Young Mary (blue scarf)
Be merciful to me, O God, for in you my soul takes refuge; in the shadow of your wings I will take refuge until the destroying storms pass by (Psalm 57:1)
It is these words from the prayers and songs of my people that keep coming back to me since that day.
My mother often says that when I should be busy with my chores she finds me lost in thought with my hands still. She scolds me for being idle, for having my head in the clouds. But she doesn’t understand. I don’t have my head in the clouds. No, the only way I can describe it is to say that at times like that my thoughts turn inward. I go deeper and deeper into a place inside me where I feel safe and secure. A place where I feel God’s steadfast love surrounding me. It is like a cave in my own heart where I can hide, where I can hold everything that I am feeling. A place where I feel truly at peace and at home. And often it is the prayers and songs of my people that takes me there.
God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble…the Lord is my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer (Psalm 46:1).
So it is to these strong, comforting words that I turn now. Since that visit, when my life was turned upside down.
It was a morning like any other, working at my chores in our small house: filling the lamps with oil, sweeping the floor. I had been to the well early that morning as usual but mother needed more water, so she sent me to the well again mid-morning. This time I was alone, without the chatter and laughter of the other young women. It was quiet. As I approached the well, I remembered the old stories of Rebecca, Rachel, and even Hagar. Important meetings take place beside wells or springs of water in our stories. Important messages are given. As I lowered the bucket down to the dark water below I sensed someone near. I was startled. I thought I was alone. Was I in danger out here by myself at midday?
When I turned there was a presence, a shape, a vision of an angel with a message for me! God is with you, the vision said. I could hardly breathe. I had no words. Don’t be afraid, Mary. You have found favour with God (Luke 1:30).
It was a holy sacred ‘God-moment’. But I had no time to savour the message, no time to catch my breath, for the angel went on…gave me the news that I would conceive and have a son. Son of the Most High…to have the throne of David…the kingdom restored! I was shocked. For generations this is what my people have longed for and prayed for. Was I to have a part in something so momentous?! I was dazed and bewildered. Has God chosen me?! How?! Why?! I am just a young girl from a humble Jewish village in Galilee. I was dumbstruck. When I could finally form words, the only thing I could think to ask was a practical question. How can this be?
The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will hover over you. So this holy child will be known, as not just your son, but also as the Son of God…for nothing is impossible with God (Luke 1:35; 37).
To be chosen to stand in the line of God’s history with our people, to be given a role, a part was astonishing. Stunning. We lived in turbulent times under the occupation of the Romans. For generations my people and our land have been tossed back and forth by other nations who took their turns ruling over us, oppressing us. Could I play a small part in some great turning–some great restoration of our freedom?
I did have the sense that I could have said, ‘no’. I could have turned down the offer and the angel would have disappeared. But something about that invitation caught a longing deep within my own soul too. The longing of my people for freedom, for the yoke of oppression to be lifted. For our terror and fears to subside. To be left alone to live and worship in peace. So I said, ‘yes!’ I am here, ready to serve God. Let it be as you have said! (Luke 1:38).
My questions and doubts came later. Waves of them. How on earth do I share this news? Who will believe me? What about Joseph? What about my parents? This will bring shame and humiliation on them. Depending on how they react, my very life could be in danger! Or my whole future tainted and shamed. I would be labeled a ‘sinful woman’. And this child would be labeled and scorned too. Is this what God wants?
It was all too soon! Joseph and I were only engaged to be married. I don’t even know Joseph very well, yet. We are not ready to be parents! How can this be a blessing?! It feels more like a predicament than anything else!
I had to get away for a while. It was the best thing for everyone. I needed time to think, to prepare. Joseph and my family needed time to think. I needed shelter in the storm. I needed to get away from the judgmental stares, and the shaming. Away from the accusations. I fled all the way to Judea to visit my cousin Elizabeth and stayed with her for a while. She too was pregnant and her child’s birth was just as unexpected and surprising as mine.
Elizabeth gave me that refuge. She welcomed me with open arms. She sheltered me under her wings of mercy. And she was so confident. Called me ‘blessed’. Called the child ‘blessed’. Called herself ‘blessed’ for being in my presence! She insisted that I was blessed for trusting that what God said would be fulfilled. That I was part of a turning point in our history as a people (Luke 1:42-45).
Elizabeth knew a blessing when she saw one. She knew that blessings could upend your ordinary life–maybe even come disguised as predicaments, asking more of us than we are prepared for. She knew the ways of God. That so many times in our history God’s call was startling and unexpected. That it was often the unlikely ones who said, ‘yes’.
And that’s when I finally found my voice. Found a way to say what had been pent up for so long in me and in my people. Found myself singing. Words from prayers and songs of old jumbled together and tumbled out. Praise for God, joy at being chosen, recounting the story of how God has shown mercy from generation to generation for our people. How the humble, the hungry and the lowly have been lifted up, granted dignity, filled with good things. And how the proud, the powerful, the rich and the haughty tyrants have been brought down, sent away empty, scattered (Luke 1:46-55).
God has given us help in the past and will do it again. God is doing it again, somehow through me and this child! This is God’s enduring promise, and it will be fulfilled. This is the story of my people, exhausted and traumatized by three centuries of brutality! And this is my story, living in fear as I do under the might of Herod’s rule. This is the story of my son, yet to be born! He will be part of this great reversal. He will help to bring God’s love and justice to our people.
Elizabeth’s strong words gave me hope and courage to return to Nazareth, to prepare for the birth of this baby.
Incarnation: Holding Together the Impossible
And yet I still have so many conflicting feelings! I am wholly unprepared and at the same time I am excited beyond measure. I am overwhelmed by what is happening, and at the same time I find a strength I didn’t know I had. I am not ready to be a mother yet, but already I am fiercely protective of this child who is not yet born. I am afraid and yet hopeful. I feel the judgments and shame and yet experience the power of this blessing. I know this is a personal blessing, for me and I can also see that this child will somehow be a blessing for my people.
I find that I am holding together all these contrasts, all these opposite things that seem impossible. But isn’t that what this is all about? Nothing is impossible with God (Luke 1:37). God holds together the things that don’t seem possible. God brings together what we cannot even imagine. In this child is the divine held within the physical–a mystery and wonder I can hardly comprehend.
I am called to give birth to something new, even while I embrace the mystery of not knowing how things will unfold.
There is Something About Babies
Now when I think back on the stories of our people I think about all the babies that were born. There is just something about babies. It’s not just their cuteness and their innocence. In our tradition, babies are a gift, a sign, a blessing. There are so many stories…I think of the women of the past – Sarah, Hannah blessed with a child after so many years, children who became such important leaders for our people. And I think of the prophet Isaiah – no less than three times pointing to a child as a sign of hope.
I can hear the words from the Isaiah scroll:
For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. (Isaiah 9:6). So similar to the words I heard from the angel about my son.
The promise of a baby gives us hope even in the darkest days of oppression and suffering. Babies remind us that we are still a people, with a history where God acted on behalf of our people to sustain them, and we are still a people with a future even though we are occupied by other nations for centuries. Babies need so much care. Like them we are utterly dependent on God.
And babies help us to look to the future.They make us think about what we will leave for the next generation. To trust that the God who has acted on our behalf in the past, will do so again. To believe that impossible things can happen because God is at work. To imagine that a new way forward is possible.
It is almost time now for this baby to be born. We are packing for the trip to Bethlehem, Joseph’s hometown. We need to travel there to be counted. It’s not a good time for me to travel, but I am strong. We must go. It would be a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the Romans for not complying with their orders. But my fears hover near and catch me off guard. I return again to my prayers. Oh, God. Breath of heaven. Hold me together. Help me be strong!
Old Mary (purple scarf)
Mother of Sorrows
I had no idea really, what all it meant to say ‘yes’ to God’s invitation. When I look back now I am amazed at what unfolded…the journey to Bethlehem. I couldn’t do that now. But back then I was young and strong. Even so, I was so exhausted, so worried, at the mercy of so many people – Joseph, the innkeeper, the Bethlehem midwife and God. It is a miracle that we made it to Bethlehem in time, that we found the stable – just a cave in the rocks, really. But it was safe and dry. Every birth is a miracle. Every child is a gift from God. For Jesus to be born healthy, and safe, it truly was a miracle.
I could not have imagined what an impact his birth and his life would make. The shepherds came with such a dramatic story about a choir of angels and good news of great joy about a Saviour born in Bethlehem. What does it mean for the future of this child?
And I was glad for a time that Jesus’ childhood was mostly so ordinary. By then I had other children too. And I would share the stories and songs and prayers of our people with them. But so often I would catch Jesus, like my mother used to catch me–deep in thought. His ideas grew with him. Joseph taught him a practical trade. Taught him to be a carpenter, but often he too would find Jesus deep in thought.
I had no idea that the movement he started would include such a strange mix of people. When I said ‘yes’ to the angel’s invitation I thought I would be part of something that would bring freedom and salvation to my people after centuries of occupation. I assumed the promise was for us. But as I watched Jesus gather a community around him, listened to his teachings, saw how the movement grew I began to realize this was much bigger than our community.
Over the years I have been called by many names. One that has stuck is Mary: Mother of Sorrows. The Mother of Seven Sorrows, to be exact. For I did encounter deep grief on my journey. My son, and Elizabeth’s son both died terrible, violent deaths. Their message of freedom and release and justice and healing for all sure did stir up strong feelings. We sensed the tension rising around him. We could see the way the crowds loved him, followed him, hung on his every word, but then how the tide turned against him. There were false accusations, harsh criticism, blame and condemnation. And then John’s death. It was a chilling threat to Jesus too.
It broke me to see my son crucified – so publicly shamed and betrayed. Left to suffer and die a criminal’s death. He didn’t hang there as long as some. He was so beaten already by then, his death came mercifully, more quickly than some. I stayed. I would not leave his side. I knew I could do nothing else but stand and bear witness to his suffering.
It had to be a hasty burial, but I did get a chance to hold him in my arms one last time, his blood and my tears mingling together. And all of us left to our shock and grief, the horrors and the demons of what we had witnessed. So I am both birth mother and death mother. I hold both of those impossible things together.
I am known as the Mother of Seven Sorrows. I know what it is to grieve, to weep, to cry out to God from a broken heart. I understand the suffering and the dying and the falling apart.
And I am also known as the Mother of Seven Joys, for I have known such joy: to be beloved, to be chosen to be the mother of Jesus, to watch him grow, to see how his heart of compassion expanded to include all who struggle and suffer and cry out in pain, to see him form a community of warmth and welcome, to witness the power of forgiveness, the power of healing, the power of generosity. To know that I was part of God’s unfolding plan to bring freedom and release and recovery, to bring hope and joy and peace.
And then there were the angels at the empty tomb that Sunday morning who told us he was risen. And our encounter later with the risen Jesus–we were filled with such joy, disbelief and wonder…
Experience taught me to keep my heart open to life’s strangeness and its tensions. To stay open to the impossible. Wisdom allows me to hold all of it without needing to explain everything.
The Invitation to be Godbearers
I had no idea…what saying ‘yes’ to the angel would mean for my life. What it meant to partner with God. Another name that was given to me over the years was Theotokos–God bearer. The one who carried the unborn child–who waited through those long months, who gave birth to the baby, who nursed him and cared for him.
But what good would it do if I was the only God-bearer? We are all called to be God-bearers. You all need to be God-bearers in your own time and place. To bring good news, to bring the love of Christ, to bring hope and renewal to people who need it. To be bearers of God’s word. Somehow God uses us to get through by grace, to find a new way in the midst of the old ways crumbling. Yes, God bearers. We know and trust in the slow working of God ; we know how to watch and wait, we know how to hold the impossible together: the divine within the human. We are called to consider that all people can be holy and can have the potential to open a doorway into the sacred heart of God.
And whether you recognize them or not, you have angel messengers in your life too–those messengers, present to you when you need them, forces of loving support, who remind you that you are not alone, who help you embrace your own holiness, who inspire you on your journey, your path of love and service, who are an endless fount of wisdom. Their guidance and love direct your heart to the sacred call you have been given, to be holy, windows through which others glimpse Jesus.
What good is it to me if Mary gave birth to the Son of God fourteen hundred years ago and I do not also give birth to the Son of God in my time and in my culture? We are all meant to be Mothers of God (quote from Meister Eckhart in Christine Valters Paintner, Birthing the Holy: Wisdom From Mary to Nurture Creativity and Renewal, p. 129)