The Feast of the Annunciation | By the Rev. Dr. Julia Gatta

And Mary said, “Here I am, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”

She said “yes,” and that changed everything. Everything: in heaven and on earth. For surely when the Word became flesh in the Virgin Mary, when God became incarnate, heaven itself was changed. And Mary’s “yes” changed earth, too, and the vast universe beyond our little planet: because the incarnation of the Son, of God-become-human--a part of creation itself--changed that creation permanently, and from the inside. A new creation was set in motion that is still in the process of becoming, only to be completed on the last day. No wonder that for many centuries, until the middle of the eighteenth century in England and these American colonies, the new year began on this date, March 25, the Feast of the Annunciation, rather than on January 1.

And consider what the story of the Annunciation tells us of God even before we consider what it tells us of Mary. The story of the Annunciation reveals how God hangs on our consent. How God limits the divine power in order to solicit our freedom. Love is not love, after all, unless freely offered; and God, who is love straight through, hopes like an expectant suitor that we will return that love freely, that we will say “yes.” God has made himself needy (Thérèse of Lisieux said that Jesus is a beggar for love); God awaits our response to those overtures that come our way from outward circumstances and inward promptings to engage in both prayer and the divine mission for the world’s salvation. What a wonder that God makes us participants in these holy designs; that God chooses to act though us.

Luke compresses in his story so much outward and inner activity, and so very many emotions: surprise, consternation, wonder, fear, curiosity, acceptance and agency. No surprise that Mary was surprised at both the angelic visitation and Gabriel’s greeting, addressing her as “favored one.” We’re told that she was “much perplexed” by these words and pondered “what sort of greeting this might be.” Whatever was God up to? What’s coming next? Gabriel notes her reaction, and offers reassurance: “Do not be afraid, Mary,” he says, “for you have found favor—the word is “charis,” grace—with God.” And “charis” signals that the initiative is all with God; Mary is the recipient of God’s gracious favor. Then Gabriel continues with the astonishing annunciation of God’s plan, from which this day takes its name: the gift of a son, David’s son, the longed-for messiah of Israel. Whatever else Mary might have been feeling at this moment (and Luke does not tell us), her immediate question is one wondering curiosity, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” As Christopher Bryan notes in his recent book on Mary, what Mary registers here is not doubt or hesitation, but curiosity; it is “faith seeking understanding.” Once again God will be taking the initiative in this conception: “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.” Just as at the first creation the Spirit “hovered over the face of the waters,” and later, the Holy Spirit will come upon Jesus at his baptism, raise him in his resurrection, and descend upon the disciples at Pentecost, so now that same Spirit initiates the new creation with an unprecedented conception that will made this child “Son of God.”

Mary steps out with courage and joy, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” It is a bold move. To find herself pregnant before her marriage to Joseph, Mary risked social ostracism, shame, and possibly stoning as an adulteress. (Here it might be noted that Joseph, in accepting this child as his own, conferred legitimacy on him and made him legally a “son of David.” But this outcome lay in the future, and required another angelic visitation, this time to Joseph.) But for now, Mary knows nothing of this and simply trusts in the angel’s word, which is of course God’s word to her. There is acceptance on her part of whatever the future might bring. For any new mother, especially a first-time mother, the future is unknown territory, and more than a little scary. Mary knew some of the risks she was taking, but the long path ahead was unchartered. We know from the gospels that the future will bring her bewilderment and sorrow, sorrow that will finally—but only finally--be turned to joy. Mary’s assent is not resignation and mere submission; it is not passive but rather spirited and active. Again, Chris Bryan notes that Mary’s “let it be with me” is rendered in the Greek optative mood; it is more than a simple declaration; it expresses eagerness and enthusiasm. “Oh, Yes!!” is what’s she’s saying.

This morning we are witnessing another fervent “yes!” In fact, there are two yesses at work here: one is AJ’s and the other is the community’s. Both are saying “yes” to each other and, to the best of their prayerful discernment, “yes” to God.  The clothing of a novice and the conferral of a religious name is not, however, a life profession. This is more tentative, and like a betrothal, it signals a continuing season for growing in knowledge of the other and testing the suitability of each party for the other. Yet acceptance of this very provisionality demands real trust that God’s Holy Spirit is leading the way, and it requires a willingness to travel into unknown territory together, an uncertain future, embracing the risk of being hurt or disappointed. It means leaning into that School of Charity that shapes every Christian community, especially those in which we live in close proximity to one another such as families and religious communities, where we learn how to love when we don’t get our way and when people irritate us or let us down. The School of Charity is a tough school where love can be slowly and painfully shaped to be a tad less self-centered. We hope that others might understand us, or share our passions and convictions, or grasp what we’ve been through or are going through, but they don’t always. The School of Charity is also where we learn graciously to accept help when we need it and discover to our amazement that people love us who see us even on our worst days.

In saying “yes” to this invitation, maybe even in the optative mood, AJ and her sisters are saying “yes” to God. God waits eagerly, expectantly, for our assent. Religious life, while a minority vocation, enlivens the whole church. In its faithful devotion to the Prayer of the Church, the Daily Offices; in seeking intimacy with God through personal prayer and meditation; in cultivating that silence and solitude by which we can hear God’s voice and sense God’s quiet nudges; and in gathering a community around the Holy Eucharist, religious communities witness to the priority of God: to God’s first claim on our love and allegiance. And the services rendered by religious, including hospitality, spiritual direction, care for the earth, and many others which are often hidden, speak of warm and gracious love for neighbor. Religious and monastic life are vital cells in the Body of Christ that help keep the rest of us healthy.

Today is a joyful feast day. Along with “all generations” we call Mary “blessed,” giving thanks for her “yes.” We give thanks for this Community of St. Mary, which has persevered though some precarious days of uncertainty about its future; yet who, as Elizabeth said of Mary, “believed there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to [them] by the Lord.” And we give thanks for AJ’s “yes” to God after years of discernment and prayer, and pray that the Holy Spirit will overshadow her and her sisters, that they, too, may carry Christ within themselves and for the world.