Gentile Bellini “Annunciation” 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 virgins name was Mary. He went in and said to her, Rejoice, so highly favoured! 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 Gods favour. Listen! You are to conceive and bear a son, and you must name him Jesus… Mary said to the angel, But how can this come about, 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… I am the handmaid of the Lord, said Mary let what you have said be done to me. And the angel left her.
Luke 1:26-38
A friend of mine, poet Kilian McDonnell OSB, wrote a poem titled “In the Kitchen.” Here are a few lines:
Bellini has it wrong.
I was not kneeling
on my satin cushion
quietly at prayer,
head slightly bent.
Painters always
skew the scene,
as though my life
were wrapped in silks,
in temple smells.
Actually I had just
come back from the well,
placing the pitcher on the table
I bumped against the edge,
spilling water on the floor.
As I bent to wipe
it up, there was a light
against the kitchen wall
as though someone had opened
the door to the sun…
Hearing the story in Luke, or reflecting on some of the many paintings made of the Annunciation, we might be tempted, like the painters, to forget that Mary was a young girl, busy with ordinary chores of life in Nazareth. Was she frightened when she saw the light and realized what was being asked of her? Was she tempted to say “no” to the invitation to become a pregnant, unmarried, betrothed maiden? Did images of implications flash through her mind?
Her faith was deep and pure. Still, saying “Yes” was a brave thing, a profound thing for the young girl to say. She was giving herself away to her God and to a future that she could not imagine. She trusted God with her life which in that moment was forever changed.
When someone called Dorothy Day, founder of the Catholic Worker, “a saint,” her reply was: Don’t call me a saint. I don’t want to be dismissed so easily.
We should not dismiss Mary easily either, by imagining she was so different than us. It gets us off the hook of responding courageously to God’s call to us. Just as calling someone “a saint” puts her in a category of “other,” and makes her life not some much an example to be followed as an aberration available to a select few, thinking of Mary as the serene woman in Bellini’s painting can imply that we have an excuse for not following her example: She is different than the rest of us.
Indeed, she is different: She is the mother of God. Still, she was a human being and her “yes” came with great cost. This is not a day of sentimentality, but a day of challenge. A day to commit ourselves to saying “yes” despite the cost.
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