Somehow I suspect that the term
“nymphomaniac” is not in favor now, even in a situation where it
might, once upon a time, have seemed appropriate to apply it. But
then we do have the new term, “sexual addiction,” which seems
serviceable enough as a description of the same basic syndrome, so I
guess we’re not at a loss. Moreover, we no longer have to use
different terms for men (“satyriasis”) and women, and undoubtedly
that represents progress.
In any case, the woman we now know as
St. Mary of Egypt had a problem. I have read several versions of her
story, and some are more colorful than others. Some say merely that
she lived a profligate life, and perhaps that she had been a
prostitute. Others say that she was indeed a prostitute, and moreover
that it was for fun rather than profit, and that she was driven by
what we would surely today—even today, even by secular standards in
one of the most sexually permissive cultures that has ever
existed—see as an unhealthy, excessive, and reckless sexual
obsession or compulsion.
The basic version of the story goes
like this: having spent her youth living a profligate life in
Alexandria, and suffering from a bit of ennui, Mary joined a group of
pilgrims sailing to Palestine for the feast of the Exaltation of the
Cross. But she apparently did this more or less in the spirit of a
modern party girl taking a week-long Carnival cruise to Jamaica, and
had no particular interest or intentions regarding the religious
aspect of the trip.
Having arrived in Jerusalem, and still,
um, partying, she joined the crowds heading to the church where the
feast was to be celebrated, and which held a relic of the Cross. But
when she arrived at the door, she found that some invisible force
prevented her entry. After trying repeatedly, she realized that it
was her sins that were keeping her out of the celebration, and was
suddenly consumed with remorse. Seeing a statue of Our Lady, she
implored the assistance of the Blessed Mother and promised to
renounce her sins. Trying the church door again, she was able to
enter and to venerate the relic.
Afterwards she roamed into the desert
and lived there alone for forty years, until by accident she crossed
paths with an elderly monk named Zosimus. He thought she looked like
some kind of wild thing, naked, and with short white hair. Having
covered herself with his mantle, she amazed him with her knowledge of
the scriptures, which she seemed to know by some kind of immediately
infused knowledge. Recognizing him as a priest, she asked that he
return to her a year later and bring her Holy Communion. He did so;
she received, recited the prayer of Simeon, and asked again that the
monk return a year later.
Again he did as requested. But this
time he found her dead, and with a note written on the ground saying
that she had died that same night she had received Communion from
him, and asking that he bury her. Zosimus found that he was unable,
because of his age and weakness and the hardness of the ground, to
dig the grave. A lion wandered by, and Zosimus asked his help.
Together they buried Mary, and Zosimus went back to his monastery and
wrote the story of her life.
Now, we may think some or all of this
is legendary (though I would be sorry to have to give up the lion).
And Mary is certainly an extreme character. If I had met her in the
desert I would have assured her that we all sin, and she shouldn’t
be so hard on herself, and so on.
But I think this kind of harsh lesson
is one we ought to listen to. It seems incontrovertible that our
culture is in the grip of some strange sexual mania. The sheer level
of unreason involved is disturbing. I’m sure there are things
happening in the spiritual world that we can’t see, and it’s very
clear that simply to argue for what seems to be obvious facts—for
instance, that a man’s belief that he is really a woman does not
make him a woman—is not going to make any impression on those who
are caught up in the mania.
It leads me to think often of “This
kind cometh not out but by prayer and fasting.” Personally I
dislike hearing these words because I really dislike even the mildest
sort of fasting. Maybe St. Mary of Egypt, as extreme as she is, is
exactly the kind of example and intercessor I need, and the world
needs at this time.
The story as I’ve told it above
sticks to the basic narrative that’s common to most accounts of St.
Mary’s life. But there are variants. Google will show you any
number of them. One of the most well-told versions is this
one by a professor of religious studies who is an Orthodox Christian.
There is a very
vivid account in the Golden
Legend.
Here
is a very lengthy account written from the point of view of
Zosimus.
And here is my favorite variant of all,
from the 13th century Smithfield Decretals:
If you want to see all of the posts in this series, click HERE.
Maclin Horton is the proprietor of his own blog Light on Dark Water from which sprang this series. You might want to check out the current series there, 52 Movies or last year's 52 Authors. In this series he has written about St Henrik, St. John Fisher, St Ansgar, and St. John Kemble.
I just noticed that I never commented on this. I was really glad to see something about St. Mary of Egypt because I only knew of her vaguely. She really is a saint for our time. We could use her help. And I love that last image.
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