Let it be done to me according to your word
Today we celebrate the conception of the Theotokos, the Mother of God. Mary’s story is one that always challenges me to put my trust fully in God. The Biblical account of Mary’s call to bear a Son who was to be the savior of the world bears a striking contrast to so many other calls in the Scripture. She speaks to the angel with a simple question, “How can this be?” and then upon hearing his explanation, puts her complete trust in God.
Last night as I met with my justfaith prayer group, someone posed this exact question. Why do we all have such a difficult time putting our trust in God? Has he ever led us in the wrong direction, broken a promise, or abandoned us in our time of need? We know in our hearts that the Lord is always faithful and that His will for each of us will satisfy us much more than our own, but time and time again we hesitate to trust Him.
Something was right in Mary that allowed her to accept the Lord’s plan for her life and to follow without hesitation. Today we give thanks for having in her a shining example who continues to show us the way to her Son. In honor of this day, I will share a favorite poem by Denise Levertov. May it be an invitation to prayerful reflection.
Annunciation
‘Hail, space for the uncontained God’
-from the Agathistos Hymn,
Greece, VIc
We know the scene: the room variously furnished,
almost always a lecturn, a book; always
the tall lily.
Arrived on solemn grandeur of great wings,
the angelic ambassador, standing or hovering,
whom she acknowledges, a guest.
But we are told of meek obedience. No one mentions
courage.
The engendering Spirit
did not enter her without consent.
God waited.
She was free
to accept or refuse, choice
integral to humanness.
Aren’t there annunciations of one sort or another in most lives?
Some unwillingly
undertake great destinies,
enact them in sullen pride,
uncomprehending.
more often
those moments
when roads of light and storm
open from darkness in a man or woman,
are turned away from
in dread, in a wave of weakness, in despair
and with relief.
Ordinary lives continue.
God does not smite them.
But the gates close, the pathway vanishes.
She had been a child who played, ate, slept
like any other child–but unlike others,
wept only for pity, laughed
in joy, not triumph.
Compassion and intelligence
fused in her, indvisible.
Called to a destiny more momentous
than any in all of time,
she did not quail,
only asked
a simple, ‘How can this be?’
and gravely, courteously,
took to heart the angel’s reply,
perceiving instantly
the astounding ministry she was offered:
to bear in her womb
Infinite weight and lightness; to carry
in hidden, finite inwardness,
nine months of Eternity: to contain
in slender vase of being,
the sum of power–
in narrow flesh,
the sum of light.
Then bring to birth,
push out into air, a Man-child
needing, like any other,
milk and love–
but who was God.
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