Annunciation

Imagine, rising up one morning, hair brushed, teeth cleaned, the bed made and maybe one was bubbling coffee over a small fire, and a strange, maybe frightening, figure with giant wings (well, that’s what the Byzantine and Renaissance artists depict) is standing or floating in your house. Mary, being a mid-teen at that time, was probably aghast, horrified, scared, curious, but yet, opened her soul to allow whatever was happening to take place. “My soul doth magnify the Lord.” she exclaims as some incredible news sings into her ears.

We know the Christmas story told over and over. We cling to it, wanting to be glued together forever to the Son of God, who cared enough to become like us - who went through the very process of creation from a sperm - somehow - in a modest girl’s womb, birthed into that space, that time, that earth which we still inhabit, that Jewish community in Palestine, that town called Bethlehem, through that one pure woman, innocent, untouched, without sin or jealousy or greed or cruelty in her heart- but a young woman- who was willing to bear the burden of a special child, a king, a Saviour. How much did she really know?

Holy Mary was a modest choice with no diamond-studded crowns or gold jewels or velvet gown, or education or skills. She was simple, innocent, faithful, giving, loving, willing to take societies curse that she was unwed but pregnant. innocent as she was, did she know what she was going to suffer, not only the pain of child birth, but that desperate escape across hot and sandy Egypt on that donkey to hide her son from Herod’s massacres and the pain she would suffer watching her son die on a cross and I wonder how much she really knew in her heart from the beginning, when she proclaimed:

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior; for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant, from this day all generations will call me blessed. The Almighty has done great things for me and holy is his name.

There are few glimpses in the New Testament about what it was to raise Jesus. Was He a rebel, difficult, sweet, athletic, serious, moody, jovial, helpful? I wonder how did He learn to favor the outcasts, the poor and needy, the criminals, the tough ones? And how did He learn of his healing powers? Holy Mary was always silent about her son, except at the Wedding at Cana, where she told the water and wine servers to do what Jesus said. I wonder if she trusted that everything would be all right. I wonder if she conversed with God the Father through her heart?

And I also wonder if she, the young virgin chosen to carry the most blessed of all mankind, could she call him “Son” that very son of the One God who is beyond our minds grasp and who is the Father of all? And yet, because of this Virgin, we can speak to Him, to our own Father God, yes we can talk, sing and pray to Him, and trust that He knows YOU and ME - our good and our bad - and He loves and wants ALL of us - every single one - to just look to Him and acknowledge that each of us is His child, and each of us, no matter the color of our skin, the shape of our body, the language we speak, the clothes we wear, each one is incorporated in that love that has no end, no understanding, no limit. I say it and pray it over and over because it is amazing and hard to comprehend.

But now it is that day. This is that day when we acknowledge that it all happened. There is proof, and the mother of it all, the humble Holy Virgin Mary, allowed her womb to be the entryway for God’s Son to step foot on this very earth that God the Father had created. Wow. Thank you, Holy Mary.

Richard Rohr wrote about Mother Mary:

“In some ways,” he said, “many hands can identify with Mary, more than they can with Jesus - precisely because she was not God! The Gospels attribute no miraculous works or heroic acts to her, simply trust and pure being more than doing.”

Oh how I sympathize with Holy Mother Mary. She must have breathed a sigh of relief when they pulled a precious babe out of her birth canal. We may not know the exact day or hour of incarnation of that sperm in her womb. But I know, and all women who have given birth know, it is something special to carry life in your belly. And by the time 9 months plus have passed, we carry in front of our spine this giant ball that holds up a miracle - that child within us to be born somehow, somewhere, hopefully healthy. And in those last days when we walk like bears, camels, gorillas and can’t lean over to pick up a dropped towel, we are, at least, exhausted but hopeful.

I praise pregnant women. It’s that waiting and waiting - and back in my day, and surely in the time of the Virgin Mary, no one could declare when that baby was going to birth. (My first child was supposed to be born Christmas Day, she got here January 6th, the Epiphany.) I’m sure all you women who have birthed children, remember those last days and hours - wondering what it would be like and when or where that water would break. Don’t you think Mary, who was perched sidesaddle on a donkey being led by Joseph, who Roman Catholics claim was 90 years old, widowed and already father of a half dozen sons and daughters, had a peace about her as they searched street by street to find a resting place, but there was no room in any inn? Do you think she worried? At least Joseph took care of Holy Mary beautifully. And he found her a place to rest in a bed of hay so she could give birth.

Did Holy Mary feel pain? Did she scream or cry out? Who laid the babe on her stomach while the umbilical cord was cut and she and the baby were cleansed - did she hold him in her arm and feel amazed that this child was not just hers, but the whole worlds, - the promised Son of God the Creator, the Father of us all? Did she smile and take a deep breath and pray herself to sleep as she nursed the child with her early milk?

This whole event, this whole happening is all about love, about God’s all-encompassing LOVE for each one of us. And is there ever a moment in life more blessed with love than when that birthed baby, that new life, is put in our arms? We can shout out “Thank you Jesus!!”

But what can we do now in this violent, selfish, greedy world where we often have a hard time finding out who we are and what counts once we have been birthed? Howard Thurman wrote, and it’s been my own solution:

When the song of the angels is stilled,

When the star in the sky is gone,

When the kings and the princes are home,

When the Shepherds are back with their flock, the work of Christmas begins:

To find the lost

To heal the broken

To feed the hungry

To release the prisoner

To rebuild nations

To bring peace among brothers and sisters

and to make music in the heart.

God bless you all and Thank you Jesus.