This is an updated version of something I wrote about 5 years ago. The second draft, if you will.)
While I think I have more admiration for Roman Catholicism than most evangelicals, I have serious qualms about Marian devotion. Why?
Because, well, Mary is my spiritual mother.
And so are Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel, and Leah, the mothers of Israel.
So are Ruth and Naomi, Deborah and Esther, Abigail and Hannah, Bathsheba and Rahab.
And so are all of the Marys, and Martha, and Dorcas and Agabus’s daughters, and Priscilla.
So is Monica. So is Dame Julian. So is Katharina von Bora,
And so are Dorothy Sayers, Joy Davidman, Madeleine L’Engle, Marva Dawn, Nancy Leigh DeMoss, Lauren Winner, Noel Piper, Lauren Chandler, Fanny Crosby, Sandra McCracken.
So are the women whose names we do not know, but who are known by God and were sustained by Him as they lived what would have been to us ordinary lives.
So are the countless women–both older and younger, roommates, friends, teachers, acquaintances, mothers, wives, sisters–with whom I’ve had the privilege to try to muddle through this thing we call following Jesus.
And so is the woman who, beneath the haze of medication, is trusting in God through a hospital stay, through much pain, and has shown me how to do that after taking a chance on me 27 years ago.
AFter all, she who will not have the church for her mother does not have God as her Father. I am blessed to have both.