[img]http://www.catholica.com.au/sunday/images/Y-not_an_640x166.gif[/img]
Fourth Sunday of Advent C
December 23, 2012
Reading I: Micah 5:1-4a
Responsorial Psalm: 80:2-3, 15-16, 18-19
Reading II: Hebrews 10:5-10
Gospel: Luke 1:39-45
Gospel Lk 1:39-45
Mary set outand traveled to the hill country in haste
to a town of Judah,
where she entered the house of Zechariah
and greeted Elizabeth.
When Elizabeth heard Mary's greeting,
the infant leaped in her womb,
and Elizabeth, filled with the Holy Spirit,
cried out in a loud voice and said,
"Blessed are you among women,
and blessed is the fruit of your womb.
And how does this happen to me,
that the mother of my Lord should come to me?
For at the moment the sound of your greeting reached my ears,
the infant in my womb leaped for joy.
Blessed are you who believed
that what was spoken to you by the Lord
would be fulfilled."
Blessed are you who believed...
Christmas time is replete with stories around the birth of a special baby once upon a time... Going round the crowded supermarket, among the tortured renditions of tunes ancient and modern, sometimes can be heard the essential myth voiced in the sweetest tones. "O holy night..."
I want to focus on this girl from Nazareth who believed, wondering about what stages of change and growth she went through leading up to her cousin's praise. You are blest because you have believed...
We've been discussing on the Forum whether one can have a personal relationship with 'god'. The question brought forth a number of responses with the one reply: 'Yes. In fact, I do.' Mary of Nazareth, standing on the threshold of her life as wife and mother, would, I think, have answered in this vein. For so many it is the air we breathe, which does not mean it is without its problems (even air has its pollution), but the experience of the thoughtful being is equated with spiritual experience. Stephen Hawkins is 'grateful' for the wonders of life. Many would ask: Grateful to what, or to whom? Others too are grateful, and open their minds and hearts to possibilities beyond imagining.
One assumes that Mary of Nazareth was a reflective soul. (They are not uncommon - thoughtful girls. We've got one in our family.)
Looking forward she would dream of becoming a mother,
dream of carrying new life within,
dream of holding her baby in her arms, extension of her mysterious core...
And an idea comes, as if spoken by an angel:
She has always believed, of course, that her dreams would come true,
that she would be a mother,
but this is something else:
She had never before thought about what he might be? Will he be great? That great?
How would this come about? What sort of father would he have?
The primordial drive comes to the fore: the woman chooses the man to be the father of her children.
I have no man? What sort of man should I be looking for, to be the father of a great one?
It doesn't matter what man, what sort of man. The child's greatness will be of god,
for the Spirit - the ruach hakodesh*
will overshadow you,
the word echoes the ancient story of the cloud that overshadowed the mountain, that filled the temple...
Me? Not me - filled with the breath of god...!
The prospect will not go away.
It hangs in the mind, perhaps for many days and nights, troubling,
such a disturbing thought: that I might be destined
to be part of something great. Not me. Not me.
I want to hide...
We all know this situation,
having been there at least once, or maybe often in a passing thought.
We have a reflex to pull back, to prefer the common road,
to let someone else take the high road with its dangers...
She remembered prophets who fled into the desert to escape the breath of god,
the ruach hakodesh
She smiled, for the first time feeling at one with Jonah in his epic flight, only to be swallowed by a whale (!)
and sent back to his thankless task...
"Where can you hide...?"
Slowly it becomes a clear, undeniable conviction.
The child,
my child is destined to be great - but greatness always costs a terrible price.
All the great ones of history paid dearly for it.
And not just in our history: Alexander is still called The Great (much as Napoleon is in our times).
He rampaged through the nations from here to Persia and beyond,
but did not make it home...
There's something else: this one, my baby, is to be called
Son of the Most High.
That is an extraordinary title. He will be holy? He will have the qualities of god?
Holy?
Did she finally say Yes
because it was all too much for her small self to question?
"Who am I...?" cousin Elizabeth asked.
"Who am I...?"
I can only be god's servant. Be it done, howsoever great, howsoever painful.
I shall not be fate's plaything, or life's accidental error:
I will be all I can be; I will hope for great things;
I believe everything is possible to god.
*Ruach hakodesh: check it out through Google,
or try Wiki http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holy_Spirit_%28Judaism%29
Christmas time is replete with stories around the birth of a special baby once upon a time... Going round the crowded supermarket, among the tortured renditions of tunes ancient and modern, sometimes can be heard the essential myth voiced in the sweetest tones. "O holy night..."
I want to focus on this girl from Nazareth who believed, wondering about what stages of change and growth she went through leading up to her cousin's praise. You are blest because you have believed...
We've been discussing on the Forum whether one can have a personal relationship with 'god'. The question brought forth a number of responses with the one reply: 'Yes. In fact, I do.' Mary of Nazareth, standing on the threshold of her life as wife and mother, would, I think, have answered in this vein. For so many it is the air we breathe, which does not mean it is without its problems (even air has its pollution), but the experience of the thoughtful being is equated with spiritual experience. Stephen Hawkins is 'grateful' for the wonders of life. Many would ask: Grateful to what, or to whom? Others too are grateful, and open their minds and hearts to possibilities beyond imagining.
One assumes that Mary of Nazareth was a reflective soul. (They are not uncommon - thoughtful girls. We've got one in our family.)
Looking forward she would dream of becoming a mother,
dream of carrying new life within,
dream of holding her baby in her arms, extension of her mysterious core...
And an idea comes, as if spoken by an angel:
'Your son will be great - he will be called Son of the Most High.'
She has always believed, of course, that her dreams would come true,
that she would be a mother,
but this is something else:
She had never before thought about what he might be? Will he be great? That great?
How would this come about? What sort of father would he have?
The primordial drive comes to the fore: the woman chooses the man to be the father of her children.
I have no man? What sort of man should I be looking for, to be the father of a great one?
It doesn't matter what man, what sort of man. The child's greatness will be of god,
for the Spirit - the ruach hakodesh*
will overshadow you,
the word echoes the ancient story of the cloud that overshadowed the mountain, that filled the temple...
Me? Not me - filled with the breath of god...!
The prospect will not go away.
It hangs in the mind, perhaps for many days and nights, troubling,
such a disturbing thought: that I might be destined
to be part of something great. Not me. Not me.
I want to hide...
We all know this situation,
having been there at least once, or maybe often in a passing thought.
We have a reflex to pull back, to prefer the common road,
to let someone else take the high road with its dangers...
She remembered prophets who fled into the desert to escape the breath of god,
the ruach hakodesh
She smiled, for the first time feeling at one with Jonah in his epic flight, only to be swallowed by a whale (!)
and sent back to his thankless task...
"Where can you hide...?"
Slowly it becomes a clear, undeniable conviction.
The child,
my child is destined to be great - but greatness always costs a terrible price.
All the great ones of history paid dearly for it.
And not just in our history: Alexander is still called The Great (much as Napoleon is in our times).
He rampaged through the nations from here to Persia and beyond,
but did not make it home...
There's something else: this one, my baby, is to be called
Son of the Most High.
That is an extraordinary title. He will be holy? He will have the qualities of god?
Holy?
Did she finally say Yes
because it was all too much for her small self to question?
"Who am I...?" cousin Elizabeth asked.
"Who am I...?"
I can only be god's servant. Be it done, howsoever great, howsoever painful.
I shall not be fate's plaything, or life's accidental error:
I will be all I can be; I will hope for great things;
I believe everything is possible to god.
*Ruach hakodesh: check it out through Google,
or try Wiki http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holy_Spirit_%28Judaism%29