Labor Day signals the traditional beginning of school, although many schools start much earlier these days. The American school year originally was formulated to accommodate farming parents: the more modern year tries to accommodate working parents. Our family is a bit of both: homesteaders who attend a hybrid school where I teach. Since we were on vacation when our school started, I’m taking this week to actually do the organization that should’ve been done earlier. This weekend I finally got around to pulling out our beginning-of-the-school year statue, which I acquired five years ago on Mackinac Island in the gift shop of Saint Anne’s church. It’s meant to show the young Virgin Mary who traditionally was homeschooled by Saint Anne. Most authorities agreed that Mary was educated. Her Magnificat shows heavy familiarity with the Hebrew Scriptures – and it is common in liturgical art to show her reading Scriptures as the angel Gabriel appears to her.
I’ve written before about the importance of centerpieces in communicating the faith, so as we begin the school year, I think it’s fitting to focus on this image. Even Mary and Christ had to go to school and learn from previous generations. In a culture that suspects and memory-holes the past and expends huge amounts of energy re-inventing wheels each generation, learning from your parents and grandparents becomes counterculture indeed. And even if you are done schooling and your children as well, you should never cease learning. I tell my children that studying the Faith should be a part of every adult Catholic, and the Faith touches on so much of life — history, philosophy, culture, art, music, the sciences—that effectively your schooling is lifelong. The full blooms of the end-of-the-season flowers reinforce that variety and color.
Happy learning!
Coincidentally, the current issue of "Magnificat" features a cover photo of an endearing and very striking wooden sculpture of St. Anne homeschooling Mary. It dates from the early 1500s. Pierre-Marie Dumont's reflection on it, pp. 6-8, is happily titled "The Imitation of God's Grandmother." I think the ending rhymes with your own thoughts, Regina:
"Thus, thanks to the genius of the Master of Saint Benedict (the sculptor), we have the chance to rediscover the heights to which an inspired artist dared to invite Christian mothers - and of course now, in our post-Christain civilization, he invites grandmothers as well as mothers."