Reading this book gives one the impression of being on a roller coaster ride.  There were highs, when praise for Frederica Mathewes-Green [hereafter FMG] was the only appropriate response; but then there were lows when we disagreed with her, disputed her point, or simply wished to engage her in discussion on an issue or a detail.  So this book review will express our admiration for the work FMG has accomplished in this book; then, if she wishes to respond to discuss the issues, details, and points in her book with which we disagree, we offer her the chance to reply.  We hope to “back up” with solid evidence and explanation the points with which we disagree.

First, a word about the term “early Christian.” FMG has not distinguished between “early” Christians and, in the context of this book, what might be called “earlier” Christians.  As the title of this book makes clear, “Three Ancient Texts” are discussed.  Two of the texts are The Lost Gospel of Mary that was put to writing around C.E. 150 and a ten-line prayer to Mary the Birthgiver that was written about C.E. 250.  “The Annunciation Hymn,” the third text discussed, was written by St. Romanus about C.E. 520. 

The centerpiece of this volume is FMG’s translation of, and commentary on, the ancient text commonly known to specialists as the Protevangelium Jacobi, [1] or the “Infancy Gospel of James.”  FMG’s re-titling of this work as “The Lost Gospel of Mary” is adequately defended in her book.  Still, the title, The Lost Gospel of Mary, is likely to cause some confusion, because of the many recently discovered texts dealing with Mary Magdalene.  The Nag Hammadi Corpus contains a cryptic text bearing the name of Mary Magdalene, as we now know.  Then, there is the so-called Gospel of Judas, another “lost” text, which has recently received somewhat commercialized treatment by Elaine Pagels and Karen L. King.  At the outset, then, we are left speculating about the extent to which FMG decided to commercialize her book, by using the enigmatic “lost” in the title.  While this speculation may or may not turn out to be valid, a case can be made for taking scholarly information, thought, findings, etc., and avoiding “scholarly‑ese” in presenting it.  Especially because of the present day fictionalized popular materials published purporting to be “the last word” on the finds of ancient texts, a case could be made for materials written for an intelligent laity who may not be as knowledgeable in the more scholarly aspects of these materials but who, nevertheless, would be eager to read materials based on scholarship.  After all, if the author of a book is unknown to the reader, it is usually the title of a book that will capture one’s eye. 

Actually, the Protevangelium Jacobi is already widely available in English translation in Willis Barnstone’s (ed.) popular sourcebook, The Other Bible [2] .  However, the remaining texts in FMG’s volume – an ancient prayer beginning with “Under your compassion” (Sub tuum praesidium), and a fifth-century Akathist Hymn (attributed to St. Romanus of Syria)—serve to bolster what is not so much a thesis as an inspirational starting-point for a profound (though in places flawed) reflection on the meaning of the Mother of God in the Christian Tradition. 

Once the reader becomes aware that FMG is dealing with Mary, the Mother of Jesus, and not Mary Magdalene, the import of the book becomes clearer.  The emotions produced by a reflection upon Christ’s love for His mother serve as the foundation for the entirety of FMG’s discussion of the translated texts.  Sensationalist theories about Christ’s erotic attachment to Magdalene or feminist interpretations of Mary (the Mother’s) centrality in His divine-human life are absent.  Good.  We have enough of that for several lifetimes.  What FMG gives us, in The Lost Gospel of Mary, is an invitation to meet a woman who not only approached Our Lord, but bore Him!  The import of the honorific Theotokos, “God-bearer,” is brought majestically to the fore. 

It is clear from each of these texts that in the centuries during which they were written, the Church developed and evolved to a great extent.  So a case can be made to distinguish between the “earlier” Christians (those in the second and third centuries) and the “early” Christians (those in the sixth century).  Furthermore, “The Annunciation Hymn” is filled with adulation and attributions to Mary the Mother of God.  This document also contains titles of Mary that are not in the first two documents; these titles developed over the hundreds of years between these documents.  Thus, it seems clear that growth and development of the Church [3] took place in the intervening centuries—all the more reason to distinguish between the Christians in the various centuries.  Now to a discussion of each of these works.

The Gospel of Mary/The Protoevangelium of James

FMG brings to life the “practical advantage” the early Christians had over us:  They were “still living [emphasis added] in the culture that produced the Christian scriptures” (p. x).  She has a “homey” way of describing this advantage; she states beautifully and tangibly her descriptions:  “The history of these things was the history of their backyard”; and again:  “some things that scholars nowadays struggle to comprehend were as familiar and obvious as their own kitchen table” (p. xi).  FMG carries these very tangible descriptions throughout her book.  She has a way of making real the concepts she wants to explain, yet the prose she uses to expresses them is almost poetic. 

The scholarship of FMG is admiringly astonishing.  She notes the 38 volumes of works containing large pages and tiny type from the first to sixth centuries that line her library. 

As for FMG’s own translation—and here the comment is on the central text only, the Gospel of Mary:  FMG puts her admittedly “rusty” skills in Greek to admirably good use.  Her version is readable and, most importantly, enjoyable.  Bravo!  The accompanying notes are most helpful; a fine example is her erudite (but not pedantic) observation at note 23 (p. 40) regarding mono- and poly-ousion.  Aristotle scholars take note!  While some more references, and definitely more analysis, would have added important information to the neophyte reader, the note is sufficiently thought provoking for the specialist.  But it is not distracting to the non-expert.  In short, FMG has produced a nice balance between technical detail and helpful commentary.  Her skill as a translator is commendable.

But then, there is this statement (p. xiii):  “Many Western Christians are unfamiliar with Mary, and somewhat leery of her.”  First reaction to this statement was shock.  Then came the realization of the problem.  With the use of the word “many” FMG is attempting to distinguish unsuccessfully between Roman Catholics and Protestants.  To be accurate in depicting “Western Christians,” a distinction really should be made between Roman Catholics and Protestants.  While FMG’s statement about Mary is more likely true of Protestants, it certainly is not true of Western Catholics.  Here I am speaking specifically of Roman Catholics in the United States, although other Western nations, particularly Mexico and the nations of Central and South America, Spain, Portugal, Italy, and Poland are well known for their devotion to Mary. 

Almost every Roman Catholic Church in the West has at least one special place for a statue (if not a small shrine) to Mary, the Mother of God.  The Roman Catholic liturgical calendar in the United States contains by quick count sixteen feast days devoted to Mary, the Mother of God.  In addition, every Saturday not reserved for a special feast can be and often is devoted to Mary.  This liturgical celebration includes a special liturgy of the Mass and a special Divine Office said by Roman Catholic priests and religious. [4]   In addition there are numerous shrines to Mary, some that are nationally known, some that are regionally known, and some that are locally known.  An example of a locally known shrine is the Shrine to Mary, the Mother of Mothers.  This shrine boasts no miracles or special occurrences; it has simply been a part of one Chicagoland parish church for about fifty years.  Although a local shrine, it draws people from perhaps a fifty-mile surrounding area. 

Better omitted is the information about the possibility that the ossuary of “James, the son of Joseph, brother of Jesus” may have been found (p. 3).  The overall evidence that this ossuary actually contains the bones so identified is very weak.  This information, if included, would have been better placed in a footnote and more emphasis placed on the “shakiness” of its authenticity. 

Another, more serious problem is FMG’s discussion of Gnosticism and Gnostics (pp. 6 ff).  She states:  “[I]ntact works, now that they’ve been recovered, turn out to be ‘the most complicated and surely the most incoherent that Gnosticism ever produced.’ ” (p. 7).  She further states:  “The ancient orthodox critics of these works now ‘look almost eulogistic, almost benevolent’ in taking them ‘so kindly and seriously as to do them the honor of refutation’ ” (p. 7).  These quotes seem to be from the “French Egyptologist Jean Doresse” who wrote “The Secret Books of the Egyptian Gnostics (1958)” (p. 6).  This is a poor choice of scholar to quote on the Gnostics and Gnosticism.  There has been much extended, thorough, and deep scholarship done by renowned scholars of the Gnostic works, namely Gnostic experts such as Hans Jonas, Bentley Layton, Elaine Pagels, Karen L. King, James M. Robinson, M.A. Williams, and Bart Ehrman, to new a few. 

In fact, scholarship has made it abundantly clear that “Gnosticism” was not some aberrant movement or outgrowth of early “orthodox” Christianity, but an ancient—and perhaps the first—systematic expression of the faith.  Every Patristic scholar knows that the two main points of contention in the pre-Nicene and conciliar eras was the personhood of Christ, and the Trinity.  The question was not so much whether or not Christ became human (for all but the most hard-core docetists [5] believed that He did, in some fashion or other).  Rather, the question was whether or not Christ’s humanity was like ours, similar to ours, or of an entirely different order.  Even that most “orthodox” of the Fathers, St. Athanasius, in his De Incarnatione Verbi, (On the Incarnation of the Word) speaks of Christ’s humanity as specialized, in the sense that Our Lord was capable of directing and maintaining the entire cosmos, even as He suffered the fate of a human being.  While it is indeed comforting to imagine our God as once having been a helpless child, clinging to His mother for protection, because this notion brings Him closer to us, and makes religion more accessible, such a pleasant vision does not do justice to the difficult message of our faith.  God is, as St. Gregory of Nyssa adamantly—and rightly—maintained, both intimately close to us and infinitely beyond us.

FMG also speaks of Marian devotion in Europe from the twelfth century as having the flavor of what can be called Gnostic [6] characteristics:  that Mary could manipulate and overrule her son, that he was an enraged God, but that she was merciful.  We would have liked to see further elucidation of this point and some references to support these descriptions of Mary. 

FMG also invokes St. Paul’s famous, and problematical, distinction between “flesh and spirit,” reducing it to a simple (and simplistic) formula: “body bad, spirit good” (p. 15).  Notice that FMG here does not differentiate between the terms “body” (sôma) and “flesh” (sarx), terms that are very carefully placed in opposition by St. Paul (cf., one of many possible examples, Romans 7:18; 12:5).  Body (sôma) is properly understood in a neutral sense as the principle of limitation that produces individuality – i.e., the boundary of self that makes us, ideally, a person – and, ultimately, a member of the Body of Christ.  Flesh (sarx) is to be taken in a Platonizing sense as the source of potentially destructive passions in the soul, such as lust (a corruption of healthy sexual attraction) or gluttony (a corruption of healthy culinary appetite), to give but two examples.  The source of these passions is, indeed, the body (sôma), but their misuse or corruption affects more than just the physical form, and invades the psychic space of the individual, creating various disorders of personality and maladjustment that undermine a proper orientation of self with environment.  The “spirit” (pneuma) for St. Paul (and Christianity in general) is the harmony of the various aspects of the human existent, as they unify for the purpose of actualizing the divine image in material creation (1 Corinthians 3:16).  So when FMG states that Neoplatonism and Christianity are at odds, in this area (ibid.), she is likely forgetting (if she ever knew it) the fact that pagan theurgical [7] practice (e.g., Iamblichus) was aimed at precisely the manner of ‘holistic’ orientation that St. Paul urges us to achieve.

FMG then takes up a beautiful description of what The Gospel of Mary is all about—an almost two thousand year old story about a “baby girl whose birth is greeted” with happiness rather than disappointment, who is cuddled and kissed (p. 10).  Peter Brown notes that in the times The Gospel of Mary was written, babies (often girls) were “left out in a public place to be claimed by passers-by” [8] or exposed to die.  This Gospel describes a little girl whose baby actions of reaching to touch her mother’s face were told and passed down to others with reverence and joy, a story of how loved and cherished this girl baby was.  This fact of cherishing a female child was frankly unusual as women in the first century were merely a step above slaves on the social scale. [9]   FMG describes how the “three-year-old Mary sits down on a Temple step and ‘dances with her feet,’ it’s no wonder that ‘all the house of Israel loved her’ ” (p 11).

As FMG makes clear, not only did Christ Himself change in His incarnation from God to human, He also responded to the conduit (for want of a better, non-Nestorian [10] term) of that change.  The primordial love of child for mother, and vice-versa, was the first instance of the Logos’ realization of the human element.  So-called heretics like Nestorius and Sabellius [11] were, perhaps, correct in refusing to recognize an infant as their God; but they were, as FMG powerfully illustrates, missing out on an important message of Christianity, namely, that the love of God for His creation is like that of a mother for her child.  FMG writes: “People in all times and places have found the sight of a loving mother and child delightful, cheering, comforting” (p. 84).  Would this were so.  Placing human emotions aside, however, and focusing on the meaning of Godhead, it is important not to mistake the ‘homeliness’ of the baby Jesus and His mum with the majesty of the eternal Logos, the First Principle of creation, source of Reason, and the “express image” (kharaktêr; Hebrews 1:3) of God Incarnate.  From this perspective—i.e., the perspective which seeks to preserve the unbounded mystery of God’s Being in the face of attempts to “bring Him down to earth,” as it were—the so-called Gnostics weren’t entirely “out to lunch.”  “Offense at the idea that Christ really became a human being,” writes FMG, “prompted alternative ‘spiritual’ versions of the faith to spring up, the best known being Gnosticism” (p. 15). 

FMG points out that the stories in The Gospel of Mary are “typological…and…set up echoes with prophecies in the Hebrew Scriptures” (p. 11).  Noting the story that Mary entered the Holy of Holies in the Temple, FMG explains what the Holy of Holies was, cites the description of it in Exodus, and beautifully explains the hilasterione (the “mercy seat”) where God’s presence to the people of the Covenant rested.  FMG points out that these stories were originally passed down through oral transmission as very few early Christians knew how to read.  She asks us to put ourselves “in the place of a second-century listener” who heard this story as it was told over and over.  She states that this part of the story of the The Gospel of Mary was meant to state that Mary, when she grew up, was to carry God in her body; Mary was literally the “mercy seat.” 

FMG states that The Gospel of Mary “emphasizes Mary’s virginity—not only in conceiving Jesus but also throughout the delivery” (p. 14); and she discusses this point in detail for the next six pages.  She makes some excellent points discussing the high respect for the body the early (earlier?) Christians had as evidenced by their reverence for the remains of the martyrs; she also explains the concept and effect of original sin.  She feels that the “culture was less squeamish about basic functions of the body than we are today” (p. 16).  She notes “plenty of frank references to breastfeeding,” (p. 16), that “Mary’s post-birth virginity is verified the only it could be, in a passage that did not shock or offend devout original hearers” (p. 17).

We do not disagree with these statements but think there are additional comments and/or interpretations that can be made about these statements.  In addition to her purity, this Gospel shows an emphasis on Mary’s royalty as a member of the line of David.  The references to Mary’s being chosen to spin “the gold, the white, the linen, the silk, the hyacinth-blue, the scarlet, and the true purple threads” (See pp. 49, 51, and 53.) clearly emphasize that Mary was of royal blood; and those listening to these stories (both the peasants and the more well-to-do) would immediately know this was a story telling them Mary was of the royal blood of David.  Even Elizabeth is said to “throw down the scarlet thread” she is working when Mary came to the door, telling the early Christians (and us) that she too was of royal blood.

There are two additional considerations regarding what FMG calls the early (earlier?) Christians being “less squeamish about the functions of the body.”  First, does what seems to us as “less squeamish” have little to do with being less hesitant to openly discuss bodily functions or is it rather a result of the fact that pregnancy and the bearing of children were an obligation on the part of every woman of the time to preserve the nation. [12]   It was unthinkable that women in the first century C.E. would not bear children; the bodily functions that accompanied bearing and having children were simply a part of this concern about making sure the race/nation remained strong and continued through time.  A similar type of situation is the case in China of its one-child-per-family policy.  One reads of local residents keeping track of the onset of women’s menstrual periods as a method of reinforcing China’s policy about children. [13]   People in Mary’s time would certainly be most interested that each married woman conceived and would take note of such.  So, the phenomenon of the openness with which the female reproductive functions were discussed was also an aspect of a very different culture and society from any we in the West may be acquainted with in the twenty-first century. [14]   Another point in this regard is that often newly married “women” were of the age that we certainly would call “minors” or even children.  A female was considered eligible for marriage at the onset of puberty. 

Secondly, Mary Sheridan is of the opinion that this story shows signs of a woman’s approach in its telling.  Edward holds more to the idea that only men wrote books in these times.  Yet Mary Sheridan proposes the following for thought:  While at first glance only men produced any written works in ancient times, this story has a woman’s touch, e.g., the very description of Mary as a child as noted above.  And there are other signs of a woman’s touch:  the emphasis and detail of Anna’s nursing the baby Mary has a two-fold significance.  First, it indicates Anna’s family was poor and could not employ a wet nurse.  Another meaning was that nursing a child meant that the woman would not become pregnant during the time of nursing.  Was this a sign that Anna was a poor woman?  Or was it a way for a woman to indicate that her husband allowed her to nurse and thus gave some consideration to giving his wife time between pregnancies? 

Another rather graphic detail in the story is the recounting of the midwife’s proving Mary’s sustained state of virginity after giving birth to the baby Jesus.  Could this recounting be evidence of a woman’s indignation at having to submit to the examination to prove her virginity.  Was a woman saying there a message in the midwife’s hand being “on fire” that would amount to a kind of “punishment” for her crassness in doubting Mary’s virginity?  There is an indignant tone in the description of the situation that a woman notices.

A third example of a “woman’s touch” in the telling of this Gospel:  Joseph is depicted as striking “himself on the face” and throwing “himself on the ground in sackcloth” (p. 55).  This seems strong wording of a document from ancient times when husbands (and even the other men of a family) had total control of life and death over the women in a family. [15]   In this story, rather than Joseph’s beating, hitting, throwing Mary to the floor, he does these things to himself.  A most unusual state of affairs.  Was this aspect of the story a woman’s way of saying to the world what a good husband Joseph was to Mary?  A way any woman of the time would instantly recognize?  An argument might be made that a man was “boosting” Joseph’s standing in these statements.  However, in considering the culture of the time, a man would get little, if any, higher standing among the male community with such a story; he would, however, be raised in the esteem of women. 

Edward Moore’s position, however, is brought forward by the fact that it is likely that this story was passed down by women in an oral tradition.  Most stories were originally passed on mother to child or told when the family gathered together.  What catches one’s attention here is that this detail made it into the written story.  Was this detail included by a man with a “soft side” toward women?   Or was it penned by a woman?  Barnstone (p. 384) notes that The Gospel of Mary was likely written by a Gentile, not a Jewish Christian.  Indirectly, this fact may bolster the argument of at least the strong influence of a woman in the telling of the Gospel.  Women in the second century in Alexandria were well received in the early Christian study groups and were more likely to be learned than their counterparts who were poor country peasants. [16]   Other small details a woman would notice:  “Anna ran and threw her arms around his [Joachim’s] neck” (p. 35).  Do men notice these things?  Or if they do, do they write about them for public consumption? [17]  

Perhaps the answer to the question of whether a woman penned this Gospel is given by FMG in the third section of her book; her note to the ancient text, “The Annunciation Hymn,” paints a beautiful word picture of the situation:  “[I]magine the elderly peasant woman and the bright young man sitting together, he taking rapid notes while she draws up from the well of memory the unforgettable moments of decades before” (p. 136). 

“Awesome” is the word that comes to mind (at least to Mary Sheridan.  Edward Moore is fluent in Greek.) when FMG stated this version of The Gospel of Mary is her “own production made by applying my rusty Greek skills to the text with a dictionary on one hand and a half-dozen English translations, old and new, on the other” (p. 21).  How many people who could do that?  All three of the works included in this book and FMG’s helpful translation and information on the Greek language, not only enlighten the reader not well acquainted with Greek but add to the appreciation of FMG’s vast learning. 

We will end this section with an observation by Mary Sheridan:  What began to “dawn” on me as I read through The Gospel of Mary was that this Gospel could not have been entirely lost.  I found myself not really surprised by the stories told in this Gospel; for I realized portions of, some of, these stories had been told to me as a child of elementary school age.  I knew these stories; I either absorbed them through stories my mother told me and/or stories I learned in religion class in school.  I realized, more than sixty years later, that the written, documented contents in these stories may have been “lost” or “hidden” or perhaps more correctly “gone underground,” but the oral tradition had continued through to about the middle of the twentieth century when I learned most of these stories as a young girl.  Later, as an adult, I forgot them or dismissed them as exaggerated, almost silly stories—only to rediscover them in FMG’s book in 2007.  I do not really know how I knew some of these stories—but I certainly knew them.  Some or parts of the stories were new to me—but they were a smaller group than the stories with which I was already acquainted.  Perhaps the fact that this Gospel was not lost to the Eastern tradition had something to do with the stories I was told as a child.  FMG mentions its translations into Syriac, Ethiopian, Georgian, Sahidic, Slavonic, Armenian, and Arabic; she notes Postellus translated this Gospel into Latin in 1522 (pp. 8-9).  She points out that 140 manuscripts of the Gospel “turned up in the decades since the nineteenth century” when “Tischendorf established an authoritative Greek version.”  Somehow this Gospel was not left only for the Eastern tradition; its stories somehow filtered, as in ancient times, into the oral tradition I was first taught so many years ago. 

Under Your Compassion—Asking Mary’s Prayers

What a treasure and what a find FMG has searched out and researched in this small ten-line document from the “earlier” Christians.  How fortunate that FMG found this prayer and included it in this volume of works on Mary.  She thoroughly captures the attention of the reader with this small prayer, a document that is not found, maybe more likely overlooked as “not worth it,” in “grander” volumes.

We can be grateful that this small prayer survived and that FMG was astute enough to realize its value and importance.  What a delight to find that she linked this prayer to the third century fresco of Mary in the catacomb of St. Priscilla, another treasure one must search to find. [18]   Even more amazing is the fact that unbeknownst to anyone until 1994, this prayer has been part of the “Book of Hours” [the “Divine Office” is the term used in the West] in the night prayer of the Greek Orthodox Church for 1,750 years (p. 86).  Amazingly, FMG points out that this is the “earliest prayer yet found that is addressed to Mary” (p. 8).  She also notes that portions of this prayer are included in the Memorare, a prayer in the Western Church.  The following sections matched:  (See table below.)  Words in italics and words that are bolded in the table are approximately the same in meaning.  A case could be made for other parts of these two prayers that match, but are not an exact match, i.e., “Theotokos” and “Mother of the Word Incarnate”; “in the midst of tribulation” and “Before you I stand sinful and sorrowful”; “do not overlook our prayers” and “in your mercy hear and answer me.”

Under Your Compassion Sub tuum praesidium

The Memorare

Under your Compassion We take refuge, Theotokos; do not Overlook our prayers In the midst of tribulation, But deliver us From danger, O only pure, Only blessed one.

Remember, O Most Gracious Virgin Mary that never was it known that Anyone who fled to your protection, Implored your help Or sought your intercession Was left unaided. Inspired with this confidence, I fly to you O Virgin of virgins, my Mother. To you I come Before you I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, Despise not my petitions, But in your mercy hear and answer me.  Amen.

The comparison of these two prayers led to further thought about the names given Mary in these two prayers.  The ancient prayer addresses Mary as “Theotokos”; the English prayer addresses Mary as “Mother of the Word Incarnate.”  These titles in these two languages “Mother of the Word Incarnate” may be as close as English can get to “Theotokos.”  In addition the title in English has some elements not present in the Greek.  “Theotokos” cannot be bested for its beauty, its conciseness, its containing in one word a title that contains the dual concept of Birthgiver of God.  (See below for further discussion of this title.)  However, Mother of the Word Incarnate includes the idea of the second person of the Trinity becoming literally, “in flesh.”  In English there is an element not present in Greek. 

In addition FMG points out that The Gospel of Mary and this prayer show a shift in attitude and approach to Mary:  “In The Gospel of Mary the Virgin is a tender figure who deserves protection.  Now she is a champion of prayer, and we rely on her compassion to protect us” (p. 87).  FMG further points out that in the fourth line of this prayer the Greek places an “e” on the end of the word.  “Theotoke” indicates that the ten lines of this prayer were “addressed to the Theotokos,” (p. 83), as if to a living person.  She concludes this section by pointing out that “the expectation [of the person saying this prayer is] that Mary is still alive and able to hear such a request” (p. 88).  This same point can be said of the Memorare:  It starts with the word “Remember,” an imperative, which can only be addressed to a living person; it ends with “Despise not my petitions,” another imperative, addressed to a living person.

However, FMG then notes that the “Hail Mary” is a “salute to someone absent.”  I (Mary Sheridan) do not agree with that statement.  I have said the Hail Mary my entire life and have always addressed it to a person which word includes the concept that a person is living.  From one standpoint FMG here anticipates a point she makes in the third part of her book about the difference between the Greek and English languages and the expressive characteristics of each language.  (See below for discussion of this topic.) 

FMG also notes that the “second shocking thing is the expectation that Mary’s prayers are effective” (p. 88).  She discusses that it is clear, not only from this prayer, but from what might be called the “graffiti” on catacomb walls that early Christians not only prayed to Mary but also believed prayer to her was effective.  Furthermore, this statement could be said of prayer to Mary through the ages to present times. 

Next follow about sixteen pages of discussion meant to enhance the concept that prayers to Mary are effective.  We could have done without this section; in fact, there are three points in this section we wish to discuss specifically.

First, in a discussion of life expectancy and the only too frequent early death of individuals that led to a “life expectancy [which] ranged between 20 to 30 years” (p. 90), FMG uses an unfortunate example to make her point.  First of all, she cites the year 1850 as being “recent.”  Calling one hundred fifty years ago “recently” (p. 90) simply does not seem correct.  However, the really unfortunate part of this example is that she cites Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin in an attempt to give an example of parents’ sorrow over children who die young (p. 90-91).  Any African-American would find this example less than good.  Is FMG unaware of how a Black person in today’s society would take offense at this example?  To call a Black person an “Uncle Tom” is, to say the least, not a complement and, to say the worst, a real insult.  While FMG does not in any way call African-Americans “Uncle Tom,” the very citation of this book as an example immediately raises the specter of a time when Black people were property.  We could not bring ourselves to believe that FMG meant any harm here, but the question arose:  Does the Orthodox Church have any people of color in it at all.  A few years ago Mary Sheridan was asked, in all seriousness, by a young African-American girl on the verge of her teen years:  “Mary, are there any Black people who are Catholic?”  She states:  I was ashamed to have her even ask me this question.  While there certainly are Black people in the Roman Catholic Church, this young girl’s question says better than any statistics could how few Black people occupy pews in Catholic Churches.  There are some exceptions:  St. Sabina’s Church in Chicago is a notable exception; it is an almost entirely Black congregation that is most active and influential in the Chicago community.  The Harriet Beecher Stowe example would hardly “go over well” at St. Sabina’s. 

Instead of this example some statistics on the death rate of infants among African-Americans in this early part of the twenty-first century would be a good substitute.  These statistics can be found very easily on the Internet.  For instance, in a May 10, 2006, article CNN reports that two million babies die in the first 24 hours each year worldwide; that in the African-American community, specifically in the United States, the mortality rate of newborns is double that of the United States as a whole; that the death rate of infants in African countries such as Niger, Chad, Sierre Leone is the highest in the world.

Second, perhaps a minor point but one that reinforces FMG’s concept of “recent”:  She cites a “recent saint who had an encounter with the Virgin Mary” (p. 98).  This saint is St. Silouan who lived from 1866-1938.  Here again, this man died almost 70 years ago.  Does not the Orthodox Church have at least one individual of the late twentieth century who lived a life that might be called “saintly,” even if there is no official Church recognition of his/her sainthood?  She does note in the third section of this book, in “The Annunciation Hymn”:  “It is estimated that more Christians were martyred under Communism than in the whole preceding history of the faith” (p. 122).  While these martyrs are certainly more “recent” in time than other examples she gives, and while most surely there were Orthodox martyrs under Communism, this statement is very vague.  One or two examples of actual individuals who suffered martyrdom under Communism would have been helpful. [19]

Third, FMG’s description of the virtue of humility is unfortunate.  She describes Andrew, a man who lived a thousand years ago, as a “Fool for Christ” who feigned “madness, in order…[to allow] others to hold him in contempt” (p. 101).  She implies that the definition of humility involves some kind of untruth.  On the contrary, humility means truth—the truth of our place in relation to God, the truth of taking responsibility for our talents and the good aspects of our self and using these to live a life that will honor God and do good for humanity, the truth of humbly acknowledging the good in ourselves.  “Truth” in humility also includes acknowledging honestly, with no glossing over, our faults and failings and making a sincere effort to change.  The standard of humility that Andrew adopted may have been a good one for his time; but we are now one thousand years from Andrew.  To say the least, such an example would have little meaning for young, middle-aged, or even old people. 

Again, the same question “pops up,” this time in a slightly different way:  Is there no saint or person who could be said to have at least lived a “saintly” life, who is acknowledged by the Orthodox Church and who could be representative of the practice of humility in the information age?

The Annunciation Hymn—Praising Mary’s Honor

This last section of the three ancient texts FMG discusses is The Annunciation Hymn.  By pure happenstance Mary Sheridan first read this prayer on the feast of the Annunciation.  Perhaps it was not happenstance; perhaps the one who carried God in her womb and gave God birth had a hand in “arranging” things to celebrate her feast day. 

This document was written about C.E. 520 (p. 109).  One of those we are calling the “early” Christians, “St. Romanus the Melodist,” wrote a thousand hymns; only sixty “have been preserved” (p. 111).  FMG notes that Romanus was influenced by Ephrem the Syrian; Ephrem lived from 306-373 (p. 111). [20]   FMG has done beautiful and masterful work in her explanation of the original Greek and in her translation of this hymn.  Her explanation of the Greek words leads one to substitute some of the Greek for the English while reading, thus, allowing the reader to appreciate this hymn even more because of FMG’s masterful Greek translation.

Once again, the “roller coaster” analogy comes to mind.  FMG calls attention to the differences among these three documents:  The Gospel of Mary showed a “tender, protective love for Mary”; the prayer “Under Your Compassion” showed the confidence the very early Christians had “that they can ask for her protection” (p. 109).  The long prayer, “The Annunciation Hymn” that forms the last section of this book “captures dozens of Scriptural allusions and theological paradoxes, all centering on the Virgin’s pregnancy, and conveys them to the listener in a way that is concise, memorable, and brilliant as a jewel” (pp. 109-110).  FMG further notes that in contrast to the oral transmission of the first two documents, “this one is…a very carefully written work.  But it is designed for an audience that will not be able to read it” (p. 110). [21]   FMG emphasizes this hymn was written to enable the author-composer to “make profound theological ideas accessible to an audience whose experience will be, literally, auditory” (p. 110).  But again, this description, however true, certainly did not mean these Christians who could not read were not intelligent.

FMG notes that St. Romanos developed the format of this hymn, the kontakion, from “works by St. Ephrem the Syrian.”  She notes that a kontax is “a spindle...around which a parchment scroll is wound” (p. 111).  She adds that a scroll that needed to be wound around a spindle was obviously “very long, running from 18 to 30 verses or more” (p. 111). [22]

Mary Sheridan states the following that may be of interest to those who do not know Greek.  (Edward Moore, as mentioned above, knows Greek.)  First, FMG “blew me away” by explaining the translation of the last line of the congregational refrain.  I was captivated by the Greek wording and by her explanation.  She has chosen to translate this refrain, “Rejoice, O Unmarried Bride!”  FMG examines the Greek for this refrain:  “Xaire, nymphe anymphouete.”  She explains “Xaire” is “modeled on Gabriel’s words in Scripture, ‘Rejoice [xaire], favored one [xarito’o].”  She then spells out the meaning and etymology of the other words in the refrain.  Nymph means “bride.”  The prefix “a-“ in anymph” indicates “an opposite, like typical and atypical, or theist and atheist.  And suddenly it all fell into place:  Mary is a bride, but not a bride—what an excellent, beautiful, unusual way to express the doctrine and belief of Mary’s virginity even though she is mother.  FMG states the “paradox the phrase wishes to convey is that, in the conception and birth of Jesus, Mary is genuinely a bride, and yet she remains a virgin” (p. 114). 

FMG then expresses the difficulty in translating this phrase.  This phrase is beautiful and easily understood by the mind, but it is almost impossible to convey the idea in words.  Have you ever noticed how one can grasp a most complex idea in “one fell swoop” but stumble over words, falter in finding words, when needing to communicate that idea to another person, only to realize how inadequate the words are that express the idea?  Such is the case here:  FMG gives several possible translations of the Greek nymph/anymph:  “Bride without Bridegroom,” “Spouse Unspoused,” “Bride ever-virgin,” “Untouched Bride,” “Unmarried Bride” (p. 114).  She notes how some of these are better than others, yet FMG concludes, the “kontakion has a linguistic brilliance no translation could adequately convey” (p. 114).  For all intents and purposes those who do not understand Greek, can see this in an instant.  FMG states that English has about a million words, so stating any idea in English should be possible.  But not necessarily so; less is sometimes better—certainly in this case. 

FMG does the same thing again for the word “akathist.”  She states this is a kind of “nickname” for this hymn (p. 115).  She explains that a kathedra is a chair; so an “a-kathist” hymn is one sung “not-sitting,” thus standing (p. 115).  Because of the excellent elucidation of these Greek words, not only will one who does not speak Greek never forget this lesson in Greek; but FMG also gives a clue of how to look for the construction of some Greek words; a helpful hint for the educated lay person studying early Church history where Greek abounds.  In fact, FMG does the same thing with the Greek words, chora and achora further on in the document.  The translation of chora is homeland; so, “Mary is the chora of God, who is himself achora; FMG translates achora as “boundless” (p. 148).  FMG is very, very good at explaining the Greek in this hymn. [23]

FMG notes the “experience of hearing it [“The Annunciation Hymn”] offered in song in a church lit with candles and filled with incense…when it fully comes alive” (p. 116).  Litanies, a type of Western prayer, likely evolved from the kontakion.  There are certain litanies in the Roman Catholic Church, most specifically the “Litany of All Saints,” which is also said standing.  This long Roman Catholic prayer is also said in a church lit by candles with the congregation singing the refrain.  One experiences the chant of this prayer as incense rising to heaven, invoking all those of the Mystical Body who are in heaven to “pray for us” (ora pro nobis). 

FMG points out the multitude of Scriptural references in “The Annunciation Hymn” and then notes that “most of the original audience…didn’t have a Bible at all.”  “Many of them could not even read” (p. 120).  She notes, of course, that their knowledge must have come through oral transmission.  At the risk of running a point into the ground:  These people may have been illiterate, but they certainly could not have been unintelligent.

FMG gives a short history of the title Theotokos and then gives another very thorough explanation of exactly what the word Theotokos means.  She points out that Theo means “God” but then notes, very informatively, that the last half of this word, “tokos comes from a verb meaning to carry in the womb and bear children” (p. 118).  Thus, a translation “Mother of God,” while correct, does not carry the full meaning of the Greek.  The non-Greek speaker of this review notes:  Now when I see the word Theotokos I think “Mary, who carried God in her womb and bore God in childbirth.”  While saying this may be a clumsy phrase, thinking it takes less than an instant.  “Birthgiver of God,” the translation FMG recommends works well when words must be spoken.  It is easy to see that FMG’s translations are not only helpful to those who do not speak Greek, but they are also beautiful and full of meaning. 

In FMG’s discussion of pre-literate culture, she notes another astute point.  The document called “Q” referred to by scholars as the forerunner to the Gospels may have been, not a written document as some scholars think, but “maybe it was just passed along orally” (p. 121).  An excellent thought and what seems a definite possibility and something Gospel scholars should consider.

FMG continues her discussion of the transmission of the Christian faith.  However, she concludes this section with a paragraph that is simplistic, to say the least.  She states: 

When the church was still young, an attentive, informed laity was able to resist strange moral and theological ideas, even when these were propounded by clergy.  St. Basil the Great describes fourth-century worshipers who met “in open air, in heavy rain, in the snow,…and under the blazing heat of the sun” rather than enter churches held by priests who were followers of Arius (p. 123).

This paragraph is bothersome.  FMG gives the impression in these sentences that the first approximately three hundred years did not “count” in the development of Christianity.  In addition, the “young,” “attentive,” and “informed” laity did not suddenly appear in the fourth century.  The late first, the second, and the third centuries were a long, extended period of discussion, turmoil, and disagreements among a multitude of groups who rightly called themselves Christian; and these were young, attentive and informed Christians.  There were deep divisions and serious disagreement among these groups.  “Saints,” or those who lived saintly lives were on what might be called “both sides” of these disagreements in the period we are calling “earlier” in this review.  For a period of almost two hundred years those calling themselves Gnostic (one of whom was Clement of Alexandria) held much different opinions from those calling themselves “catholic” (Irenaeus).  Scholars tend to use the word “orthodox” (with a small “o”) for the groups who called themselves “catholic” (with a small “c”) in this very early period.  Each of these groups considered themselves true Christians.  Even during the period of Arius there were serious disagreements among Christians.  In retrospect it is easy to see how these questions resolved themselves; but in the fourth century all was not so clear.  In addition to Arius there was the Melitian schism in Alexandria, the chaos caused among the Christians by the long persecution in the East, the many years of discussion involving the development of the doctrine of the Trinity, to name some of the most important problems addressed in the fourth century.  It is clear that the Church was still developing and evolving in the fourth century; not all was as clearly delineated as FMG implies in this paragraph. [24]

In another place (p. 150, note 40), FMG states:  “The early Christians did not admire the Greek philosophers as much as Christians did later on in the West.”  FMG needs to specify whether she is talking about “early” or “earlier” Christians.  If she is talking about “earlier” Christians, this statement as simply incorrect.  For one thing there was no “East” and “West” in the first three centuries.  Secondly, Clement of Alexandria (for one and who was of the “East”) goes to great lengths to discuss, dispute, and explain Greek philosophy and its usefulness to Christians.

Some of the statements FMG makes seem to be taking a stance against the “Western Christian” church—directly or indirectly, or maybe inadvertently.  On page 122 she notes:  “These points of faith haven’t been imposed by a bossy outsider, and they aren’t subject to unexpected ‘updatings’ that immediately feel dated.”  On page 125 she notes:  “The Western Christian way of thinking about theology was powerfully shaped by the work of St. Thomas Aquinas, who in the thirteenth century developed an approach that treats faith like a science.” 

These statements appear to be a kind of subtle “we-are-better-than-they” attitude that marks her general approach to Western Christians.  Or does she really mean Western Catholics?  Western Catholics, especially, may be interested in these beautiful materials on Mary, but they may infer from such remarks that her book is reserved only for the Eastern Orthodox.  What is the point of possibly alienating Western Catholics?  The presumption here is that Western Protestants are likely not very interested in Mary.  (But then presuming a general statement is never a good idea; perhaps there may be some Protestants who might be interested in these prayers to Mary.  Protestant scholars of church history come to mind.)  Or perhaps FMG is once again simply using an unfortunate choice of words and giving an unfortunate impression; she may not realize how some people may read these sentences.  Why not simply present the beauty of these works?  And she so perfectly presents that beauty.  If, however, this book really is reserved for reading by only Orthodox Christians, then it is unfortunate that she is subtly conveying this attitude to her selected readers.  Her profound scholarship and wonderful teaching are so much better than these implied restrictions.

“The Annunciation Hymn” is a beautiful hymn, made more beautiful by FMG’s beautiful explanation of the original Greek, of the specific and strategic words meant to praise Mary.  FMG ended her “Introduction” to “The Annunciation Hymn” with a statement that that is important.  There are not a lot of times God requests us to make a decision that will change and shape our entire life; but we must be ready for the one or two times that do come in our life and be ready to live their consequences.  We must do as Mary did.  FMG states:  “She [Mary] is honored for one particular moment in her holy life:  she said yes to God” [and Mary lived the consequences of that “yes”]. 

Edward Moore is of the opinion that the remainder of the book is really no more than an extended commentary on a Google search, but a well-written one.  He states:  As I reached the end of the book, I found myself exclaiming: “Tell me something I don’t know!”  But that’s fine.  FMG is a popular author for a reason—and that reason, in my view, is her ability to condense difficult ideas into a readable text that neither dumbs down, nor excessively obfuscates.  Her book belongs on the shelves of professional theologians and laypersons alike. 

Mary Sheridan has tried to convey her high praise and respect for this book together with the issues she finds problematic (the roller-coaster effect).  FMG has brought to us a most valuable prayer found in few other places; she has given intelligent, perceptive, and thoughtful explanations of two “very early” documents and one “early” document from the time Christianity was mainly an “oral” tradition.  She has given masterful teaching techniques for appreciating the original Greek of these three documents.  Her scholarship is to be envied.  Mary Sheridan does respectfully disagree with certain parts of this book but also clearly and definitely acknowledges of the beauty and valuable insights FMG offers to her readers