua non without which the Savior, Jesus, would never have come into the world. Like with the saints and “praying” to them, ancient Christians saw no conflict between Christ, His Mother, and the rest of His Saints. Their ‘worship’ was a difference of kind and of magnitude, but it is a type of worship nonetheless.

The miraculous translatio of the Disciples to visit the Mother of God, either in her last moments and/or for her burial, is a common motif among early Christian authors when speaking of it. Of course, we just referred to St. Gregory of Nazianzus, who lived in the 4th century AD. As an aside, this should remind us that the Dormition is not only an ancient Christian idea; belief of it can be seen as mainstream definitively as early as the Nicene period. Gregory of Nazianzus was not just anyone; he was the Archbishop of Constantinople itself, the then-capital of the Roman world. The fact that he would speak of the subject in such settled terms is noteworthy to anyone who doubts, at the very least, the antiquity of belief in the Assumption/Dormiton of the Virgin Mary.

Returning to the idea of translatio, of course, we cannot help but also remember the physical Ascension of Christ. However, there is a technical distinction between translatio and ascensio (ascension). Translatio is linked to physical location and physical bodies. Ascensio implies a transcending of the physical order into a higher one, ontologically. Therefore, where as the Deacon Phillip or the Prophet Habakkuk could be said to be ‘translated’ from one point to another on the planet earth, such a movement can only be described ontologically as horizontal. An Ascension or Assumption, however, introduces the vertical dimension, and that is not to be simply understood in the spatial sense. The spatial movement of the Son of God, like the Virgin, is a movement to a higher plane of existence, i.e., heaven. The Son of God returns to the right hand of the Father. The Mother of God returns to the right hand of her Son. By analogy, then, the baptized are called to sit on thrones at the ‘right hand’ of the Son when he comes (see Matthew 25). Like the wise virgins in the parabole, Mary has rushed out to meet Christ, in a sort of eager anticipation which prefigures the body of the Church.

Saint Paul in his Epistle of the Colossians, when reflecting upon the Ascension of Christ, exhorts believers to likewise “set your hearts on things above” (Colossians 3:2), a moral imperative based upon an ontological one. David Hume famously questioned how a moral imperative could be derived from an ontological one. In layman’s terms, how do we derive an “ought” from an “is”? The answer is actually quite simple, from an ancient theological perspective: if it is true that the Christian is incorporated ontologically into heaven by baptism, then the Christian is, in effect, in part a heavenly creature. To behave as a heavenly creature should be no more foreign to a Christian on earth than a bird that takes flight into the air. Of course, a bird could walk on its talons day after day, but that would be a woeful waste of its own capacities. All of nature acts at the very least in accord with its own capabilties, and this is an imperative for survival. In the realm of supernature and of grace, this too is necessary for salvation, to act in accord with the movements of divine grace.

Whether or not the Apostles experienced a literal translatio to the side of the Blessed Virgin at her passing from this world is unknown, but it seems to be the majority opinion of ancient commentators. Certainly, if we can posit well-attested phenomena like that of bilocation in the life of St. Padre Pio not even a century ago, it should not be a huge leap to accept that such a thing was possible during the lives of the Apostles; only one holding an a priori denial of the supernatural would rule it out here. Yet, regardless of its historicity, it is clear that the ‘pull’ of the Church to the leave-going of the Virgin has spiritual implications for us. One, because in honoring this Day of Precept, we too gather together to celebrate the Eucharistic Mystery. Two, because the Mother of God’s Assumption was, presumably unlike the Resurrection of Christ, a witnessed event. Much like the Apostles were present when Christ ascended, the Apostles were present when His Mother was assumed into heaven. We see here, then, important similarities and dissimilarities between the glorification of Christ and that of the Blessed Virgin.

The departure of Christ bodily into heaven was a necessarily precondition for the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, to come into the Church. Is it possible then that the Assumption of Mary provoked another descent, during her own ascent? It would seem that preeminently that her role as Spouse of the Holy Spirit is further enshrined by her heavenly position, her ontological elevation. The role of Mary as Queen Mother and preeminent intercessor is well known. So too, is her spiritual role as Mediatrix of Grace, which has been frequently reflected on. What then, descended upon the world at her elevation? It would be easy to say simply, “Grace”, but that seems too simple. Here we are caught up in the difficulties we encounter when we attempt to ‘reify’ grace. It is so difficult to define, we usually have to conceptualize grace into types, such as sanctifying, actual, prevenient, etc. Yet if we can borrow from the water motifs mentioned before, her passing into heaven ought to create a deluge of favor from God. After all, with her, the glorification of the New Eve is completed, and the glorification of all her children is presignified. God promised never again to destroy the world with water. Yet he never promised he wouldn’t save it through water. The waters of the Virginal Birth and Conception, the waters of the Heart of Christ, and the waters of Baptism are intrinsically linked. Indeed, all of us, as Saint Paul once said, are saved through her childbearing. Through her intercession, may we likewise arrive at her station.