Possibility

Having started with the theme of poverty, moved through that of probability, we move to that of possibility. In Christian terms, we understand possibility as hope. Hope enables us to think in open terms, that all things are possible with God. We can take risks, trusting that God is with us through our successes and our failures. The sky is the limit. Beyond that, the Christian hope is the resurrection — that life promised us through baptism.

[reading of the Annunciation]

The Feast of the Annunciation is 25 March. It is one of those moments when we momentarily leave the solemnity of Lent and we turn backward or forward, whichever way you’d like to go, to the story of the Annunciation. Hearing the familiar story of the angel Gabriel’s visit to Mary always comes as a shock in the midst of Lent, but given that tradition observes the Annunciation nine months before Christmas, we experience this delicious juxtaposition annually. (In 2035 and 2046 we will celebrate Easter Sunday in lieu of the Annunciation, but who’s waiting?)

Yet the story of Mary’s, ‘Yes,’ to God, and that of our Lenten journey find common ground because both speak of saying, ‘Yes,’ to that which is unknown. Both speak of the soul’s journey on an unknown path that can pierce our hearts, while bringing us a step closer to redemption.

Gabriel comes to Mary with the familiar words of greeting, ‘Hail, o favoured one.’ We know scripture well enough to remember that any angelic greeting with those words signals impending upheaval in the listener’s life. Gabriel’s greeting is no different. We know well his announcement of God’s outrageous plan for Mary as much as we recall her response, ‘Here I am’—that, in its simplicity, is so remarkable, heartfelt and unexpected.

Annunciations are fearsome and potentially dangerous things. Annunciations speak of God’s way for us and that way is some times contrary to our reason or desires. Mary’s simple response astounds us because, even after hearing and listening to the outrageous plan God has for her, she responds out of faith: ‘Here I am.’

Her response is reminiscent of other biblical persons of faith who have responded with the same confidence, yet not knowing where God was leading them. There is Moses, who, upon hearing God’s plans for Israel, asserts: ‘Hear O Israel, the Lord our God is One.’ There is Samuel who asks to hear more saying, ‘Speak, Lord….’ There is Isaiah, who assures God he will still be there, ‘I will listen as one who is taught, and given ears to hear.’

Mary listens in her bones. Despite Gabriel’s message, which portends potential havoc for her life, Mary trusts. The Gospel of Luke states she pondered these things in her heart. Whatever she heard and understood from Gabriel she took the message deep into her heart and let it rest in her soul until it was ready to be born of God.

What a response of faith and trust hers is, particularly when she will later hear another annunciation even more troubling than the first. Think of the presentation of Jesus in the temple when Simeon tells her, ‘A sword will pierce your heart.’ This second annunciation disturbs greatly because it speaks of a reality fulfilled, the birth—and death—of Jesus. Surely there are moments of panic and worry. Yet Mary’s second response is as tranquil and confident as the first, ‘Let it be.’

With each progressive annunciation, astonishingly, Mary welcomes what is being revealed for her. She learns more about her life and who she is called to be and what road she walks. Through a series of progressive ‘Yes’s, each one leading her deeper and deeper into God’s desire, Mary enters into her true identity and becomes her true self. God’s word always calls us more fully to being. Mary’s ‘Yes’ leads to the cross, and then to the resurrection — through her suffering and joy, Mary remains faithful to her initial response to God, ‘Here I am.’

There is another piece to Mary’s ‘Yes.’ Remember how Gabriel assures her that ‘nothing is impossible with God.’ She is not alone. Before Mary can say ‘Yes,’ she needs a human voice to address her and human arms to embrace her. That person is Elizabeth who, through her own improbable experience, gives Mary the freedom to cry out the Magnificat, that great hymn of reversals.

Did Mary really understand when the angel came to her that her heart would be broken, a sword thrust through it, a cross marked on it? Did she know what would happen when the angel Gabriel came to her and announced that she would bear Jesus, the Son of God?

I don’t think so. She, like many of us, started out on a journey of which she did not know the outcome. She, like many of us, did not know where she was going or what it would mean. Perhaps she found out a little in her walking the way. Whatever the case, she trusted.

Though the Mary we meet in today’s Gospel is a young woman, the betrothed of Joseph, a carpenter from Nazareth, she still takes on the unimaginable. Alone she hears deep within her someone, something pulling at her heart, calling her to do and be what is unthinkable.

Mary, God’s favored one, becomes a woman of hope, because, in the face of hard and fearful times, she said Yes to God, a Yes that would draw her far beyond her imagination, capacities and understanding.

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It is no big thing to be hopeful when things are going well, when we have a meaningful job, when our relationships with those we love are rich and joyful, when we are in good health, when the world is at peace. But when everything seems to be out of alignment, then it is harder to hope and convey it to those around us. And, in times when we are waiting for what we don’t know, it is even harder to know how to hope, how to pray or even how to say yes to God.

Yet the hope of which Mary is an example is the Yes we say to God and to ourselves precisely when all around us are fear, grief and uncertainty. Hope is the freedom to live with love and compassion in the midst of hard things that are out of our control. Hope is the capacity to care when the caring will break our heart. Hope sets us free to care and care and care again, to keep vigil in those circumstances when grief threatens to overwhelm us and those around us.

Perhaps these days Mary is the mother of hope because she is the one who brings to us this much-needed word. Hope is an active, chain breaking energy. Hopeful people move out and change things, take risks and are able to sacrifice their good for a larger good. Mary’s Yes comes from her heart of hope…. You, O God, have remembered your promise of mercy, the promise you made to our forebears, to Abraham and Sara and their children forever.

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While not the only way to respond to God’s call, I have some thoughts about the way to say YES to this call, and to make a difference.

Sometimes we must live and serve faithfully and not be captured by our desire for results. It is like being willing to pray for healing for someone who will soon die.

Sometimes we are called not to be the solution but to be a sign, a witness to God’s dream for the world. When we pray and work for peace and the end of violence, we have to be ready to witness by word and action, take risks, and yet not see much happen as a result of our witness and prayer. We need to trust that God will use our sign.

Sometimes we are called simply to show up, to be present when we can do nothing. It is like being called to sit for hours by a friend who has just lost her child; befriending an alcoholic whose entire life has been lost and who has to start all over again; being in solidarity, sharing in the struggles and hope of people impoverished and abandoned. . .simply being present, silently some times when no spoken word, no action is adequate.

Sometimes we are called to be prophets: that is, to know and believe deeply in our hearts the Dream of God, and to live and struggle for that dream among the people God calls us to serve. As in the case of a small mustard seed, or a pinch of yeast, God can and will make something of this small witness of ours. I think of a small group of Palestinians and Israelis who for many years have believed in and worked for reconciliation and peace between their two peoples, and who are still at it even in these dark times.

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Are we not all like Mary, making our way along paths uncharted?

What keeps us, like Mary, going on those roads whose ways are not clear to us and whose outcomes are unknown? Do we have the same sort of trust that Mary did—a trust that is not based on an awful lot, but on the abiding presence of God?

Can we say yes to God’s tuggings at our hearts, a ‘yes’ that is not as the sure response of having life in control, but is as a risk, as a leap into the unknown?

This sense of trust in God’s ways is a lot to ask of us, sometimes. It is hard for us sometimes to let go of that control, to take that leap into the unknown. Letting go can bring incredible pain as our roots that we have lovingly set down over time are ripped out of the ground. Yet letting go and trusting in God can help us let go of our preconceived ideas so that we may dare to hope and dream of God’s desire for us.

Something new, something wondrous, something beautiful can come of our letting go and trusting in God. When we try something new, when we let go of something old, when we grow and are transformed, we find God in our midst.

Hymn 689
I sought the Lord, and afterward I knew
he moved my soul to seek him seeking me;
it was not I that found, O Saviour true,
no, I was found of thee.

I find, I walk, I love, but oh,
the whole of love is but my answer, Lord, to thee:
for thou wert long beforehand with my soul,
always thou lovest me.

Part of Lent is to walk more intentionally God’s road, to go into those places we might not enter otherwise. Part of Lent is to take tentative steps toward answering God’s calls with an unconditional ‘yes.’ Part of Lent is finding those people, those places and those forms of prayer that lead to a greater trust—a trust that can undergird all that we do.

Antonio Machado has said, ‘Traveller, there is no road; the way is made by walking.’ Embarking on that journey, however, is costly. Yet as God’s chosen, we can do none other than walk, journeying on God’s road. We can do none other than trust, as did Mary. Perhaps, then, in our walking and trusting in God, we, too, can reach the point where we can answer with integrity, like Mary, Here I am… let it be. And so today we pray for the capacity to say YES to God, for hope, for the freedom not to have to flee from times or places where we or others struggle with need, fear or grief, but like Mary to be able to give of ourselves and come to know the hope that sets us free to care and care and care again.

And so poverty, probability and possibility co-exist… but of these three, the greatest is possibility, that open place where God can work within us, allowing us to do far more than we even would have imagined possible.

Questions for third meditation

Where have you let God enter your life without restriction?
When have you said YES to God, not fully knowing where it would take you? What happened?
When have you been set freed when you least expected it?

Reading for meditation: Luke 1.26-38