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This Advent, while the world around me is hastening into the Christmas spirit, I have become acutely aware of an abiding ache. One that Mary, too, must have felt.
The ache of longing, anticipation, and awaiting the promise to be fulfilled.
The ache of holding onto hope and trusting before there is evidence of the encounter with the angel.
It’s a feeling I’m sure many of us can relate to - a yearning for something yet to come. Even more so, an ache of anticipation and a longing to see the expected promise made manifest. Whether an ache of excitement for a certain joyful occurrence, an ache of longing and hope for what cannot yet be seen, or the ache of despair and doubt that we will see the promise take place at all.
The temptation in any season is to try to be productive in attempt to avoid the ache of awaiting. Specifically, leading up to Christmas, we busy ourselves with preparations that are inherently good, but leave us advancing towards the promise without contemplating the mysteries and gifts contained in the ache. Mysteries that can only be illuminated if we enter into the repose of Mary’s womb where the Light invites us to wait with Him. To contemplate the intricate creation of the Creator Himself.
The other temptation is to respond to the ache in a way that we are striving to soothe it completely. From our desperation to respond in haste, we miss what we are meant to receive. In her beautiful book about Mary, Reed of God, Caryll Houselander writes: “There must be a period of gestation before anything can flower. We live in an age of impatience, an age which in everything tries to cut out and do away with the natural season of growth. We ought to let everything grow in us, as Christ grew in Mary. And we ought to realize that in everything that does grow quietly in us, Christ grows."
In her pregnancy, her Advent, Mary could do nothing to advance the Mission. She gave her body to give life and nurture the mystery growing inside her. She was called to do no more than simply be. And that was everything.
In her Advent of being, Christ’s being was formed.
In the surrender of her flesh to the Divine plan, Divinity Himself took on flesh from hers.
An ache that both called her beyond herself and invited her more fully into herself: to dwell in her heart in the darkness of her womb where Light Himself was aflame as a tiny spark.
Her womb was the hearth in which the Light of the world was lit.
As she tended this Flame, hidden in silence inside her, she had to trust in its presence before it could be felt and seen.
She ached for the day when she could hold the Kindly Light in her arms. But it was not a painful ache. Nor an impatient one, as she did not try to hasten this time. She, indeed, went out in haste to Elizabeth while carrying the Light inside of her. Yet she did so with internal repose and stillness, bringing the Gift she was growing to another.
She pondered with patience. With anticipation. Not trying to be productive or to produce anything herself. But to pause and ponder the Mystery she had received and was now growing within her. Mary knew there was nothing she could do to advance the mission.
That day would come, when she’d usher her Son into His ministry at Cana. But that would accompany a different ache, as she was ushering Him to the cross.
But, as at the Annunciation, Mary assented.
The tiny Light she bore inside of her would one day be extinguished. Snuffed out. But only so that it could re-ignite and engulf the whole world.
In the darkness of the mystery, Mary was led by the Kindly Light flickering in the darkness of her womb.
As Mary, we must give our assent to the ache and receive openly the life God wants to give us without trying to hasten His plans. Christ will then be conceived, carried, and grown in our hearts. We must be faithful to the moment and dwell in His presence by surrendering this ache to Him.
As we anticipate the coming birth of Christ, may we join in Mary’s ache. An ache that makes us yearn for what’s to come, but an ache that calls us deeper into the present moment and the realities before us. Like the ache of beauty that awakens us to the One who created this splendour, the ache of Advent leads us to Christ. The infant Jesus who will come and dwell amongst us and, right now, the Word taking on flesh in the womb.
There is such fruit to be born in simply abiding in the believing. Believing in the coming birth.
The true Light that came into the world was first lit in the hidden darkness of Mary’s womb - a small, soft glow that she could not immediately perceive, but only by faith believe was burning.
May we allow this ache to lead us to the Kindly Light aflame within each of us and ponder alongside Mary the mysteries of Advent. The prophecies and promises of the “true light, which gives light to everyone” (John 1:9). May this ache propel us to prepare Him a place inside of us and rest in hope as we await the Promised Light.
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