Romare Bearden The Visitation. 1941. Gouache, ink, and pencil on brown paper
“Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leapt for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”
(Luke 1:42-45)
It is the visitation of Mary to her cousin Elizabeth today in which Elizabeth asks, why has this happened to me? It must not have been the first time she asked why, as she became pregnant after barrenness and advanced age, and her husband Zacharias had been struck dumb by the altar by something or someone he had seen.
Had he asked why in unbelief? What is a faithful way of asking why and with appropriate awe?
We read that Zacharias faced the angel Gabriel and asked, how can I know? He could not muster enough awe to suspend the need to know and needed help. He was driven to contemplation through losing his speech, as many of us have been driven to it by illness or disability or loss—some of us recently in pandemic isolation.
When Zacharias spoke again, he was able to speak simply what he had heard, “His name will be John.” Then his tongue was freed to declare praise.
Still participating in gestation, Elizabeth said to Mary, you are blessed for believing the word that was spoken to you. This word was spoken in obscurity. It was growing in Mary obscurely—being only recently spoken, there may have been no physical evidence yet that it would come to pass. But Mary was able to rejoice with her cousin Elizabeth at her pregnancy and this affirmed her faith about what was happening in her young body which led to a song of praise.
Some feel it is the gift of women to believe more easily. It may be the humbling and earthed experience of fertility cycles, pregnancy and birth that has something to do with this idea. We pray the process goes as easily as we can accept the changes and stay above the sea of fear in how these things get viewed as problems.
But change often feels like a problem. Maybe Zacharias’ old bones recoiled at the thought of chasing a toddler. Who can blame him for that?
Some of us are experiencing fear over going out again after the pandemic shut-downs—there are many articles on this. As someone with a certificate in spiritual direction (which is spoken of as spiritual midwifery), and a master’s degree in pastoral studies (after one more paper), and writing from this platform, I have been tempted by the idea that I am to speak wisdom about what the future will be. It is as if I have built myself an altar and demanded like Zacharias over it, “How will I know?”
This has not worked well for me, either. I think it is time to rather pray to receive the future from God, whatever it will be. We can be as Mary and say “let it be with me according to your word.” We can willingly stand by others who invite God’s will to be with them according to the word they have received.
But we might have to first remember what that word was, because the pandemic changed things. Not who God is or who God has made us to be, but the word spoken to us that we thought we were being faithful to might sound different now.
It might have been that our task was to care for someone who has since left or died. It might have been to do a job that has since changed. The injustice and violence we have witnessed are things we may feel we can no longer tolerate as we did. Our abilities and desires may have shifted and we might not know yet how. There is a din in which we must hear, a sea of fear on which we must walk ahead.
The fecundity and desire that belong to God have not changed. God’s word has not changed. They were hearkened by baby John, grown up as prophet. They are manifested in Christ Jesus walking across the sea of our private and shared anxiety over the future. They are in the sea if we could see it clearly.
If we stay in awe and contemplation for a span of time before God, maybe like Zacharias we will able to see and name our task anew, and then proceed with its care and feeding in hope of what its growth will bring.