Advent II: Mary

This poem is inspired by Sister Mary Grace Remington’s drawing Mary and Eve.

in the oldest corner of the garden
she sits bowed, hunched like a moon.
her feet are crooked beneath her
in a crumpled cross of shame;
her hands are bound in brittle vines.
if you were to brush back the ratted ropes
of her hair, you might see the bruises
around her sealed and silenced mouth.
once, she was beautiful. now, she is 
little more than a charred ruin
straddling a fault line from which all fissures 
of the earth spread their leering fingers.
the evening air tastes like lonely lavender,
old, old tears, and hope deferred.

in the cool of the night, she steps.
in each footprint, little lilies bloom
in a trail of starry tears. her postpartum 
stomach rounds like the bright sun.
at her touch, the bonds crumble to dust.
as she straightens the crippled feet,
the cracked earth melds and heals and 
chasms blossom into rivers of green.
she kisses each swollen cheek with lips 
that have lamented and are now creased 
by long laughter. in the wind
is the distant song of ocean waves, 
and into the breath-caught silence

she says: stand, sister. i said the yes
you forfeited and carried the promise 
you conceived and everything sad 
is coming untrue. 

---

It's the second week of Advent and the second in my small series of character portraits in the Advent narrative. Last week was Jeremiah, all the unfulfilled longing, with the many years of exile and silence ahead.

This week, small stones are falling down the mountainside. Finally, something deep in the earth has shifted and an avalanche is coming—an avalanche that is going to reshape the whole landscape.

It starts with a young girl, probably a decade or more younger than me, which is crazy to think about. A girl squatting in a cave-like structure that is her home in a region the equivalent of, I don’t know, Arkansas (sorry, Arkansas). And then something out of the great prophets of old happens to her. An angel appears and says she’s been seen and favored and chosen by God. Apparently when God sees and favors and chooses you it throws the biggest wrench possible into your life—Jeremiah would agree. Because now she's going to still be a virgin but also be pregnant—good luck explaining that—and also she's to name this peculiar child “God saves.” So he’s the savior? Isaiah’s savior? I don't know if she was thinking about Isaiah. I doubt she was thinking about Genesis. But then, her song of praise is one of the best theological summaries of the Old Testament, so maybe she was.

Anyway, I grew up a good Protestant, suitably skeptical of putting Mary on a pedestal. Actually, she alarmed me a bit in general. She’s clearly important but some people seemed to make too big a deal of her and really what are you supposed to do with her?

When I would read the biblical accounts, I was always moved by her simple obedience, and that's what tended to be highlighted in sermons I heard about her. The Magnificat we mostly glossed over, and we only mentioned her around Christmas. We didn't want to worship her, as we thought the Catholics and Eastern Orthodox did. Worship belongs to God alone. I still fervently believe that, although I have a better understanding now of what Catholics and Eastern Orthodox actually believe, even though I'm still a Protestant.

But I miss Mary. I would like to love her. I would like to not be afraid of marveling at her story and role, her choices and God’s weighty hand of glory upon her. I think talking about her more could help some of the fraught gender conversations we’re having, but that's a discussion for another time. Mostly I would like to celebrate the intricate beauty of the biblical narrative, which this painting says so much better than a sermon could. There is an excellent craftsmanship in echoing, reversing, and completing Eve’s story in Mary's, a full-circle moment, a masterclass-worthy payoff.

I love the hope of Mary. That after so many millennia of failure, that after 400 years of God's silence, he’s still actually moving. He sees all of humanity and our need, and he sees each of us individually and our need. He sees what we can offer and what we cannot, what we understand and what we do not, what we long for and what we fear, and he picks it all up and uses it to tell the story of the cosmos.

I love the gentleness of Mary's gestures toward Eve in this drawing. I love that the serpent is almost an afterthought, casually crushed under her foot. I love the fruit framing them, a reminder of Eve's failure, but also now of the promise that the Son—Mary’s son and Eve’s son too—is bringing: Abide in me, and you will bear much fruit. This is the fruit of the Spirit: love, joy, peace…

As Sam asks in the denouement of The Lord of the Rings, “Is everything sad coming untrue?”

Together Mary and Eve, with the hope of the world shining through their wombs, answer yes.

---

On this theme, here are some of my favorite songs about Mary (please share yours in the comments!):

• Mary, Did You Know? | Pentatonix

• The Lord’s Servant | Carolyn Arends

• Ave Maria (The Song for Mary) | Jason Gray

• Be Born in Me | Francesca Battistelli

• Breath of Heaven | Amy Grant

• Mary’s Arms | Sandra McCracken

• Labor of Love | Jill Philips (Behold the Lamb of God)

Much love this second week of Advent!

Aberdeen