I believe this story connects powerfully with our situation at the threshold of 2004. At this point in the Gospel, Mary is faced with an uncertain future too. She has generously, courageously placed herself at the disposal of God’s mysterious plan. But at this point, she has nothing: no sonogram; no understanding and accepting husband; no affidavit from the Holy Spirit saying: “The child is mine. Leave the poor girl alone.” (Barbara Brown Taylor) From a human point of view, the future is dark. Rejection, shame, and possibly death loom as real possibilities for her.
And yet, she sings. She dares to sing a song of rapturous joy: not “a superficial joy, but [one] that is written against the whole canvas of the world’s pain.” (Elizabeth Johnson) She is singing in the dark, in the face of an uncertain future. Not only that: she sings, as one author puts it, “ahead of time.” (Taylor) Her verb tenses get mixed up. Speaking of the great marvels the Lord will do, she sings of them in the past tense, as though they had already happened: already the poor have been raised up, already the hungry are fed, already the proud and powerful are brought low and the rich made empty.
In the end, she offers her humble service to Elizabeth, knowing that insignificant though that service might appear, it is part of God’s great project of overturning an old world of oppression and suffering and creating a new world of freedom and fullness of life.
Four things strike us about Mary. First is her courageous and daring freedom, her ability to allow God to enter her life in an utterly disruptive manner, to lead her along unfamiliar, unforeseen, uncomfortable roads. The Capuchin preacher Raniero Cantalamessa puts it well when he says that at one point, he found himself moved to pray “Hail Mary, empty of yourself” instead of “full of grace,” so moved was he by Mary’s complete availability for God’s purposes.
Second, I am struck by Mary’s largeness of heart, her capaciousness of spirit, the wide-reaching extent of her compassion. She rejoices in God’s mercy towards herself, but does not remain in self-absorbed contemplation of her privileges. Her delight spills over and in the end focuses not on herself, but on the lowly and hungry of the world who will soon taste God’s life-giving mercy.
Third is Mary’s profound faith that bears fruit in joy. She has, as we have said, at this point, no guarantees for the future, yet she sings gladly in the dark, she rejoices ahead of time, simply because of her utter confidence in the God whom she dares to call “my Savior,” whose mercy, fidelity and power can and will do what is impossible in the eyes of the world and according to limited human capabilities.
Finally, I am struck by the fact that this audacious faith is called forth in Mary by the encouraging word of a sister in faith, Elizabeth, who gives confirming testimony of the impossibilities of God at work in her, and who blesses Mary for her faith.
Interior freedom, compassion for the poor, joy-evoking faith, and belonging to a community of encouragement: these four aspects of Mary’s person suggest the graces we might pray for and beg for ourselves as we begin this year of uncertainty.
First, we might pray for the grace of Mary’s deeper interior freedom, her availability for God’s surprising will, her capacity for letting go of her personal plans, her preferences, her securities in favor of God’s unsettling impossibilities. This freedom, we know, of course, in our Ignatian tradition as “indifference.” During the Congregation of Procurators in 2003, Fr. General Peter-Hans Kolvenbach suggested that the absence of this freedom is at the root of the failure of province planning in some places. Fr. General remarked in his address De Statu: “Some provinces were content to bless what is already being done . . . More often than not, provinces hesitated to make painful choices, even though discernment confirmed that such choices were going to be inevitable in the long run.” But, Fr. General continues, “far from being content to maintain the status quo, even where it is satisfactory, we must look toward the future of our mission. There will have to be new initiatives, while some old ones will have to be abandoned. There will have to be new openings and closings.” For this to take place, Fr. General calls for a “constant spirit of openness to serve the Lord and His Church’s greatest need,” which is perhaps another way of referring to the inner freedom we are reflecting on.
Secondly, we might beg for a deeper share in Mary’s largeness of her heart, her spirit of compassion and solidarity for the great world of suffering and hunger around her. During the Congregation of Procurators, several times during the discussions, procurators who were formators, from places as diverse as Japan, on the one hand, and Germany on the other, used the same word to describe a problem formators often confront in the men: narcissism. For some of our men, apparently among the young, but certainly not exclusively with the young, narcissism is manifested thus: what is real are my issues, my aches and pains, my concerns, my problems, my relationships, my grievances, my apostolate. “MPD: may prosesong dinadaanan, and let the rest of the world go on its way, I can’t be bothered with anything but my issues.” This narcissism is, of course, the opposite of love, which the philosopher Iris Murdoch memorably defined as “the extremely difficult realization that someone other than myself exists.” If we find ourselves sometimes caught up in the self-absorbed dynamics of narcissism, it might be good to turn to Mary in prayer, and ask her to share with us the secret of her great and capacious heart, decentered from an exclusive focus on self, passionately concerned about the destinies of the poor and the little ones. Perhaps then we might be more able to respond to Fr. General’s invitation to us during the Congregation of Procurators: “We must try unceasingly to find again the path to solidarity with the poor.”
Thirdly, this evening, we might pray too for a share of Mary’s joy-evoking faith as we face our uncertain future and struggle to discern how we are to act and serve. Mary, as we have seen, believed that that our God is with us and for us and actively building up a new world of life and freedom. Significantly, such a faith is the very foundation of our apostolic Jesuit spirituality, for, as Fr. General once boldly suggested, Ignatius was perhaps "the first person in the history of Christian spirituality to perceive the Trinity as God at work—as the God who continues to work, always filling up the universe and actively awakening the divine life in all things for the salvation of humanity." As we face the challenges of how to respond to our national and province challenges, perhaps we can seek a share of that lively faith in God’s ongoing activity in the world.
Finally, just as Mary’s faith was confirmed and strengthened by Elizabeth, we might pray that we too can similarly receive from and give to one another encouragement and confirmation in difficult times. In the Congregation of Procurators, Fr. General made the somewhat startling assertion that “our mission encompasses the witness of community life.” He went on to say, in rather strong words: “we must have the will … to live … in the Society as friends in the Lord. . . . We must constantly reestablish that union that individualism and rivalry constantly dissolve.” Surely living as friends in the Lord means that we seek to live as communities of mutual encouragement.
As I come to the end of these rambling points, might I share a favorite passage from Tolkien’s The Return of the King. It is the conversation between Eowyn and Faramir before the decisive battle between the forces of good and evil. The forces of good are pathetically weak and ill equipped before the magnificent array of Sauron’s armies. The future seems dark, uncertain, desperate. And so Eowyn, the white lady of Rohan asks Faramir:
‘Then you think the Darkness is coming?’ said Eowyn. ‘Darkness Unescapable?' And suddenly she drew close to him. ‘No,’ said Faramir, looking into her face. ‘…I do not know what is happening. The reason of my waking mind tells me that great evil has befallen and we stand at the end of days. But my heart says nay; and all my limbs are light, and a hope and joy are come to me to no reason can deny. Eowyn, Eowyn, While Lady of Rohan, in this hour, I do not believe that any darkness will endure!” (J.R. Tolkien)
On this first day of a seemingly unpromising year filled with worrisome uncertainties for our nation and our province, perhaps, for some of us, like Faramir, the reason of our waking minds tells us that great evil has befallen and nagging fears that we may stand at the end of days haunt us. But tonight, we place before us the radiant image of the Holy Mother of God, interiorly free, passionate about the poor, joyful beyond reason because of her faith in God her Savior, and encouraged and strengthened by her companion on the pilgrimage of faith. As we contemplate Mary of the Magnificat, singing in the dark, singing “ahead of time,” pregnant with Jesus, pregnant with the world’s hope of salvation, may we find our hearts saying “nay” to all that discourages and paralyzes. May our limbs find a new lightness for service; and, may a hope and joy come to us that no reason can deny. Let us make our own tonight the lovely petition Ignatius composed in 1524: “I pray to our Lady to implore on our behalf between us sinners and her Son and Lord, and to gain us His grace, that… our weak and sad spirits may be transformed and become strong and joyful in his praise.” Amen.
January 1, 2004, Loyola House of Studies
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