Henry Ossawa Tanner, The Annunciation (1898)
Lectionary texts for December 18, the Fourth Sunday of Advent
The first theme that emerges for me in reading these texts is that of trust--trust occurring in the context of a living, adapting relationship with God. Nathan first tells David to go pursue the thought of buiding a better "house" for the Lord, but then God speaks a different word to him that elaborates on the house metaphor and reveals more of who God is. In order for David and Nathan to be faithful to this word, they will have to trust that, although David's instinct to create a house for the Lord that is better than his own reflects a desire to honor God, they need to hear the voice of the Spirit guiding them to understand the Kingdom in a broader sense. They are prompted to discern how God has interacted with God's people previously and consider who's the one in charge of building houses in the future.
This story is connected to the story of the angel's revelation to Mary in a couple of ways. First, the human characters are asked to change their plans. For David, the plan was to build a temple. For Mary, the plan was to build a life in faithful marriage to Joseph. Second, the human characters are receptive to revelation: Nathan directly from God (it seems), David through a prophet, Mary through an angel. And the epistle text adds another dimension: God revealed through others.
The epistle lesson also in some ways serves as a summary of what's happening in the other two passages. "Obedience of faith" involves a willingness to recognize a reality that goes beyond what we can see, in fact to realize that all reality is God. There is a way of seeing and being here that is modeled in both stories, but most poignanty by Mary. She is waiting, thoughtful, accepting and open to change.
Kathleen Norris in her book Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith has a chapter on the Annunciation, in which she explores the nature of "virginity" as a state of being. She writes:
Thomas Merton, in Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander, describes the true identity he seeks in contemplative prayer as a "point vierge" at the center of his being, "a point untouched by illusion, a point of pure truth...which belongs entirely to God, which is inaccessible to the fantasies of our own mind or the brutalities of our own will. This little point of absolute poverty," he wrote, "is the pure glory of God within us."It is only when we stop idolizing the illusion of our control over the events of life and recognize our poverty that we become virgin in the sense Merton means.
Norris goes on to describe this state of "virginity" as possessing the conviction of a pure, core self and acting appropriately out of the knowledge of that self: being hospitable, discerning and open. Noting how Mary embodies this virginity, Norris writes,
Mary's "How can this be?" is a simpler response that Zechariah's ["How will I know that this is so?"], and also more profound. She does not lose her voice but finds it. Like any of the prophets, she asserts herself before God, saying, "Here am I." There is no arrogance, however, but only holy fear and wonder. Mary proceeds--as we must do in life--making her commitment without knowing much about what it will entail or where it will lead. I treasure this story because it forces me to ask: When the mystery of God's love breaks through into my consciousness, do I run from it? Do I ask of it what it cannot answer? Shrugging, do I retreat into facile cliches, the popular but false wisdom of what "we all know"? Or am I virgin enough to respond from my deepest, truest self, and say something new, a "yes" that will change me forever?
The story of Mary's response is not just a quaint example of humble faithfulness relevant to a "personal" spiritual walk; we don't know what would have happened had Mary refused to be a vessel for the incarnate Lord, but we do know that her acceptance had (and still has) profound implications for those who seek the light. The "blessed" among women turns her blessing into a blessing of God, the One who "looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant." In her song of praise, she proceeds to list those things that have happened, are happening and will happen. God is once again, in faithfulness to recorded promises, announcing a presence that will reorder or "reset" the human community. If we are proud, powerful and/or rich, we will be scattered, brought down and empty. If we are humble, lowly and hungry, we will be lifted up and filled--a reversal that will ultimately lead to the perfect balance of the kingdom! Is it any wonder that in the 80s, the government of Guatemala banned The Magnificat? The faithfulness Mary embodies is not an allegiance to the status quo that can be manipulated for human ends, but a compelling openness to the mystery of the light, an eternal perspective that values justice for the present and believes God's promises for the future.
We live into our faith in flesh-and-blood community with others, but there is a spirit that would have us believe that the aggressive consumption of the American Dream can comfortably co-exist with religious devotion. But we see this dualism leading, quite literally before our eyes, to a consuming fear of physical and spiritual insecurity. Those who realize the ultimate reality of God, however, strive for an ability to perceive and follow the Spirit, knowing that God is in and through and around and above and below all things. In living out this realization, we submit to a mystery.
One of my favorite quotes is from Emmanuel Cardinal Suhard:
To be a witness does not consist of engaging in propaganda, nor even in stirring people up, but in being a living mystery. It means to live in such a way that one's life would not make sense if God did not exist.
May we all find Advent a time for learning how to embrace and embody the mystery of God, revealed to us through the obedience of a young girl so many years ago.
