Mary judges herself ruthlessly (she did not stay at the foot of the cross until her son died-she fled, to save herself), and her judgment of others is equally harsh. She does not agree that her son is the Son of God nor that his death was “worth it” nor that the “group of misfits he gathered around him, men who could not look a woman in the eye,” were holy disciples. She has no interest in collaborating with the authors of the Gospel, who are her keepers. In the ancient town of Ephesus, Mary lives alone, years after her son’s crucifixion. “Tóibín is at his lyrical best in this beautiful and daring work” (The New York Times Book Review) that portrays Mary as a solitary older woman still seeking to understand the events that become the narrative of the New Testament and the foundation of Christianity-shortlisted for the 2013 Man Booker Prize. The breath of some disembodied spirit means nothing to her.2014 Audie Award Finalist for Audiobook of the Year, Literary Fiction, and Solo Narration-Female! She wants to hold that son again, to feel his breath upon her neck. She wants her life back when she watched her son and husband walk toward the house discussing the days events as father and sons are wont to do. "It was not worth it," she bellows to the night.
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If per chance true, it would come at too high a cost for him-and her-to pay. They were "losers" who kept feeding a notion that the world and history would be changed by her son's words and actions. Much of Mary's rage in Colm Toíbín's depiction is directed toward the disciples of Jesus, whom she calls "misfits." From her perspective they did nothing to thwart her son's untimely march toward cruelty and death. She's not about to go meekly into the night about it now. She gave birth to a son who as an adult was heinously tortured and crucified as she stood by helplessly watching. She didn't ask to be the mother of any God. This enraged and grieving mother Mary grabs us by the throat and demands that we listen to the story that she has been preordained to tell. The Testament of Mary makes this impossible to do. So, we stop listening, stop imagining, stop caring. DeMille and Franco Zeffirelli movies and we've listened to the boring, disembodied homilies that bring us no closer to religious truth and meaning. We've heard the stories before we've seen the Cecil B. The danger inherent in the reading of Biblical passages is that they can lose their ability to motivate and inspire-not because they lack transformative potential, but because we become inured to their power due to over-familiarity.
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To be overly distracted by her non-traditional mien and dress however, may be to miss the profundity of what she communicates on a deeply human and visceral level. (Admittedly, many of them hadn't seen the play.) This is a Mary who drinks, rages, disputes revered Biblical accounts, and finally stands naked before jumping into her own "Pool of Bethesda" to be cleansed of the luridness of the tale she has been compelled to tell. The opening of The Testament of Mary, a new play by Colm Toíbín, was met with protests by conservative Catholic groups and others offended by its iconoclastic portrayal of Mary (Fiona Shaw), the mother of Jesus.
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This wild-eyed force of nature will come roaring forth from her enclosure, unbound with a story to tell, a myth to shatter, a testimony to give. That will become startlingly clear once the plexiglass is lifted and the veil is shed. Upon closer inspection however, we realize that this is a real flesh and blood woman. We amble on past scribbled notes on a table, some randomly placed chairs, a dead tree extending to an endless sky and then we see her-at first, seeming like an iconic statue that we have seen elsewhere: blue veil, beatific glow, candles at her feet, holding white lilies. A few steps farther and we are face to beak with a real vulture with enormous wing span that sits poised on a dead branch- an ominous precursor of what is to come. As we are invited to circumnavigate that stage, we walk above a subterranean room complete with ladder and jars of clay that is visible through a glass square at our feet.