Thursday of the Fourth Week of Advent, Year A: 1 Samuel 1:24-28, Luke 1:46-56.
Today the Church reminds us how humanity has been working in concert with God, 1,000 years apart; specifically, how unlikely mothers bore a child who would be a special link for the people to their God (see readings).
Hannah, the mother of the great Jewish prophet and leader, Samuel, is a forerunner of Mary in her complete devotion to God and assent to keep her covenant with her God. Mary echoes Hannah’s words in the amazing Magnificat prayer, and supersedes Hannah in perfection. Both women work with God (as do their sons).
In a past post, I compared their incredible prayers side-by-side. Today, I’d like to reflect on what this working with God might be – something more, surely than “living right,” or even doing God’s will. These women are in scripture because they inaugurated a special kind of cooperation with God.
The Visitation, Dorothy Webster Hawksley (mid 1900s) | Image from melaniejeanjuneau.blog.
We are accustomed to the word “cooperate” in our catechism: “Grace responds to the deepest yearnings of human freedom, calls freedom to cooperate with it, and perfects freedom” (CCC 2022). “Cooperate” in the religious sense means that our will gives over to God’s will, knowingly. It is different than the way we might cooperate with someone to, say, build a community garden. It’s not really just a cooperation of our intellect; it requires faith. Furthermore, it requires that our faith draw us into a correct relationship with God wherein we recognize His sovereignty and give ourselves over to His grace and love. We fully assent and He guides and draws us to Himself. If this sounds a little slippery and difficult, then we need to work on strengthening our faith, trust, and relationship with God.
Jean Corbon, OP, prefers the Greek word synergeia, which he defines as “combined energy” or “joint activity,” instead of cooperate. His book Wellspring of Worship is a deep dive into the liturgy, where synergy plays an important role: “when [God] elicits our response to his multiform energy, the Spirit and the Church become one in an astounding ‘synergy’: the liturgy” (66).
Mary is the first person where the liturgy as we know it forms; her will is completely turned over to God. The Holy Spirit dwells in her, in fact, impregnates her with divinity. She fully cooperates with God. She achieves an astounding synergy with God in forming Jesus. As Corbon writes, “When the river of life joins the energy of acceptance, it acquires a name: JESUS” (39).
Let’s turn to just one small piece of textual analysis: Mary’s first line in the gospel reading. The lectionary says, “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,” but this common English translation has removed perhaps the most intriguing and potent word from the original Greek: Megalynei (to magnify). The original Vulgate Latin got it right: Magnificat anima mea Dominum. Heck, that’s why we call this prayer the Magnificat! The literal translation is “My soul magnifies my Lord,” and it is a perfect way for Mary to describe what is happening within her.
Mary is both growing a human child and also cooperating spiritually with God to magnify His image, not only within herself but for the whole world. I say “magnify his image” because this is what the Church has always taught. In his Homilies on the Gospel of Luke, Origen of Alexandria explains that, while we cannot enlarge God in His nature, we can enlarge His Image within us. Likewise, in his Commentary on Luke, St. Ambrose elaborates:
Truly the Lord is magnified: for you read somewhere else, ‘Magnify the Lord with me’ (Ps 33:4). This does not mean that human speech can add anything to the Lord; it means rather that the Lord grows within us. ‘Christ is the image of God’ (2 Cor 4:4), and therefore the soul that acts justly and devoutly magnifies this image of God, in whose likeness it was created (cf. Gn 1:27). It magnifies that image and – while magnifying it – participates in some sort in its grandeur and is made sublime. It appears to reproduce this icon within itself by the brilliant colors of its good deeds; and by its virtue it seems to copy the original. (2, 27).
Yet even Mary is awaiting a more perfect sacramental synergy that won’t be gifted to humanity until Christ fulfills his life, sacrifice, and resurrection. This is another piece of the waiting and preparation we can connect to Advent. The reason we anticipate the Christ child so expectantly is that he will usher in a new life for us all, one where the gates of heaven are opened to us. One where we, too, can cooperate and achieve synergy with God along the lines of what Mary experienced. A life where our souls can magnify the image of God and through our charity we can be a source of inspiration for others to join the Church in liturgy.
Synergy, Alex Raynham (contemporary) | Image from Saatchi Art.
The Catechism (which Corbon had a hand in helping to write) provides us with a summary: “The desire and work of the Spirit in the heart of the Church is that we may live from the life of the risen Christ. When the Spirit encounters in us the response of faith which he has aroused in us, he brings about genuine cooperation. Through it, the liturgy becomes the common work of the Holy Spirit and the Church” (CCC 1091) [emphasis added]. This is our Church, the one, holy, apostolic, Catholic Church, instituted before time began and in a special way in history with Mary’s great “yes” to God.
May we reverence her and see how she is a great signpost pointing to God, showing us how to cooperate, participate, and commune with the Spirit in the great liturgy that gives us life.
Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary: Genesis 3:9-15, 20, Ephesians 1:3-6, 11-12, Luke 1:26-38.
I grew up in a Catholic family and attended a Catholic school, so veneration of the Blessed Virgin Mary was a part and parcel of my faith. I never found it odd, or over the top, nor did I feel like we worshipped her as we worship our Triune God. It wasn’t until college that I became aware of the fact that Protestants and other denominations criticize Catholics for their Marian devotions. These criticisms struck me as superstitious, but I understand that they were earnest. So, I wanted to write about the deep devotion the Church has had since its inception for the Mother of God and hopefully help explain the dogma of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
Mary, Mother of God (20th Century), provenance unknown | Image from draganbachev.wordpress.com.
Perhaps the hardest Catholic dogma for non-Catholics to accept is the Immaculate Conception. Yet, if we follow today’s readings closely, we can understand both the deep theology and Biblical underpinnings of the doctrine behind this Solemnity. It starts, unsurprisingly, with Adam and Eve. We are reminded of the original sin: “You have eaten, then, from the tree of which I had forbidden you to eat!” Adam immediately recognizes his sin and his own fallen state: “I heard you in the garden; but I was afraid, because I was naked, so I hid myself.” He is afraid of retribution because he knows he has disobeyed God. He is naked both physically (loss of innocence) and spiritually before his maker. This is our founding, fundamental story of humanity.
Whether we think of this story as literal or allegorical is not the point — all Christians agree that we have inherited a fallen nature thanks to the sin committed by the first man and woman. In the Catholic Church, this sin has a number consequences:
The dominion of death. As God tells Adam, “By the sweat of your faceyou shall eat bread until you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; you are dust,and to dust you shall return.” Clearly, this was “baked into” Adam and Eve, meaning it is a genetic inheritance for us. The consequence of their sin was passed down to us: to toil on the earth and eventually return biologically back to it.
Genetic inheritance of death is but one type of inheritance! We are body and soul, and our spiritual inheritance from this first sin is our tendency to fall into sin (the fancy term would be concupiscence). Just as Eve was tempted by the serpent, we have that inclination to be tempted by Satan throughout our lives.
Perhaps the worst of our curse, however, is not the physical death or inclination to sin, but being deprived of the sanctifying grace of God at our birth. As the Catechism states: “Although it is proper to each individual, original sin does not have the character of a personal fault in any of Adam’s descendants. It is a deprivation of original holiness and justice” (CCC, 405). Original holiness and justice describe the state of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden before they sinned. This is the real original sin that we “contract” from Adam and Eve (as opposed to “commit”). Our shorthand for this is “fallen state,” but thanks to Jesus Christ, who came to baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire, we are cleansed of original sin through our Christian baptism. Lest we get too cocky, though, “Baptism, by imparting the life of Christ’s grace, erases original sin and turns a man back towards God, but the consequences for nature, weakened and inclined to evil, persist in man and summon him to spiritual battle” (CCC, 405).
Adam and Eve started this great drama of humanity’s distance from God, yet as far back as this very passage from the Book of Genesis, we learn that God promises to rectify it. Many people don’t realize this, but the pinnacle of today’s first reading is contained in these lines, spoken to the serpent:
I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers; he will strike at your head, while you strike at his heel.
This is referred to as the Protoevangelium. With this pronouncement, God is gracing us with a natural hatred of evil, to counteract our tendency to be drawn towards it. What’s more, he is hinting at the Messiah, the offspring of Eve, who will strike Satan’s head while Satan strikes at his heel. As the Catechism tells us: “After his fall, man was not abandoned by God. On the contrary, God calls him and in a mysterious way heralds the coming victory over evil and his restoration from his fall. Hence, this passage in Genesis is called the Protoevangelium (“first gospel”): the first announcement of the Messiah and Redeemer, of a battle between the serpent and the Woman, and of the final victory of a descendant of hers” (CCC, 410). We Christians call Jesus Christ the “New Adam” because he crushes the serpent (while being struck on his “heel” by the Cross), and his mother, Mary, is the “New Eve.” This fulfillment of a promise from Genesis through Mary and Jesus is so central to our faith that it can be found in popular hymns, such as Charles Wesley’s carol, Hark, the Herald Angels Sing:
Come, Desire of Nations, come, Fix in us Thy humble home. Rise the woman’s conquering Seed, Bruise in us the serpent’s head. Adam’s likeness now efface, Stamp Thine image in its place, Second Adam from above, Reinstate us in Thy love, Hark, the herald angels sing, Glory to the newborn King.
Saint Paul expounds upon God’s plan in the second reading today: “he chose us in him, before the foundation of the world, to be holy and without blemish before him.” We can’t overstate how important the words “holy” and “without blemish” are to our faith. As we reflected in the past week, God is pure goodness, pure love, and in order to be suitable to be united with Him in heaven, we must also work to become purified through our faith. What Paul is saying is that it has always been God’s plan, since “before the foundation of the world” that we should be united with him in holiness and purity. Theologically, this resonates with the problem of original sin. If we have contracted the lack of “original holiness and justice” from Adam and Eve, then restoring original holiness is a major step to reunification with God – thus, Christ comes to reinstate our holiness through baptism.
But original sin also poses a particular problem for the New Eve, Mary. Like the holy Ark of the Covenant that held the commandments, the Aaron’s rod, and manna from heaven, this Ark of the New Covenant that will hold Jesus must be holy, too. Remember that the acacia wood-covered-in-gold ark upon which a giant slab of gold and two angels in gold rested was the place where God manifested Himself to the Jews. Remember, too, that poor Uzzah was stricken dead when he tried to steady the Ark in the cart being transported by King David to Jerusalem. The holiness of the Ark was so great that God’s commandments regarding who could touch it were inviolate.
Detail from Joshua passing the River Jordan with the Ark of the Covenant, Benjamin West (1800) | Creative Commons, courtesy Wikimedia. If such prayerful care and ceremony was given to the Ark of the Covenant, why would someone be surprised that we give equal veneration to Mary, the Ark of the New Covenant?
So, if the original Ark was holy, how much more must the Ark of the New Covenant be if it is to hold the incarnate God?
All of this is drawing to a logical conclusion: that Mary must be holy, that is, lacking even original sin, if she is to bear Jesus. But let’s not assume that our dogma comes about because of a logic puzzle. Nor does it exist out of some kind of sentimental, emotional attachment to Mary, who is Our Lady, most pure. No, the Church did not acknowledge the dogma of the Immaculate Conception either because it was logically convenient or because it seemed fitting to support the cult of devotion to Mary that had developed over the centuries.
From the earliest moments of the Church, the apostles and Church Fathers believed that Mary had special grace and purity beyond all other humans. The dogma of the Church, although not formalized until 1854 by Pope Pius IX, stands firmly in a tradition that was held from the very beginning of the Church. And even before tradition, we have the scriptural basis, the words of the Angel Gabriel as we hear them in today’s gospel reading:
Ancient Greek: χαῖρε, κεχαριτωμένη, ὁ κύριος μετὰ σοῦ. “Greeklish”: Chaire, kecharitōmenē, ho kyrios meta sou! English: Hail, “Full of Grace,” the Lord is with you!
I want to dwell on the actual Greek text here because it’s very important. The Angel Gabriel bestows on Mary a one-of-a-kind greeting, and “Full of Grace” doesn’t quite sum up the name he calls her, Kecharitōmenē (pronounced keh-kah-rih-toe-MEN-ee). Notice that the root of his first two words is the same: χαῖρε (chaire) and χαριτω (charitō), which would have sounded a bit like heavenly wordplay coming from the Angel Gabriel, or at least a doubling or emphasis. “Kai-ray, keh-kah-rih-toe-MEN-ee,” he said. This root word χαριτω (charitō) means “grace”; χαῖρε (chaire) means “hail!” or “greetings!” and is clearly meant to be a happy greeting since the addition of -τε makes χαίρετε (chairete), meaning “rejoice!”
Our Lady of Peace tapestry (printed on cotton), photo of tapestry hanging in the author’s home. The artwork was originally created in the workshop of Hendrik Slabbinck in Bruges, Belgium during World War II.
Kecharitōmenē is only used once in scripture and never in secular writings. That’s right, this one-of-a-kind word is invoked by the Angel Gabriel at that moment, used uniquely as a title for Mary. The common English translation is “full of grace,” which is fairly close, but does not express its true depth. In fact, “full of grace” is properly written as πληρης χαριτος (pleres charitos), which is used in reference to Christ in the prologue of the Gospel of St. John (Jn 1:14) and in reference to St. Stephen in the Acts of the Apostles (Acts 6:8).
But Kecharitōmenē is not a description like “full of grace.” It is a noun, a title, and would be better translated as “The One Who has Been Perfectly and Permanently Graced.” You see, Kecharitōmenē is the perfect passive participle of the verb charitŏō, “to be graced.” Passive, meaning this was not Mary’s doing but God’s. Perfect, meaning completed in its entirety yet ongoing. Gabriel is telling the unsuspecting young Mary that she has been perfectly graced by God from the beginning and continues to be pure. Even before she learns that she is to bear God in her womb, she trembles with the fear of God at the revelation of her own holiness. The Magisterium has always understood this to mean that it was God’s will that she be born without original sin. Thus, we have the scriptural, theological basis for the Immaculate Conception right here in the queenly title acknowledged by Gabriel.
So, let us celebrate the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception today with a true grasp of the dogma, with a love of God and His amazing plan for humanity, and with a thankfulness that the New Eve said yes to the Father and bore unto us our Savior.
The Solemnity of the Annunciation of the Lord: Isaiah 7:10-14, 8:10, Hebrews 10:4-10, Luke 1:26-38.
Today’s readings should be very familiar to us. We hear God promise the virgin birth and the name Emmanuel, we hear St. Paul tell us that “the offering of the Body of Jesus Christ once for all” has taken the place of all the lesser animal sacrifices done in the Jewish tradition, and we hear St. Luke’s amazing account of Gabriel announcing to Mary that she will give birth to the Messiah.
The Annunciation (1915), Helena Vurnik | Image from the National Gallery of Slovenia.
I don’t know that I have much to add to the volumes that have been written on this fundamental aspect of our faith, and I’ll keep this reflection short. One thing jumped out at me as I studied a few different commentaries and books on this subject: Mary actively participates in the same creative act that God undertakes at the beginning of time. The Incarnation is another Creation.
This might seem terribly obvious, and if so, my apologies. But consider how Fr. Jean Corbon, OP, writes about this moment in the Annunciation: “the humble maidservant can respond to the message with all her being and in the very words that her Lord used at the beginning of time: ‘Let it be!’ (Lk 1:38 and Gen 1:3)” (Wellspring of Worship, 37).
What Corbon references here is the Greek verb γίνομαι (gínomai), which is used in Genesis when God says “Let there be light” and there was light. The Greek translation of the Hebrew is theosgínomai phōs kai gínomai phōs. A more literal translation is “God said “become” light and light came into being. The verb gínomai is roughly translated as our verb “to be,” but it’s more properly “to become” or “to receive being.”
It’s fairly complex, which is why Thayer’s Greek Lexicon spends over 2,460 words to describe it in their entry for gínomai. But suffice it to say that when we read Mary’s great “Yes” to God at the Annunciation, we encounter something special when the Greek says, genoito moi, which our Lectionary translates as “May it be done to me,” although she is really uttering a different voicing of the same gínomai uttered by God at the Creation of the world.
This is why the King James Version of the Bible has it translated as “Be it to me,” which, for all its awkwardness, gets to the point of what Corbon is saying: humble Mary uses the very words her Lord used at the beginning of time, “Let it be.”
Why is this important? Well, it’s difficult to overstress that a new creation is happening as God joins Himself to humanity. This perfect merging of the divine essence with the human mind and body is something never accomplished before or since, and it has ramifications for history both before and since.
As Corbon writes, “The age of the mysterious ‘synergy’ between the river of life and the world of the flesh has begun; in the new creation every conception will henceforth be virginal … After the synergy of this first Pentecost, everything is unmerited and personal, everything a manifestation of the Spirit’s power … Henceforth, everything fleshly is permeated by the energy of love” (38).
There is a lot to meditate upon in these words. The cornerstone of our faith is who Jesus is. He is the Son of God, one with God, and yet also a man. He is immortal, but took on mortality so he could die and rise (for immortality cannot die), thus transforming humanity because of this experience. Without this belief in the divine nature of Jesus, we do not have the Christian faith and humanity has not been transformed. The Annunciation as a moment of new creation is absolutely indispensable to our faith.
In the previous quote from Corbon, he references the “first Pentecost,” that is, the first time the Spirit is poured out, emptied out in a kenosis, upon humanity. I am struck by how powerfully Corbon describes the action of the Spirit in the Incarnation of Jesus Christ. He writes:
Mary says “Yes”, and the Spirit who unites the Word and the Yes, divine energy and human energy, gift and acceptance, comes upon her. The Spirit of the Father is the one who crafts this Covenant, fulfilled at last, between the Word and flesh. In the first creation all that exists is “called from nothingness to being”. In the new creation that is beginning here, he who is eternally begotten of the Father is fashioned out of living earth, namely, the entire being of his mother … He who is to be born of the Daughter of Zion has been conceived not by any “will of man” or by any set of determining causes but by the power of the Holy Spirit (37-38).
I appreciate both his insistence upon the Holy Spirit as the one who is at work in Mary (as the angel Gabriel explains, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you”) as well as the difference between the first creation and this new creation. God creates from nothing in the first creation. It is his power alone that makes gínomai happen. But in this second creation, He has a raw material to join to his gínomai — a raw material that is made from dust but is illuminated with the breath of the Spirit already.
Like an errant breeze corralled back into the tornado of God’s Spirit, humanity is joined again to its source and is able to utter a gínomai alongside her maker. It is still God’s power alone through the Holy Spirit that makes the Incarnation happen, but Mary is able to participate in a way that no part of Creation has ever been able to participate. Her free will, granted by God and guided by holiness, forms the participatory force in this new creation; likewise, her body provides the participatory substance for this new creation.
Annunciation (Annunciazione), c.1435, Fra Angelico | Wikimedia Commons.
Nothing can overshadow the great outpouring of love in the form of the Holy Spirit at the Incarnation — that God should stoop so low as to become one of us out of love for us is simply staggering. This is hinted at by Gabriel: “[He] will overshadow you.” But let us also recognize that Mary performs her own kenosis of spirit by yielding completely to the will of the Father. It is this synergy, this union of love pouring out one for the other in both directions, that enables the new creation to happen. This has become humanity’s model for unity with God; something we can all recognize, strive for, and pray to the Virgin to help us achieve.
Let no one pass off the Annunciation as an unnecessary Christian myth. This deepest of encounters between God and humanity is the bedrock of our salvation!
Tuesday in the 4th Week of Advent: 1 Samuel 1:24-28, Luke 1:46-56.
As we approach our great day of rejoicing, the significance of our readings and the weight of salvation history build and magnify. We have been holding our breath, waiting for the Christ child to burst into the world, and these readings hit us like a burning in our lungs, desperate for the life-giving air just ahead.
Today’s readings leave me reeling, almost giddy with the knowledge that we get to take part in God’s great plan. Today, we hear Mary’s great Canticle, the Magnificat, the longest passage in the gospels attributed to her and something we chant along with her every night at Vespers. For many years, I thought of this as a slightly out-of-place, slightly stiff prayer. It seemed odd to be coming from the young, pregnant virgin.
But the readings today illuminate how Mary is the perfected maidservant of the Lord, offering Him rightful praise in a specific form handed down to her in the Jewish tradition. By tracing how Hannah prefigures Mary, much like other figures such as King David prefigure Jesus, we can see how the Christ Event transforms all who are caught up in His glory.
Hannah presenting her son Samuel to the priest Eli (1665), Gerbrand van den Eeckhout | Wikimedia Commons.
Hannah is the mother of the great prophet Samuel. Like Sarah before her, Hannah was barren and taunted by her husband’s second wife because of it. She prayed fervently to the Lord for a child and promised to dedicate the boy as a Nazirite if God would grant her a child. She prays so fervently (yet silent, swaying with her lips moving) that the priest Eli thinks she is drunk and scolds her. But she explains herself to him and he sends her away with a blessing. She responds, “Let your maidservant find favor in your sight” (1 Sam 1:18a, NASB and NKJV translations).
Lo, and behold, she conceives and bears the boy Samuel. Today’s first reading recounts how she returns to the temple with the boy, encounters Eli again, and leaves the boy there to be dedicated to God as a Nazirite.
These facts alone make her a precursor to Mary: barrenness/virgin womb, God’s help in conceiving a child, a humble and prayerful demeanor as as a “maidservant of the Lord,” and giving birth to a great religious figure. But it is the beginning of the second chapter in 1 Samuel where we see the huge parallel today.
At first I was flummoxed as to why the first reading wasn’t Hannah’s great prayer of thanks to God because of how it parallels the Canticle of Mary, but then I realized that it is actually used today as the responsorial psalm! It’s very fitting, too, because Hannah’s prayer looks and sounds much like one of the Psalms, which were meant to be sung, not just spoken.
We can recognize the similarities right from the beginning. Hannah begins, “My heart exults in the Lord; my strength is exalted in my God,” and Mary begins, “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord; my spirit rejoices in God my savior.” The two are not an exact match, and rightly so for Mary did not just repeat Hannah’s praise word-for-word (nor did Luke crib the text from the Book of Samuel!). They share a certain form in terms of their poetry, a certain amount of content, and a similar posture of exultant trust in the Lord’s power. Here is a quick look at their similarities:
Hannah’s Prayer
Canticle of Mary
My heart exults in the Lord; my strength is exalted in my God. (1 Sam 2:1a)
My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord; my spirit rejoices in God my savior. (Luke 1:46-47)
There is no Holy One like the Lord, no one besides you; there is no Rock like our God. (1 Sam 2:2)
the Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is his Name. (Luke 1:49)
Talk no more so very proudly, let not arrogance come from your mouth; for the Lord is a God of knowledge, and by him actions are weighed. (1 Sam 2:3)
He has shown the strength of his arm, and has scattered the proud in their conceit. (Luke 1:51)
The bows of the mighty are broken, but the feeble gird on strength. (1 Sam 2:4)
He has cast down the mighty from their thrones and has lifted up the lowly. (Luke 1:52)
Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread, but those who were hungry are fat with spoil. (1 Sam 2:5a)
He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty. (Luke 1:53)
He will guard the feet of his faithful ones, (1 Sam 2:9a)
He has mercy on those who fear him in every generation. (Luke 1:50)
The Lord will judge the ends of the earth; he will give strength to his king, and exalt the power of his anointed. (1 Sam 2:10b)
He has come to the help of his servant Israel for he remembered his promise of mercy, the promise he made to our fathers, to Abraham and his children for ever. (Luke 1:54-55)
As we look at these two paeans, over 1,000 years apart, we can see why Mary spoke in this formal way: much like Messianic prophecy is fulfilled in Christ, the “right praise” of God by His faithful maidservant is fulfilled in Mary. This formal prayer/song of praise is used when righteous Jewish women have been blessed by God’s mercy and through His power give birth to a person who changes the world. The Spirit of the Lord guides Mary to give praise in a way fit for the gravity of her role in salvation history.
The Visitation (1503), Mariotto Albertinelli | Wikimedia Commons.
As for what distinguishes the two, we can say that Hannah’s prayer feels like a capstone moment — it’s the song of vindication from the underdog who has been blessed with victory. You hear her mention many reversals of fortune: the mighty become weak while the feeble find strength, full people are destitute while the hungry are fat, barren women have many children while the one with many children is forlorn, etc. She recognizes that only by the power of Almighty God can these things happen, and she also recognizes that faithfulness to Him is repaid generously.
Mary, on the other hand, establishes less of a posture of the vindicated underdog and more of the simple handmaiden made as firm and beautiful as pearl by her faith in God. Those opening lines are just poetically beautiful: “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord; my spirit rejoices in God my savior, for he has looked upon his lowly servant.” She opens herself up so personally, so truthfully.
And she is in touch with the part of herself that communes with God: it is her spirit that is rejoicing and her soul proclaiming. She also realizes her place in salvation history here: “From this day all generations will call me blessed.” And I think it is this recognition that enables her to take on the formality of this prayer as well as the following lines that detail His work in previous generations: “He has shown the strength of his arm, and has scattered the proud in their conceit. He has cast down the mighty from their thrones and has lifted up the lowly. … the promise he made to our fathers, to Abraham and his children for ever.” This is essentially the structure of the Canticle of Mary: a personal, soulful prayer of thanks followed by the recognition of the fruition of God’s saving power in the history of her people. This is a prayer all of us can say with her and thank her for giving us the words of “right praise.”
All of our Advent themes are intertwining as we approach Christmas: anticipation, justice, patience, praise, recognition. But today’s readings demonstrate that the mystery is much deeper and more mystical than mere reflections can appreciate. Any type of “appreciation of themes and meaning” falls far short of coming face-to-face with the majesty and grandeur of God’s plan.
This is where forms and poetry play a role: for instance, Mary inhabiting and transforming an ages-old psalm of praise as the mystery elevates her. Forms and formality play a huge role in our Catholic experience of our faith for this very reason. The mysteries lived out in the Mass achieve a level of call and response that echoes our deepest yearnings for God and His for us. The forms of the prayers and songs at Mass soar within the great river of praise as passed down from Noah and Abraham until now.
I guess what I’m saying is that while I love a completely personal, charismatic, and spirit-filled experience of God and our faith, I truly believe that the forms of our prayer, the rituals of our sacramental life elevate us and our experience of the mysteries of our faith. More than simply enriching our faith lives, the forms are essential because they achieve a beauty of expression that is missing without them.
Mass of Saint Giles (c.1500) Master of Saint Giles | Wikimedia Commons.
Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception, Tuesday in the 2nd Week of Advent: Genesis 3:9-15, 20, Ephesians 1:3-6, 11-12, Luke 1: 26-38.
Today the Roman Catholic Church celebrates the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception in a more codified manner than any other Christian denomination, including our Orthodox brethren. The story is long, essentially going back to St. Augustine’s position on original sin carried by humanity, inherited from Adam and Eve (and, interestingly, passed on genetically through male semen). A feast day honoring Mary — specifically her birth into a sinless state — actually began in the Eastern Orthodox churches in the 600s. Four hundred years later, we have records of theological objections in the Western church. Nonetheless, it was the Roman Catholic Church that ended up embracing this tradition and, in 1854, Pope Pious IX invoked papal infallibility to declare as dogma that Mary, through God’s grace, was conceived free from the stain of original sin. Protestants outright rejected this dogma as false and the Orthodox Churches did not accept the teaching as dogmatic (they never accepted St. Augustine’s teaching on original sin, for that matter). The objections were that there was no textual evidence in the New Testament to support this teaching, but Pope Pious had the support of 90% of his bishops on the matter and thus issued the papal bull Ineffabilis Deus.
The Immaculate Conception (Inmaculada Concepción), 1767-1769, Giovanni Battista Tiepolo | Wikimedia Commons. From Wikipedia: “The definitive iconography for the depiction of Our Lady seems to have been finally established by the painter and theorist Francisco Pacheco in his “El arte de la pintura” of 1649: a beautiful young girl of 12 or 13, wearing a white tunic and blue mantle, rays of light emanating from her head ringed by twelve stars and crowned by an imperial crown, the sun behind her and the moon beneath her feet.”
I don’t want to challenge or defend the Roman Catholic dogma of Mary’s own Immaculate Conception — this is far outside of my knowledge and I have no right or desire to weigh in on this. Instead, I’d like to ponder the realities that the Eastern and Western Catholic Churches share in their reverence of Mary. Today’s readings re-introduce us to humanity’s original sin in the story of Adam and Eve in the Book of Genesis. This is because we consider Mary to be the new Eve. This belief of the Church arose in the earliest years, during the Apostolic Age and Age of the Church Fathers. Justin Martyr, born in 100 AD, was first trained as a Stoic philosopher, then adopted Platonism before converting to Christianity after a conversation with an old Christian man. His logical, philosophical argumentation style has given us invaluable records about the early Christians. He writes of the new Eve,
He became man by the Virgin, in order that the disobedience which proceeded from the serpent might receive its destruction in the same manner in which it derived its origin. For Eve, who was a virgin and undefiled, having conceived the word of the serpent, brought forth disobedience and death. But the Virgin Mary received faith and joy, when the angel Gabriel announced the good tidings to her … she replied, ‘Be it unto me according to your word.’
(Dialogue with Trypho, Ch 100).
Let’s take note of how he draws the parallel between Eve and Mary along the lines of disobedience and obedience, specifically in whose word they listen to. Eve receives and obeys the word of the serpent, which is identified with worldliness, guile, and the Devil. In so doing, she disobeys the Word of God. Mary, on the other hand, receives and obeys the Word of God on multiple levels: the Word via the mouth of the Angel Gabriel and the Word made flesh in her womb. So she atones for original sin by making the correct choice of obedience (an internal act of reception and obedience) and also she assents to become the living vessel for a new humanity, perfected by God (an external act of procreation, a sharing in the creative energies of God).
Here we start to see the importance of both Eve and Mary being virgins: they are pure vessels, starting points for what is to come. Because of her disobedience and fall from the garden, Eve gave birth to sin and degradation in the very first generation (Cain and Abel). Thanks to her obedience, Mary is a fitting vessel for God’s perfecting creative energy, and she gives birth to the Messiah, Jesus Christ. Eve starts a history of fallen humanity, subject to sin, while Mary begins a history of a new people, adopted sons and daughters of God the Father who are given the chance for sanctification and deification in their lives.
Viewed in this way, it is fitting to mark with a Solemnity this perfect human who received God’s Word willingly and completely, thus ushering in an entirely new era for humanity.
Eve and Mary (1481), Berthold Furtmeyr, in the Missal of Bernhard von Rohr, Archbishop of Salzburg | Image from blog.theotokos.co.za.
We must, of course, revere Mary as the Queen of Heaven and blessed saint that she is, but also recognize that hers was the work to which all Christians are called: reception of God’s Word and doing His Will. It is always God who is the author, and we are but clay in His hands, even Mary. Another Church Father, Tertullian (c.150-240 AD), writes about the importance of Mary’s assent in terms of salvation history and a new humanity. “He who was going to consecrate a new order of birth, must Himself be born after a novel fashion,” (On the Flesh of Christ, 17). Tertullian recalls how, in Genesis, Adam “was formed by God into a quickening spirit out of the ground — in other words, out of a flesh which was unstained as yet by any human generation.” The virgin in this case is the earth herself (rather than Eve). Tertullian sees an interesting phenomenon in the way God chooses to rectify Eve’s original sin:
it was by just the contrary operation that God recovered His own image and likeness, of which He had been robbed by the devil. For it was while Eve was yet a virgin, that the ensnaring word had crept into her ear which was to build the edifice of death. Into a virgin’s soul, in like manner, must be introduced that Word of God which was to raise the fabric of life. … Hence it was necessary that Christ should come forth for the salvation of man, in that condition of flesh into which man had entered ever since his condemnation. (17)
In other words, the first “operation” is that God forms a “quickening spirit” out of the virgin ground, but the “contrary operation” is the Word of God introduced into the soul of the Virgin Mary. In the first, there’s a body (the earth) from which God creates a spirit (Adam). In the second, there’s a spirit (Mary) from which God creates a man (Jesus). The Word of God is the creative energy for both.
Early depiction of Mary, provenance unknown | Image from theraccolta.tumblr.com.
I am struck in Tertullian’s writing by how intertwined we find God and humanity as well as bodies and souls. In particular, I like how he describes the Incarnation as a the way “God recovered His own image and likeness, of which He had been robbed by the devil.” This is a fantastic reminder that we are, fundamentally and ultimately, God’s own image and likeness. No matter how much we like to think that we are our own beings, we are His. Mary recognized this and gave us back to Him. Thus, we can understand St. Paul’s words to the Ephesians in today’s second reading: “he chose us in him, before the foundation of the world, to be holy and without blemish before him.” We can’t forget that God made us to be holy and without blemish before him. This is our driving motivation behind all moral behavior: to please our Creator and rise up to His dreams for us. As He loves us, so we strive to love Him. Paul explains that Christ’s existence, sacrifice and resurrection makes our unification with our Father possible, “In him we were also chosen, destined in accord with the purpose of the One who accomplishes all things according to the intention of his will, so that we might exist for the praise of his glory, we who first hoped in Christ.” Our existence — with God’s grace — can be the “praise of his glory.”
And is this not what Mary’s existence is? Through her, we learn our own potential. We learn that we can assent to God’s will and bear in ourselves the action of the Holy Spirit, letting everything point to the fruits of the Spirit. This requires a lot of grace! We recognize this as the Angel Gabriel greets her in today’s gospel, “Hail, full of grace! The Lord is with you.” I examined the gospel of the Annunciation at length in my post Our Blessed Kecharitōmenē, but let me borrow a few passages here for emphasis. The original Greek is enlightening:
Ancient Greek: χαῖρε, κεχαριτωμένη, ὁ κύριος μετὰ σοῦ.
“Greeklish”: Chaire, kecharitōmenē, ho kyrios meta sou!
English: Hail, “Full of Grace,” the Lord is with you!
Kecharitōmenē is not an adjective; it’s used only once in sacred scripture and never in secular texts. It is a noun, a unique title for Mary, and would be better translated as “The One Whom Grace Inhabits.” Thus, a better translation of the whole greeting would be: “Grace to you, The One Whom Grace Inhabits, The Lord is with you!”
This is much grace indeed, and we can consider how many ways grace actually “inhabits” Mary. The point is that our relationship with God is always supported and nourished by Him. Even in this most unique and spectacular human, we see God’s grace doing a lot of heavy lifting. She must have courage, she must remain faithful to Him in her heart and actions, but she is not alone in this: “The Lord is with you!” Gabriel reiterates this when explaining how Elizabeth can bear a son in her old age: “for nothing will be impossible for God.” This reassurance from Gabriel enables Mary to respond, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.” And with these words, she changes the world.
Mary, Mother of God (20th Century), provenance unknown | Image from draganbachev.wordpress.com.
I guess my reflection has made me consider that even though Mary is so special and vastly above the rest of us in holiness, grace, and perfection, she is also very close to us. She is simply human, a vessel for God, just like us. We can revere her for who she is and what she accomplished by being completely open to God’s grace, and we can seek her understanding, comforting embrace when we struggle with the same smallness of being human in our times of weakness.
Solemnity of the Annunciation: Isaiah 7:10-14; 8:10, Hebrews 10:4-10, Luke 1:26-38.
God has poured out his grace on us all, most especially Mary, on this holy day! Today we celebrate one of the greatest miracles, the Annunciation that God will dwell in humanity, and Mary’s resounding yet humble “yes.” Today’s readings display how God shared his plan 730 years earlier and also reveal the unique title bestowed on Mary from Heaven: Kecharitōmenē.
Isaiah’s reading is interesting because we hear that the Lord speaks to King Ahaz of Judah and tells him to ask for a great sign, “let it be deep as the nether world, or high as the sky!” What an offer! And yet King Ahaz refuses the Lord, citing the commandment not to test the Lord. With this, he displays a stunning lack of discernment about the law and the Lord. To follow God’s Word is not to test the Lord. Isaiah rightly upbraids him: “Is it not enough for you to weary people, must you also weary my God?” (This makes me chuckle; clearly, Isaiah is the one being wearied here.) So, God says he will give his own sign: “the virgin shall be with child, and bear a son, and shall name him Emmanuel.”
God’s promise to his people, 730 years before the event: this is how prophecy works. Our timeline is not the same as God’s. He decides when we might be ready to accept his gifts. And as we shall explore, one key to this great mystery is, in fact, acceptance.
St. Paul’s letter to the Hebrews gives us an idea of the type of acceptance that Mary, and in turn Jesus, gives to God. Conveying Jesus’s words, Paul writes, “a body you prepared for me; in holocausts and sin offerings you took no delight. Then I said, ‘As is written of me in the scroll, behold, I come to do your will, O God.’” Throughout the Old Testament we find references to the conversion of heart that God prefers to the ritual sacrifices and offerings; Jesus will emphatically proclaim this in his ministry while becoming the one sacrifice and offering to end them all. He also references Isaiah’s prophecy of his coming “as is written of me in the scroll.”
The Agony in the Garden of Gethsemane (La Oración del huerto), c.1590, El Greco | Wikimedia Commons.
Not to strike an emotional off-note in this post, but for me his words “behold, I come to do your will, O God,” are heart-wrenching. This is because I know the shame, pain, and horror that awaits Jesus in his crucifixion, and we see him accept it willingly, “like a lamb led to the slaughter.” I know that we should rejoice in his coming and how he offers everything that he is to the Father, but at the same time I have pity and empathy for my brother and Savior. Like Mary, I want to wrap my arms around him and save him from what awaits. What are we in comparison to him? Shouldn’t we all want to take his place, to save him from this burden? Are we too wrapped up in our small problems and desire to have our crosses lifted that we miss the chance to save him from his Cross?
I know that this is not possible, that his coming and sacrifice for our salvation is pre-ordained and that he is the most amazing heavenly gift of self from God, but something inside of me is stirred with compassion, and I don’t think that’s wrong. As we approach Holy Week, we must embrace this compassion for Christ in our hearts, for it is a part of God’s agape, it is why we commemorate his sacrifice every year and every Mass.
Enough! Let’s turn our attention to the gospel reading. We all know this story, it is our spiritual lineage. A virgin is betrothed to Joseph of the house of David. The Angel Gabriel “was sent from God” to her. And here is what he says:
Ancient Greek: χαῖρε, κεχαριτωμένη, ὁ κύριος μετὰ σοῦ. “Greeklish”: Chaire, kecharitōmenē, ho kyrios meta sou! English: Hail, “Full of Grace,” the Lord is with you!
I want to dwell on the actual Greek text here because it’s very important. The Angel Gabriel bestows on Mary a one-of-a-kind greeting, and “Full of Grace” doesn’t quite sum up the name he calls her, Kecharitōmenē. First, let’s get our pronunciation down (since we should all know how to speak her heavenly title): keh-kah-rih-toe-MEN-ee.¹ Notice that the root of his first two words is the same: χαῖρε (chaire) and χαριτω (charitō), which would have sounded a bit like heavenly wordplay coming from the Angel Gabriel, or at least a doubling or emphasis. “Kai-ray, keh-kah-rih-toe-MEN-ee,” he said.
So what does this root word mean? χαριτω (charitō) means “grace”; χαῖρε (chaire) means “hail!” or “greetings!” and is clearly meant to be a happy greeting as the addition of -τε makes χαίρετε (chairete), which means “rejoice!”
Our Lady of Peace tapestry (printed on cotton), photo of tapestry hanging in the author’s home. The artwork was originally created in the workshop of Hendrik Slabbinck in Bruges, Belgium during World War II.
However, κεχαριτωμένη (kecharitōmenē) is only used once in scripture and never in secular writings. That’s right, this one-of-a-kind word is invoked by the Angel Gabriel at that moment, used uniquely as a title for Mary. The common English translation is “full of grace,” which is fairly close, but does not express its true depth. In fact, “full of grace” is properly written as πληρης χαριτος (pleres charitos), which is used in reference to Christ in the prologue of the Gospel of St. John (Jn 1:14) and in reference to St. Stephen in the Acts of the Apostles (Acts 6:8).
But Kecharitōmenē is not an adjective. It is a noun, a title, and would be better translated as “The One Whom Grace Inhabits.” Thus, a better translation of the whole greeting would be: “Grace to you, The One Whom Grace Inhabits, The Lord is with you!”
The Annunciation (early 2000s), Olga Suvorova | Creative Commons, courtesy european-people-history.com/art4664. I appreciate the artist’s imagination here for how to picture the overflowing grace on Kecharitōmenē, although the facial expressions are too affected for my tastes and I think they lack the appropriate emotional register of the Annunciation.
Why does this matter? This unique title that the Lord bestows on Mary tells us about her role and special place in salvation history. Just like Abram is called Abraham (“Father of Nations”) and Simon is called Peter (“the Rock”), Mary is given a particular name and vocation. Before Mary is the Mother of God (Theotokos), before she is Mother of the Church (Mater ecclesiae), Mary is The One Whom Grace Inhabits (Kecharitōmenē). This name tells us that she is defined by the grace God gives her (by being chosen for her role) and the divine grace that will physically inhabit her womb. “Full of grace,” indeed!
Mary’s reaction is understandable: “she was greatly troubled at what was said and pondered what sort of greeting this might be.” Absolutely! She, a humble Jewish virgin teenager was not only approached by an angel, but that angel greeted her with enthusiastic respect and a unique title that had never been uttered before!
The Angel Gabriel reassures her and explains that she has “found favor with God.” He explains that she will conceive and bear a son she will name Jesus, not to mention this son will inherit “the throne of David,” he will “rule forever,” and his “Kingdom” will have no end. Mary’s first question: “How can this be, since I have no relations with a man?” (As if, hold that thought on the whole Messianic child thing … you said something about conceiving??)
And here we see the beautiful simplicity and purity of Mary, unperturbed at the majestic role the Lord has in store for her, but making sure that her purity was upheld. For most people, Gabriel’s answer would have probably led to just more questions: “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you,” but not Mary. She doesn’t press him further. Contrast this with King Ahaz’s refusal to ask God for a sign in the first reading from Isaiah. The Angel Gabriel then reveals that this conception by the Holy Spirit will make the child the “Son of God.”
We don’t ponder the next moment much, but consider that the fate of humanity hangs in the balance. Mary could choose to refuse this, knowing the problems a mystery pregnancy would cause her husband-to-be, her family, and her community. She could balk at the sheer greatness of expectation hanging on her to be the mother of the Messiah, of the Son of God. But her beautiful, sweet, humble answer is — in a nutshell — why she is so adored by the Church. In a sentence that itself can form the blueprint for all prayers, she responds, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.”
Virgin Mary (Virgen María), 1887, Joaquín Sorolla | Creative Commons, courtesy Wikiart.org. I like Sorolla’s very personal and human depiction of a pregnant Virgin Mary here. We are so often presented with the alabaster-skinned, statuesque Virgin Mary that it’s good to remember that she was a very real Jewish girl from Nazareth, likely darker in complexion, if not skin tone, and a model for us all precisely because she was fully human like us. Sorolla’s use of black and white here is also notable – the white head covering and halo emphasize the grace bestowed on her from above while the black maintains her human nature or perhaps even a kind of mourning for her inevitable separation from the rest of humanity as she is elevated on such a majestic and heavenly pedestal.
And here we also see the glory of God who places his grace in the hearts of his people who must meet it with their free will. While His power is so undeniable and great, he chooses for it to be at the same time fragile. To enter into humanity first through the humble assent of a teenage girl and then the vulnerable form of an infant in a manger! He is always teaching us, caring for us as he enters into our human history. Could we have had a more gentle and humbling entrance for the Lord than the Virgin Mary conceiving a child not from her husband?
Finally, let us understand the importance of the Annunciation in the scope of salvation history. The scene of the Annunciation painted by the great Dominican Fra Angelico below displays the import of this event:
Annunciation (Annunciazione), c.1435, Fra Angelico | Wikimedia Commons.
This is the third in a series of paintings that Fra Angelico made from 1430-1435, and the richest theologically. Unique to this version, we find the ray of light emanating from the hands of God, sending the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove; we see the archways decorated in vibrant dark blue with golden stars, the classic medieval way to represent the entire cosmos, under which Mary is seated as if on a throne; and we see Adam and Eve being expelled from the Garden of Eden. Our Catholic theology of Mary is highly developed. We understand that she is the Ark of the New Covenant, containing God in a new way just as the Ark of the Covenant built by Moses contained the stone tablets and the presence of God. We also understand that she is the New Eve, undoing the great original sin of disobeying God by obeying him via the Incarnation. This painting by Fra Angelico not only depicts the actual visitation of the Angel Gabriel but also the mystical aspects of the encounter such as the Holy Spirit coming upon her and the establishment of her role in salvation history as the New Eve.
Blessed are we that Kecharitōmenē was chosen by God for this great vocation! Blessed are we that she can be our spiritual mother, our intercessor with God to Whom she has joined in Heaven.
¹ Scholars note that Ancient Greek was pronounced differently than modern Greek, so while modern Greek speakers would pronounce χαῖρε (chaire) with a soft-ish “ch” sound at the beginning, ancient Greek speakers would pronounce this as a “kh” sound like our word “kite.” I’ve stuck with pronunciations as St. Luke and his readers would have said them.
