An odd 10-year
anniversary is coming up for me: ten years on facebook. Over those past ten years, my feed has
undergone an interesting change. Fewer
and fewer are the photos of wild nights out (my friends’ photos of course, not
mine!). Gradually, the percentage of
parties viewed that were someone’s wedding increased. Now, more and more, I log on to see pictures
of my friends’ kids. And I’ve learnt
some very interesting things now that so many of my friends are either
consecrated religious or parents. One
very interesting set of conversations I’ve had with a number of friends who are
new mothers have been about missing being pregnant. Now, as one friend with whom I was discussing
this homily while it was gestating reminded me, that is most definitely not the
experience of all mothers of newborns!
But it is the experience of some.
I found a
forum online where various mothers of newborns weighed in; some who felt like
this and some who didn’t. A user called Chewie had ‘confessed’ that she felt
guilty for feeling “empty” (her word). Katie8455 consoled her and share what
she missed: “It was wonderful when it was ‘just us.’ Those last weeks, I tried to memorize every
moment, but already, that amazing feeling of his kicks and rolls has faded,
which makes me sad.” I wonder if Mary
missed being pregnant. I wonder if when
she beheld him carrying his cross to that fateful hill, how badly she wished
she could again hold him, protect him, let him grow, inside her, forming a
barrier between her son and the world that wanted him dead. But before that, in the cave or stable or
wherever he was born: did she miss being pregnant?
If so,
maybe it was that sorrow of not having Jesus physically fill her up inside that
spurred her on to the great deed she is remembered for in today’s Gospel. In this reading, there’s only one finite verb
with Mary as the subject: “Mary kept all these things, reflecting on them in
her heart.” If her body couldn’t be filled
with Jesus’ body anymore, her heart could still be filled. She could fill up her heart with all the
marvels God had presented her with and turn those over and over, chewing the
cud of wonder, reflecting in her heart.
Everyone else who heard about it reacted with amazement, and that’s a
good reaction, but Mary seems determined to go deeper, to keep and reflect in
her heart.
In his
latest exhortation, Pope Francis celebrates Mary under this title: “Virgin of
listening and contemplating,” that’s how he addresses her at one point. She knew she was surrounded by a world
touched by the loving, redemptive action of God. She knew that if she took in all that was
happening around her, if she truly listened, God had a life-giving word to implant
in her heart, and that would grow and blossom just as her baby boy had. Her contemplation could be as fruitful as her
pregnancy.
And in
her motherly care, she can help us realize that our contemplation can be
to. We can be filled with the electrifying
power of God if we listen, truly listen trusting that we are living lives
enthused with grace. In that same
exhortation, Pope Francis recognizes that he’s writing to people zealous to do
good, but counsels us: “Often it is better simply to slow down, to put aside
our eagerness, in order to see and listen to others, to stop rushing from one
thing to another and to remain with someone.”
To take
the time to truly listen and contemplate is to make room in hearts: room for a
stranger, room for a guest, room for God.
And as we listen, we participate with the God who hears our cries, our
laughter, our sighs, who hears us more intimately than we can even hear
ourselves. We dare to listen, because we
know we are heard. We know we can turn
to God, to Mary with our loftiest delight or our deepest longing. And we can help others to know that too if we
incarnate it, if we consent to let Christ be born in us, the fruit of our
contemplation, a listening ear to lend to a sighing world.
The word “obedience”
means to listen deeply. Mary shows her
obedience to the Law of Moses in having her boy circumcised; she shows her
obedience to the angel in calling him Jesus; she shows her obedience to the still
small voice, disclosed ever so furtively in our lives, in keeping all these
things and reflecting on them in her heart.
The
question is: what’s being born in each of our hearts? What’s nourishing that growth? What fills us? Because, God will fill our hearts with Jesus
that he might be born in us. Listen. Be still.
Each of our lives has so much worth contemplating in, because they bear
the fingerprints of grace.
Let’s
close with the Pope’s prayer, as Mary helps us learn to listen:
Virgin of listening and contemplation, Mother
of love, Bride of the eternal wedding feast, pray for the Church, whose pure
icon you are, that she may never be closed in on herself… Mother of the living
Gospel, wellspring of happiness for God’s little ones: pray for us. Amen.
Alleluia!
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