Madonna and Me (7 page)

I first viewed this controversial video when I was entering my teens, before I understood much about my sexuality. I recall being drawn in by Madonna’s fearless expression of raw sensuality in tandem with images and icons that signified God’s grace. In contrast to what I learned from my church’s interpretation of dogma, Madonna informed my belief that sex and the spirit are married, and the tension that exists between the two is man-made. Madge taught me that sex and spiritual devotion are often about the sweetness of learning to surrender, not about shame.

Madonna’s evolution as a spiritual seeker has remained constant throughout a career fueled by reinvention. For almost three decades I’ve watched Madonna mature musically and spiritually. She has positioned herself as a spiritual icon that the public can buy, leveraging her celebrity to attract consumers to her music and to Kabbalah. But it wasn’t just me taking note of her spiritual openness. She profoundly influenced the culture at large—she was one of the first celebrities to encourage the MTV generation to try yoga, calling it not only a powerful spiritual and physical practice, but “a metaphor for life.” She was on to something. Not only did yoga become uber-trendy, but I blossomed under its teachings and practice as well. I realized that the quest for the alignment of mind, body, and spirit was imperative on my path to enlightenment. Before I discovered Sri Swami Satchidananda’s mantra, “one truth, many paths” during a yoga class in college, I only knew Margaret’s and Madonna’s no-apology approaches to spiritual curiosity. When I found Satchidananda’s mantra, I immediately experienced a
connection with a sense of oneness that I instinctively understood but could not name.

Did this same sense of openness, I wondered, inspire Madonna’s next spiritual evolution, when she devoted herself to Kabbalah, once again inspiring countless others to seek the same?
I remember meeting two young men in graduate school who joined the New York City Kabbalah Center with the not-particularly-spiritual mission of getting a glimpse of Madonna herself. But months after they finally spotted her, they continued going, energized and enthralled by the beauty of the faith.

I am in awe of Madonna’s transformative power, and her ability to expand our collective mindset about the limits of spirituality. I connect most with her message of self-love and of seeking a sense of authenticity through experimentation. Madonna makes the rules herself, rejecting the constraints of strict dogma to decide what nourishes her spiritually at any given moment. And if her videos and live shows are any indication, part of what has always nourished her most is dancing.

In her “Ray of Light” and “Frozen” videos, Madonna’s performance, to me, seemed like one of transcendent spirituality through movement. And I related to this almost as much as her self-expression through singing, because it was an equally rich outlet for me in high school and college, whether I was performing in school recitals, belly-dancing with my Lebanese and Egyptian friends, or simply boogying with friends at our monthly Prince-inspired dance party. I discovered the beautiful solace that dance provided me, a sacred clearing of my consciousness that I couldn’t find any other way. And I sensed that Madonna reached some similar place when she performed.

A pop-culture shaman, her intoxicating beats appealed to my primal energy, inviting me to leave my mind and simply enjoy my essential nature. She exposed her own truths in a way that inspired
me to relate to her authentically, to the idea that we can evolve and reinvent ourselves, too.

But with evolution and wisdom comes personal insight, and while I love how Madonna seems to embody both Catholicism’s Mary and Hinduism’s Kali (she possesses both a calming and destructive energy) my relationship with Madonna today is complicated. As a faith-loving feminist, I respect her for challenging patriarchal dominance in both the music industry and the political church. But at the same time, I’m disturbed by her subscription to a brand of limitless capitalism that first emerged with her hit song “Material Girl.” Her celebrity and financial success sometimes thrives on the selling of the exoticism and fetishization of women of color—as demonstrated in her geisha-inspired Drowned World tour.

I loathed her when I read her racist comments about dating “disrespectful” black men in a 1991 issue of
Spin
magazine, years after my initial love affair with her began. Truthfully, I am still working on getting over this betrayal by a woman who has both celebrated and co-opted elements of African American culture.

Though I still define myself as a Christian (with openness to many truths), I stand by Madonna’s free speech and her individual interpretation and expression of her Catholic beliefs. I adored her when she kissed a beautiful black saint in the “Like a Prayer” video, rejecting historical racial and religious constructions. Still, I despised her hypocrisy when she turned against powerful feminist musician Sinead O’Connor, attacking her in the press for tearing up a picture of the pope.

Despite my mixed feelings, I condemn the attacks she continues to receive from Catholic organizations and family groups for simulating masturbation, using erotic iconography, kissing saint figures in her videos, and displaying glittery crosses during her tours. These critics attempt to crucify Madonna because she embodies an unruly brand of the “free will” they preach about but also fear.

Most of all, I respect the way she has transformed our culture and changed our conversation about the inextricable linkage of religion, sexuality, and the feminine divine. Madonna’s rebellious border-crossing both titillates and infuriates us. She is a saint and a sinner, a mirror of us all.

Kristin McGonigle

 

 

 

 

 

I HEREBY NOMINATE Madonna, by virtue of my tangential connection to the Roman Catholic Church, for sainthood. Yes, I realize saints are supposed to be dead first. Hear me out.

Sainthood is usually reserved for the purest of heart among us, the holiest of souls, those who sacrificed their lives in the name of God, or charity, or hanging out with animals, like Saint Francis. But there are saints for everything: Saint Blaise is the patron saint of throats. You can pray to Saint Anthony when you lose your keys, as he is in charge of lost things, but not lost causes, because Saint Jude is the go-to guy for those. Madonna already is, in my opinion, the patron saint of the dance floor. I say we start the process of making it official.

The first saints were among the many that died at the hands of the Romans, martyred for their beliefs. This was during the dawn of Christianity, and anyone who died defending his or her faith instantly became a saint. Those who followed were known for their
piety as well as their beliefs, but the club was becoming more exclusive. By the seventeenth century, the Vatican started setting up guidelines and making up rules. Dying was no longer enough; there had to be posthumous miracles and spontaneous healing. Then they created official steps in the sainthood process: beatification and canonization. People who were alive had to vouch for you; it was like getting into the Harvard of heaven. By the twentieth century, modern civilization had cemented itself and it was pretty easy to differentiate the possible candidates for sainthood. Catholics started streamlining the process for their favorites. Pope John Paul II himself was filling out the paperwork on Mother Theresa before they got her body on the stretcher. When he died in 2005, he got the EZ Pass treatment as well.

So I’m taking it upon myself to get the ball rolling for Madonna, whose selection may seem a both controversial and nonsensical choice. Madonna has certainly been persecuted for her faith, both in the beginning of her career and now, as she seeks God in a very public way. But when examining her contribution to the twentieth and twenty-first century religious experience, it is clear that her infusion of spirituality into modern music and her concept of religious ecstasy is a reflection of the ancient traditions of Catholicism, in a society where the pious are hard to come by.

I became familiar with Madonna in 1983, due to the television program
Solid Gold,
the video for “Borderline,” and the fact that she was an actual person called Madonna—a name I had only known previously as belonging solely to the mother of Jesus. Even at a tender age, I thought, “Who names their kid ‘Madonna?’”

It was a big deal, and with such a big name, it’s no wonder she became the icon she is. It is common to name your daughter Mary in honor of the Virgin Mother, but to be christened “Madonna” is different. It’s like naming your son “Jesus,” but not the Hispanic version.

When “Like a Virgin” exploded onto the scene, Madonna had already established herself as a purveyor of street culture and dance
hits. She was known for uniqueness and took pride in it. Her name itself was enough to get her in the door and to shock some listeners initially, but it was her incorporation of religious iconography and symbolism that made her a scandal star. Talking about feeling “like a virgin” while wearing crosses and rosaries as accessories, Madonna pissed off a lot of people.

Though most just assumed she was shirking authority and thumbing her nose at the Catholic Church, Madonna’s use of religious imagery was actually a natural extension of what we Catholics were raised to do. We all wore crosses around our necks; Madonna just wore a bigger one, and often without a shirt. And whether or not it was her intention, Madonna’s sexualized view of Catholicism, which debuted in “Like a Virgin” and crested with “Like a Prayer,” held a mirror to the latent eroticism that simmers below the surface of Roman Catholic culture. Madonna is not the first person to fantasize about making out with Jesus; she’s just the first one who did it on television.

As a parochial school student, plaid jumper and all, the dawn of Madonna blew my little mind. Because of—or despite—her name, I was drawn to her music, much like others of my age and gender. In 1984, Madonna released the album
Like a Virgin
and its titular single. That was the first time I realized that the word “virgin” could apply to people other than Jesus’s mom.

In the “Like A Virgin” video, it was not the dancing and writhing on Venice’s grand canals, or the “Boy Toy” belt buckle, or the unaccountable appearance of a lion (seriously, was that ever explained?) that was taboo or titillating. It was the appearance of Madonna in the virginal white gown. White dresses are a staple in the Catholic experience, used in the celebration of sacraments when rites are given at various stages of life to commemorate your commitment to the church. Their procurement and employment is taken very seriously. You receive your first sacrament as a baby, at baptism, when you are cleansed of original sin. Girls get their second fancy white
dress (and second big party) when they celebrate the sacrament of Holy Communion. It’s a rite of passage for girls in the second grade, but no one really talks about the symbolism behind it. These seven-and eight-year-old girls are trotted out in white gowns, veils, and gloves, like tiny little brides in tiny little wedding dresses. Boys wear tuxedoes. It looks like they are marrying God. There is commonly a giant party afterwards where guests bring money and gifts.

Marriage is the last big sacrament, so fun that many people do it numerous times (unless you become a priest or a nun—though that is, in a sense, a marriage to Christ; the dresses aren’t nearly as nice.) For their weddings, Catholic women are expected to get the biggest, puffiest, whitest dresses they can find as a proclamation of their awesomely big, puffy purity.

In the video for “Like a Virgin,” Madonna was role-playing. Her too-short wedding dress (which kind of looked like a communion dress, which is kind of awesome) was a caricature—no longer a symbol of sanctity, but of sex. People were pissed off because she was singing about virginity in the past tense. And, let’s face it, because she’s a woman. Women aren’t supposed to talk about sex openly, and Catholic women aren’t supposed to talk about sex at all, unless it is in relation to baby-making magic. Women are defined by their relationship and sexual choices, but sex is only discussed in relation to the creation of a family.

Let’s take a minute here to think about how our conversations and perceptions about sex have changed significantly for the better within the last two decades. How the chasm between taboo and candid has gotten smaller. You know who helped make that happen? Madonna.

There is an undercurrent of sex that occupies everything, but it is rarely discussed. When it comes to the forefront explosively, like when Madonna shows up, there is a surprising amount of shock, but few sit back and ask, “Um, isn’t this what everyone was thinking about anyway?”

The uproar over another religious-themed Madonna song, “Like a Prayer,” was outdone by the cacophony generated by the accompanying video. But the song itself can be read as an homage to the Song of Solomon (or its street name, “that sexy part of the Bible.”) It is familiar to most as the go-to passage for couples in Catholic wedding ceremonies:

It’s a beautiful image, and the entire “song” is an eight-chapter poem that purports to be a conversation between two lovers (presumably Solomon in the male role), but most scholars read it as an allegory. “My beloved” is God, or for Christians, Jesus. It’s a 117-line love letter to Jesus. It begins thusly:

When read from this perspective, it’s not only romantic, but also kind of endearing. It’s not hard to imagine having deep and profound feelings of affection for one’s Messiah. It’s kind of like the way little kids want to kiss their parents; there is sweetness to this desired level of intimacy.