Luke 1:26-38
I don’t know how you picture this
wonderful Gospel, but certain motifs have long dominated Western art, motifs we
can see in this wall mural by an unknown artist.
Mary is at a prayer desk to show that she
has been praying, and she has a Bible in front of her, conveniently opened to
Isaiah 7: “Behold a virgin shall conceive and bear a son.” Her eyes are
downcast, her arms are crossed, and her look is submissive. She is prayerful
and pious, a holy young woman. And the angel is visibly present before her, an
androgynous figure with golden hair and beautiful wings. The scene is serene
and otherworldly. Similar depictions have been painted countless times: it’s a
common way of envisioning and interpreting this story . . . but it’s not the
only way.
Compare it with this contemporary
painting by an artist named Maximus.
Mary is not praying or reading the Bible:
she’s listening to her smartphone, a very this-worldly activity. Her eyes are
not demure and downcast, but open with a look of surprise and uncertainty. And
the angel — well, all we see is a hand reaching behind her. No flowing locks,
no wings: just the hint of a presence.
I like this second painting because Luke
doesn’t tell us that Mary is praying or reading the Bible. He doesn’t insist
that she is especially devout or even morally upright. And Luke never describes
the angel, because any physical appearance (if there was one) is secondary to
the message that Mary receives. That hand reaching behind her leaves us with a
sense of mystery. What is this angel: a visible being, a moment of revelation,
a flash of intuition, a dream? What we know is that Mary hears a message and
feels a call that fills her with wonder. And she is courageous enough or
reckless enough to say yes to it: Let it
be with me according to your word. Yeah, I’ll do it.
Of course, she’s not really asked, is
she? She’s told. God has a way of delegating like that. But she could have
resisted and put up a fuss: many have. Instead, she accepts it. The most
wondrous thing about Mary is not cloying piety or supernatural virtue: it is
just that, her willingness to see God at work in the concrete circumstances of
her life, even when those circumstances are upsetting, painful, or tragic. It
would take both humility of heart and boldness of spirit to take God up on
God’s offer and say, “Okay, I’m going with it. I’ll do my part, as long as you
do yours.”
I know people cherish images that are
dear to them, and I honor that. But I would encourage all of us to look beyond
halos and wings to see the full humanity of this story: a young woman decides
to trust God and live accordingly. In her case it means bearing this child and
believing that God is moving through her pregnancy and through the destiny of
her son. She has no guarantees: she just chooses to trust. And that makes her
an icon for all of us. She gives birth to Jesus in the flesh, but each one of
us is called to give birth to Christ in our own life — not because we are pious
or holy, but because God loves us and wants to be revealed through us. We are
the raw material that God will use to bless the world.
I think the most faithful response to
this story is not to put Mary on a pedestal, but to follow her example and ask
ourselves, “What is God calling me to do? How am I to bear Christ in my life
today, in my circumstances, with my gifts and my opportunities?” We don’t need
to wait for some winged being to deliver that to us: in the Bible, angels are
first and foremost messengers. They can come in many forms, and God can deliver
God’s message in many ways. It can come from outside of us: a chance encounter,
a conversation, a sermon, something we read that grabs us. Or it can come from
deep within our souls. I have heard many people tell me over the years about
some course of action they didn’t fully understand, “I just have to do this.” I
get it, because I have felt that way myself.
And the crucial thing is not that we copy
Mary or anyone else: it’s that we hear God’s message to us and go with what God
is doing in our life. Shortly before he died, Francis of Assisi said to his
friends and brothers: “I have done what was mine to do. May Christ teach you
what you are to do.” God doesn’t need me to be St. Francis: God needs me to be
me. God needs Kathleen to be Kathleen. God needs Noriko to be Noriko. God needs
you to be you. We are all favored, we are all loved, we are all called. Each
one of us can manifest Christ in a way that no other human being can. And
whether it feels great or insignificant doesn’t matter: only God can assess
that, and God will not waste any of us. An act of kindness, a courageous stand,
long and dedicated service, quiet prayer in the early morning stillness,
self-sacrifice that goes largely unnoticed, the decision to love, the
willingness to forgive, the birth of a child: it all matters. God wants to be
born in us, seeks to be revealed through us. Will we trust that? Will we give
ourselves to that? Mary did what was hers to do. For Christ’s sake, do what is
yours to do.
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