Bringing the iconic Mary down to earth

Much of the discussion surrounding Mel Gibson’s controversial film “The Passion of the Christ” centers on authenticity: Did Gibson stick to the gospel accounts as closely as he claims and, if so, are they historically accurate?

With Gibson’s film we have only to contrast what is on the screen with what is on the page to assess his declaration of biblical adherence. But in “Mary,” a thoughtful, astute biography of the Virgin Mother, author Lesley Hazleton explores the possibility that events and people may have been other than what is recorded in the gospels.

The author’s goal, she tells us, is to create a “flesh-and-blood” version of Mary (or Maryam as she would have been called in the Aramaic language she spoke), to “give her back to herself, starting with her real name. To ... see her as the multifaceted human being she was before she became an icon: a peasant, a healer, a nationalist, a mother, a teacher, a leader -- and yes, a virgin, though in a sense we have long forgotten.”

Hazleton, who has roots in both Judaism and Catholocism, describes herself as an agnostic with a deep sense of religious mystery but no affinity for organized religion; she lived 13 years in Jerusalem.

As such, she brings a fresh perspective to the study of Mary, lending her background as both a psychologist and a journalist to her investigation.

She weaves historical facts with empathy and imagination to construct a plausible, visceral version of this celebrated woman. Released from the trappings of the iconic Virgin Mother (elegant blue veil, flowing light hair and pale skin, peace-filled countenance), the Maryam she constructs is a sentient Nazarene woman who lived and worked and birthed some 2,000 years ago, a woman who rejoiced with her community, healed those about her, passed on her knowledge of healing to her son and suffered bitterly when he was crucified.

“When the gospel writers took pen to parchment to record the story of Jesus’ life and death some three generations later, they did not set out to write fiction; but neither did they intend to record history. Their concern was theology, and their aim was to do what only theology can do: to create new life out of death. They wrote to inspire their readers by linking what happened to what had been foretold.”

Freed from theological constraints, Hazleton looks into the day-to-day life Maryam would have experienced as a peasant Galilean living under foreign rule -- the smells, sights and hardships of that life, along with the political tensions of the day. In considering Maryam’s pregnancy, Hazleton posits that she may have been trained as a midwife and village healer and would therefore have been well-versed in the details of fertility.

Though some scholars have maintained that God needed Mary’s “yes” to fulfill Jesus’ conception and birth, Hazleton goes further. As a healer who would have known about the herbs used for contraception and abortion, Maryam had a choice in regard to pregnancy. “Her ‘yes’ was far more active than mere assent,” Hazleton tells us, asserting that Maryam’s role in the birth of Jesus may have been even more conscious than commonly believed.

To her credit, Hazleton is careful never to state emphatically what did or did not happen, leaving open the possibility of belief in the miraculous. Writing of the resurrection, for example, she says that “to say that it definitely did not happen makes no more sense than to say that it definitely did. For the real point of the resurrection is not literal, but metaphorical. Not physical, that is, but metaphysical.” The same holds true, she tells us, for Maryam’s physical virginity and the paternity of Jesus. “Maryam lived in a place and time when the metaphysical element in human conception was publicly acknowledged. All human birth was divinely empowered, and every child was thus a son or daughter of God.”

The narrative follows Maryam from age 13, when she became pregnant, through the death of her son and into the land of her own grief. Instead of showing Maryam as placid and composed after the crucifixion, as has been depicted in Pieta art through the ages, Hazleton gives us a woman riven by sorrow, wailing as though “the whole earth is crying out in protest and despair.” This is a depiction, suffering Maryam, as human and frail as the rest of us.

Readers who believe in the literal truth of the iconic Mary may have trouble with some of the more imaginative elements of Hazleton’s narrative but will find fascinating the historical and earthly aspects she explores.

And those who are willing to suspend their disbelief may meet a woman even more admirable (because she’s more human and real) than the statuette model of the Virgin Mother.