NIGHT PRAYER: Tuesday 3/24

 

 

The somber season of Lent is interrupted tomorrow by the Solemnity of the Annunciation: the feast that reminds us of an angel visiting Mary to announce that she would bear the Christ in her womb. (Here's the story.) This feast persists in its place on the calendar because nine months from today will be Christmas and the celebration of the birth of Mary's child, Jesus.  Here's a beautiful contemporary painting of the Annunciation by John Collier. As in most renderings of this scene, there's a book (the Word of God took flesh in Mary's body) and a lily, a symbol of Mary's purity.  MMMMMMM

 

What I'm offering for prayer this night departs from "the usual."  I found this wonderful poem by Denise Levertov and wanted to share it with you. It's a little long, not metered, doesn't rhyme and invites our careful reading - but I believe you'll find it a beautiful way to prepare for tomorrow's feast...

 

Listening to a reading of the poem as you read it may help...*

 

 

 

Annunciation

Denise Levertov

We know the scene: the room, variously furnished,
almost always a lectern, a book; always
the tall lily.

       Arrived on solemn grandeur of great wings,
the angelic ambassador, standing or hovering,
whom she acknowledges, a guest.

But we are told of meek obedience. No one mentions
courage.

       The engendering Spirit
did not enter her without consent.

         God waited.

She was free
to accept or to refuse, choice
integral to humanness.
                  ____________________

Aren’t there annunciations
of one sort or another
in most lives?

         Some unwillingly
undertake great destinies,
enact them in sullen pride,
uncomprehending.

More often
those moments
      when roads of light and storm
      open from darkness in a man or woman,
are turned away from

in dread, in a wave of weakness, in despair
and with relief.
Ordinary lives continue.
                                 God does not smite them.
But the gates close, the pathway vanishes.

                   ____________________

She had been a child who played, ate, slept
like any other child–but unlike others,
wept only for pity, laughed
in joy not triumph.
Compassion and intelligence
fused in her, indivisible.

Called to a destiny more momentous
than any in all of Time,
she did not quail,

  only asked

a simple, ‘How can this be?’
and gravely, courteously,
took to heart the angel’s reply,
the astounding ministry she was offered:

to bear in her womb
Infinite weight and lightness; to carry
in hidden, finite inwardness,
nine months of Eternity; to contain
in slender vase of being,
the sum of power–
in narrow flesh,
the sum of light.

                     Then bring to birth,
push out into air, a Man-child
needing, like any other,
milk and love–

but who was God.

This was the moment no one speaks of,

when she could still refuse.

A breath unbreathed,

                                Spirit,

                                          suspended,

                                                            waiting.

                   ____________________

She did not cry, ‘I cannot. I am not worthy,’

Nor, ‘I have not the strength.’

She did not submit with gritted teeth,

                                                       raging, coerced.

Bravest of all humans,

                                  consent illumined her.

The room filled with its light,

the lily glowed in it,

                               and the iridescent wings.

Consent,

              courage unparalleled,

opened her utterly.

                 ___________________

  

Protect me, Lord, while I'm awake

    and watch over me while I sleep

that awake, I might keep watch with you

    and asleep rest in your peace...

Amen. 

 

• Source of the recorded reading: The Homely Hours

The background music on the recorded reading is an except from Arvo Part's beautiful composition Spiegel im Spiegel.

 If a video doesn't appear below, click here! 

 

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