Waiting, Larry LaBonte

Scripture: Luke 1:26-38

In the sixth month, the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the house of David; and the virgin’s name was Mary.

The angel went in and said to her, “Rejoice, so highly favored!  The Lord is with you.”

She was deeply disturbed by these words and asked herself what this greeting could mean, but the angel said to her, “Mary, do not be afraid; you have won God’s favour. Listen! You are to conceive and bear a son, and you must name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his ancestor, David.  He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and his reign will have no end.”

Mary said to the angel, “How will this be, since I am a virgin?”

“The Holy Spirit will come upon you”, the angel answered, “and the power of the Most High will cover you with its shadow.  And so the child will be holy and will be called the Son of God. Know this too, your kinswoman Elizabeth has,  in her old age, herself conceived a son, and she whom people called barren is now in her sixth month for nothing is impossible to God.”

“I am the handmaid of the Lord”, said Mary, “Let what you have said be done to me.”

And the angel left her.

Reflection

Annunciation

You see I wonder whether there aren’t annunciations everyday, in every place.  I wonder if Gabriel and his ilk aren’t hurrying angel-wise even now, eyes full of messages simple as sunlight, disturbing as day. And I wonder whether I am missing them – whether they pass me by, no more than a queasy plunge in the pit of my stomach, no more than a shiver of significance twisting down my spine, no more than a burden of joy briefly shouldered and just as swiftly shelved.

Are there frustrated angels with us, even now, even here, brushing by on feathered feet, breathing benedictions, and aching for imagination to shape mystery into message and give them voice. For I imagine them mute –mute and barely visible – until a human heart discerns them, fashions them flesh, and offers them speech.

Are they here now, heartfelt and eager and pregnant with possibility? For what was born, an age or two ago, of a young woman’s “yes” they still bear in urgent arms to be born again in you or in me  – if only we, like she, have a vulnerable heart, an imagination full of hope, and the humble courage to consent.

Rob Marsh SJ