I’ve
often admired the stained glass window depicting the Annunciation that looks
down on the sanctuary in my local cathedral.
We see the young woman Mary, kneeling on the floor and surrounded by
angels, while God the father looks down on her from above, sending forth a beam
on which rests the Holy Spirit in the form of a Dove. God the Son is there, too, although we don’t
see him, a human embryo in Mary’s womb, the Omnipotent Divine wrapped in mortal
human flesh. That’s how we encounter
Jesus in the Gospels: the Eternal Word in human disguise; that’s how we receive
him in the Holy Eucharist: the Second Person of the Trinity in the form of
simple bread. It’s a marvelous image to
contemplate as we approach the Altar of the Lord to receive Holy Communion.
Tomorrow,
of course, is the Feast of the Annunciation, celebrated nine months before the
Nativity of The Lord at Christmas. I’ve
often thought that, the current vogue for atheists and atheism notwithstanding,
it’s not really that hard to believe in God.
What is difficult, very difficult in fact, is to believe that the
Uncreated Creator of all Time and Space is the least bit interested in beings
as small, short-lived, and insignificant as we appear to be in the vast sweep
of the Universe. That he should become a
little human baby just so that he could suffer with us and die for us, well,
this saying is hard; who could accept it (see John 6:60)? And that’s not all: the Omnipotent God sought
the consent of one little maiden in a small town in an insignificant corner of
the world in order to do it. Not the
least of the reasons why we honor Mary is her willingness to put her very self
in God’s hands: “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord; Let it be done to me
according to your word” (Luke 1:38).
Mary’s
willingness to give up herself to be a part, perhaps the greatest (solely)
human actor in God’s Great Drama of Salvation is the big picture; as is often
the way, there’s a little picture, too, a way in which the Annunciation is
reflected in our own lives. God has a
plan for all of us. He imposes nothing,
to paraphrase John Paul the Great, but always proposes (Redemptoris Missio). He is constantly asking us to allow him in,
to consent to serve him in ways big and small.
“Today if you hear the voice of the Lord, harden not your hearts” is one
of the Lent antiphons in the Liturgy of the Hours. We all hear the voice of the Lord at some
point, if we’re listening; let us all not harden our hearts, but rather let it
be done to us according to his word.
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