“And why has this
happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me?” This is Elizabeth’s
question to Mary, in today’s Gospel, the Gospel of Luke, chapter 1 verse 43.
In nomine Patris, et
Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.
Today’s Gospel reading
is really a question and answer. The first section, which describes
Mary’s visit to Elizabeth, sets up the question, “why has this happened to
me?” And the second section is Mary’s reply, the long text we call the Magnificat.
We can think of Elizabeth as speaking for us, when she says, “why has this
happened to me?” Often, perhaps, when we
ask this question, addressed to God or to no one in particular, we are thinking
of some unfortunate event that has occurred. We may be less inclined to ask this question about pleasant happenings,
unexpected joys or successes. Perhaps we aren’t as thankful for happy outcomes
as we could be, and so are less inclined to be surprised by them, less inclined
to question them.
Elizabeth has much to
be surprised by, and much to question, even before she meets her relative Mary in
today’s Gospel. Elizabeth’s question is a happy one, not a resentful or fearful
one. As we know, she was unable to have children. Yet she conceived.
At the same time, she is living with a husband who is unable to tell her what
this birth will be about, since the angel Gabriel revealed the
coming birth and at the same time caused Zechariah to be mute. Elizabeth never got a message directly from her husband, about the meaning of the birth.
“Why has this happened
to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me?” Elizabeth has understood that there is something very important about the two approaching
births. The Gospel says that “Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit.” This
is a way of saying that Elizabeth perceives that there is something very important about the relationship
between her and Mary, and between their children. “Holy Spirit” is a
way of referring to the depth of spiritual perception that Elizabeth has
reached. This enables her to grasp something of what Gabriel had told her
husband, even though her husband is not able to tell her himself. And that
awareness gives special urgency to her question “why has this happened to me?”
Elizabeth answers her own question when she says “the mother of my
Lord comes to me.” In the very moment of questioning, Elizabeth realizes that
that is why she is bearing a child; she is to bring the precursor, the
forerunner of her Lord into the world, the better to prepare his way. The
moment we are talking about here is more than a physical encounter between two women;
it is a moment of spiritual realization. Elizabeth has been prepared for it by
Zechariah’s indication, mute but not meaningless, that led Elizabeth to this
moment. Zechariah’s behavior reminds me of what Zen teachers sometimes do: they
lead a student to awareness by an action, a gesture, perhaps a sudden movement
or a sound that snaps the student out of everyday unconsciousness and into a
state of mind where he or she experiences a greater awareness, which we can
call Holy Spirit. And Elizabeth responded in exactly the way a person coming to
sudden insight sometimes does: she “exclaimed with a loud cry!” This is her moment of
realization, of insight, and she sees herself, and Mary, and their
soon-to-be-born children for who and what they are. In John the Baptist’s case,
as Luke says in verse 17, “to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.” And
in the case of Jesus, in verse 33, “of his kingdom there will be no end.”
And Mary’s song follows
Elizabeth’s exclamation. It’s an expansion on what has been said up to then,
and a demonstration of Mary’s awareness, her insight into her true nature and
her vocation. Her insight, remember, also begins with her questions to the angel
Gabriel. He leads her quickly to realization of her relationship with God and an
understanding of the true nature of her son. It is in questioning that she comes
to this understanding, and she finds herself in a wide-open spiritual space.
The angel had told her not to fear, and she did not. That fearlessness and her
willingness to question, and then to trust, the angel, leads her to that joy
which she can only hint at in her song of praise. She says “my spirit rejoices
in God my savior.” “Rejoicing” is likely the least of it. Her deep awareness of
the reality of God has overtaken her, which she expresses by listing God’s acts
in history.
Questioning is central
to the spiritual life. It is in questioning that we open ourselves to
possibility, to new things happening to us. When we question God, or an angel,
or ourselves, we make it possible for God, or an angel, or our true nature, to
answer. And the answer won’t always be in words. We remember what happened to
Elizabeth’s husband Zechariah; he became mute. We may understand his muteness as
a reminder that God sometimes communicates in silence. Zechariah's silence made
Elizabeth’s understanding possible. When we question the angel, like Elizabeth
and Mary did, we make it possible for a new thing to be born in us: a promise
of fulfillment of God’s will for us, an understanding of what God is calling us
to do, and what he’s making it possible for
us to do. And when we perceive the answer that God is giving us, let us say
with Elizabeth,
“there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken...by the Lord,” and with Mary, “let it be with me according to your word.”
In nomine, etc..
