Madonna and Me by Laura Barcella Jessica Valenti Page B
Authors: Laura Barcella Jessica Valenti
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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
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
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