Advent 2 | ANNUNCIATION
On this second Sunday of Advent, spend some time in a comfortable, light-drenched space: sit
at a bright kitchen window, on a church pew under stained glass; walk through an atrium or
museum gallery; savor the sun as it warms an early December day.
Read the story of the angel Gabriel’s announcement to Mary, recounted in Luke 1:26-38.
Now picture it as described in Denise Levertov’s poem, “Annunciation.”
We know the scene: the room, variously furnished,
almost always a lectern, a book; always
the tall lily.Arrived on solemn grandeur of great wings,
the angelic ambassador, standing or hovering,
whom she acknowledges, a guest.
But we are told of meek obedience. No one mentions
courage.The engendering Spirit
did not enter her without consent.
God waited.She was free
to accept or to refuse, choice
integral to humanness.____________________________
Aren’t there annunciations
of one sort or another
in most lives?
Some unwillingly
undertake great destinies,
enact them in sullen pride,
uncomprehending.
More often
those moments
when roads of light and storm
open from darkness in a man or woman,
are turned away from
in dread, in a wave of weakness, in despair
and with relief.
Ordinary lives continue.
God does not smite them.
But the gates close, the pathway vanishes.______________________________
She had been a child who played, ate, slept
like any other child – but unlike others,
wept only for pity, laughed
in joy not triumph.
Compassion and intelligence
fused in her, indivisible.Called to a destiny more momentous
than any in all of Time,
she did not quail,
only asked
a simple, ‘How can this be?’
and gravely, courteously,
took to heart the angel’s reply,
perceiving instantly
the astounding ministry she was offered:to bear in her womb
Infinite weight and lightness; to carry
in hidden, finite inwardness,
nine months of Eternity; to contain
in slender vase of being,
the sum of power –
in narrow flesh,
the sum of light.
Then bring to birth,
push out into air, a Man-child
needing, like any other,
milk and love –but who was God.
This was the moment no one speaks of,
when she could still refuse.A breath unbreathed,
Spirit,
suspended,
waiting.______________________________
She did not cry, ‘I cannot. I am not worthy,’
Nor, ‘I have not the strength.’
She did not submit with gritted teeth,
raging, coerced.
Bravest of all humans,
consent illumined her.
The room filled with its light,
the lily glowed in it,
and the iridescent wings.
Consent,
courage unparalleled,
opened her utterly.
Spend time imagining Mary and the angel in that room at “the moment no one speaks of, when she could still refuse. A breath unbreathed, Spirit, suspended, waiting.”
What do you think Mary might have thought and felt as she considered Gabriel’s startling words?
Consider the poet’s question “Aren’t there annunciations of one sort or another in most lives?”
If the angel Gabriel were to arrive and make an announcement to you right now, what might it
be?What could God be inviting you into this Advent?
What consent or courage might be needed should you freely say ‘yes’ to this God who waits upon your response?
Enter the Annunciation story even more deeply through art:
Top image: “Annunciation” (2001) by Swedish artist Mats Rehnman.