Angelus

Angelus Domini nuntiavit Mariæ.

The angel of the Lord declared unto Mary. I imagine what it must have been like for her: such a young girl, such an overwhelming apparition. In our own lives – in my life – so much that has been overwhelming is negative. I think of ‘overwhelming’ and I do not think of the miraculous, the angelic or the blessed. But, of course, that is where I go wrong.

Hail Mary, full of grace! But we, too, are also called, also called to be full of grace. I remember, as a child. Finding so much sheer joy and pleasure in God. I still do, really, when I take the time to stand still and listen. Oh, the radiant light of God! I wonder if that was what she felt like, lit up from the inside out, as if the whole world had fallen into place and she felt like she would burst from joy. It is such a sweetness, and so overwhelming sometimes, that I don’t know what to do with it. Mary, my guiding star, help me to be steadfast in the presence of overwhelming grace and forgiveness, and to remember that what is awesome often feels overwhelming and terrifying.

Et concepit de Spiritu Sancto.

And she conceived by the Holy Ghost. To bear a child in a sense not your own but also fully your own; a child in itself an overwhelming gift. Imagine doing so at the request of God! Redemption for the world…

The Lord is with thee! I had felt once, when I was much younger, that bearing a child and giving birth could be redemptive. A baby, after all, is someone’s miracle: so many people wanting so desperately to cherish that fragile life. For a time, I had hoped desperately that my sorrow – though by no means so great as hers – might be so redeemed. Although this did not, ultimately, come to pass as I had believed, in the hope itself I learned a great deal about myself: that responding in the love of God to challenges is a deep source of strength. I understand that the Lord is with me especially in the moments that seem anything but miraculous.

Ecce Ancilla Domini.

Behold the handmaid of the Lord. To follow God and to serve Him: what more could any of us want! There is so much pleasure and gladness in finding a way to serve. It is like coming home, like finding yourself. It’s like prayer: God didn’t give us prayer because it would make Him happy – what does He need us for, when the whole earth is His? – but because it helps us to be what we are created to be. In serving and honoring God, we fulfill the deepest longing of our humanity.

Blessed art thou among women! Oh, to be Mary! This, again, reminds me that blessedness does not always feel happy or easy; sometimes, it is found in sorrow, in travail, even in doubt. I, too, long to be blessed. God is with us as we seek to be as selfless as Mary.

Fiat mihi secundum Verbum tuum.

Be it done unto me according to your Word. I pray the devotion to the Seven Sorrows of Mary on Saturday. I love praying it: it’s not at all depressing. Simeon’s prophesy; the flight into Egypt; Jesus lost in the temple; meeting Jesus carrying His cross; the crucifixion; Jesus being taken down from the cross; Jesus being laid in the tomb. It is uplifting for me.

And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus! Two lives, so deeply intertwined! How can there be blessedness without sorrow? I long to reframe my life through her eyes, to re-envision anything bad through this light. I have, actually, been really blessed in my suffering, though of course that’s impossible to see at the time. All my seemingly worst experiences allowed me to engage in a sort-of ministry: not a ministry, exactly, so much as a precious gift. If I had not been where I have been, and felt what I have felt, so many wonderful people I have met, when they were at difficult times in their own lives, would have always been strangers, and I would have been granted nothing to give them. Really – REALLY – I have been so blessed!

Et Verbum caro factum est.

And the Word was made flesh. I still remember my first communion…the little white dress my mother sewed for me (I think it’s still in my closet), the little white gloves and the little white purse. Also, I wanted white tappy shoes soooooo bad, but couldn’t find any in the stores that fit me. I think my shoes were shiny. It’s funny: you wait so long and expect something so big and, in most ways, it’s so incredibly…normal.

Holy Mary, Mother of God! How did it feel to hold Him in your arms? So small and fragile, so beautiful and human, so incredible and normal. We’ve turned you into this almost mystical figure, but really you’re also Jesus’ mom. You took care of him when he cried all night, when he was sick and had a fever, and was tired and cranky. I like thinking of you that way because it gives me another window through which to see Jesus. Instead of a celestial, unreachable King, He is right beside me, wanting to play.

Et habitavit in nobis.

And dwelt among us. I try to see Jesus in everyone I meet. And I’ve been so lucky to have met Him in so many ways! The priest who founded the parish I used to belong to, Fr. Sullivan, was an amazing example. He got the church built with a free-standing altar before Vatican II in a stunning feat of prescience, and then just had to relocate the tabernacle to a side altar. Classical architecture, and a LOT of abstract stained glass. It’s a beautiful building. But it’s what he did for the people. He was always so incredible funny and friendly and warm; even after he’d been moved away to another church, he always came back for important occasions, always made sure to be there. He was a fantastic priest: you could look at him and know that it was really his vocation, that he was good at it and loved doing it. I mean, how many people would take so well to being handed a surprise parish to create that had been formed without your knowledge, having discovered what was going on only after being summoned by the Bishop to go there? The new church was built after the old one (which housed what are now two parishes) burnt down. That church had so much promise, was so full of life and growth, attracting a future saint and many good families. He was a fantastic priest, the image of Christ, and – though he had served many congregations – he chose to have his funeral and burial at this one. He is greatly missed.

Pray for us sinners now. I have a pretty strong Marian devotion, which I’m not entirely sure people are aware of. Of course, I pray the Seven Sorrows, which is I guess a little strange since most people don’t know there’s a whole separate kind of rosary to pray it with. But I also pray the rosary, and sing lots of Marian hymns, and try to pray what’s called a ‘worker’s rosary’ before Mass. I keep a decade in my bag just in case. Also, as may or may not be obvious, I am fond of the Angelus, though I admit I don’t wake up at 6:00 AM to say it. Asking for Mary’s intercessions has become comforting, and the rosary a way of entering into meditation. (I don’t normally meditate on its mysteries though; I prefer to focus on the prayers.)

Ora pro nobis, Sancta Dei Genetrix.
Ut digni efficiamur promissionibus Christi.

Pray for us, Holy Mother of God,
That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ. You remind me that even though we are all fallen, all sinners, all imperfect human beings, God has chosen to dwell inside us, in the Holy Spirit, counting us worthy to stand in His presence to serve Him, choosing us as vessels of His good work. You are the ultimate sign of hope, and of courage. I long to live up to your example. For though we are but humble servants, in our very mortality God has created a place among us for His saving love.

And at the hour of our death. When I was in sinful despair, and couldn’t feel the presence of God, or bear to reach out to Him with my unclean hands, Mary was always there. Always within grasp. God is always in reach, too, but somehow your lesser blessedness was easier to understand. I had not prayed the rosary for many years. When I was twenty-three, I was very sick, and I was afraid I might die. In panic and fear of death, one night I reached out for an old rosary impulsively and prayed for deliverance, that you would ask God to save my life. Through you, Jesus granted me a miracle and, against all reason and appearance, I lived. My Marian devotional practice grew up from that moment, and I am forever grateful.

Gratiam tuam quæsumus, Domine, mentibus nostris infunde; ut qui, angelo nuntiante, Christi Filii tui Incarnationem cognovimus, per passionem eius et crucem, ad resurrectionis gloriam perducamur. Per eumdem Christum Dominum nostrum.

Pour forth, we beseech Thee, O Lord, Thy grace into our hearts, that we, to whom the Incarnation of Christ Thy Son was made known by the message of an angel, may by His Passion and Cross be brought to the glory of His Resurrection. Through the same Christ our Lord.

Amen.