It has arrived.
And yet, it has been a week full of anxiety.
The anxiety disorder I live with doesn't ask what the liturgical calendar says.
It runs amok inside my brain whenever and however it wants.
And yet ...
And yet this week, my thoughts have been of Mary.
(And yes, I know ... next week is Mary's week!)
What must it have been like?
I suspect it was much like this:
Jose y Maria by Everett Patterson
They don't look very peaceful, do they?
And they don't look like the beatific images we put on our Christmas cards.
No, we want to judge these people.
We want to know what they did to get themselves into this mess.
We want to know why it is our responsibility to help them out now.
Just by looking at them, we think we know their story.
And I am absolutely convinced we aren't unique in that. I'm sure the people of Bethlehem and Nazareth and a little town outside of Jerusalem had the same thoughts.
Talk about anxiety!
But I've learned some new things this week about Mary's story.
I've learned that church tradition says Joseph may have lived in Bethlehem, meaning their relationship was a long distance one.
I've come to realize that Elizabeth and Zechariah would have had to live near the Temple (because he's a Priest), and so they would have lived in or near Jerusalem.
Do you know how far Jerusalem is from Nazareth, where Mary lived?
It's about 93 miles.
Which Mary would have traveled on foot - on a donkey if she was lucky, but probably not.
While she was pregnant.
To visit a relative she may or may not have known.
Mary may not have yet told her parents.
She may not have yet told Joseph.
And yet, when Gabriel offered her the job of "Mother of Jesus," she accepted.
Despite all that she had to have known it would mean for her.
Despite the stigma.
Despite the shame.
Despite the risk of her literal life. (Joseph could have had her stoned for adultery!)
Mary could have said no.
Nowhere in the text does it indicate that Mary was forced into this.
Nothing seems to imply that Mary is already impregnated when Gabriel comes to her.
She could have said, "Oh, that's too much! I don't think I can do that."
Joseph could have said no.
He could have "put Mary away quietly."
But he didn't.
He didn't ask for this - and the visitor to his dream didn't ask him if it was ok with him if Mary bore the Son of God.
Joseph agrees to this, anyway.
He takes on Mary's story.
He chooses to believe her and the messengers.
He chooses a life he never anticipated without knowing what would come of it.
It makes my struggles over viruses and lack of sunlight and busy schedules seem pretty trivial.
I am grateful that I am not living the life of Mary and Joseph.
I am grateful that no one asked me to take on a life like theirs.
Because God knows I probably wouldn't have handled it as well as they did.
But one of the things I'm wrestling with this week is that somewhere in the midst of all of that mess, Mary made peace with her own story.
And I need to make peace with mine, too.
Somewhere in the midst of all of the pain and the struggles and the heartache and the tears, there has to be a place where I can be ok with who I am.
Who God made me to be.
And where this journey is taking me.
And that, I believe, will lead me to find Peace.
Do I want World Peace?
Of course.
Do I think that there are political and economic ways to work toward that?
Of course.
But I don't believe it will happen until individual people can begin to come to terms with their own stuff. I don't believe we'll ever be able to have peace in our homes or our churches or our world until we can have peace in our hearts. And that has to begin with me. It has to begin with me making peace with my story, my journey, my life and choosing to live into all that God wants me to be. If I can begin to find peace in my own soul and you can begin to find peace in your soul, perhaps we can begin to live together in unity.
May it be so.
1 comment:
I always like to think of them, (both of them), as being scared stiff, but sure of the over all decision that they had made. They had to have been "stressed" - both of them, but maybe in this case they both found serenity in the choices they made.
Maybe that's the definition of peace, both for the good and bad, because being sure of your path can lead to great devastation just as easily as it can lead to great good. So being at peace may not be something desirable necessarily, maybe it's just a neutral thing, a state of being that may be a great gift from God, or the worst sort of self-delusion. I think the determinant is in the space that you occupy - what you read, the people you call family, the God you serve.
You say, "Because God knows I probably wouldn't have handled it as well as they did". I think you would astonish yourself when truly tested.
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