Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you.

Today is the Feast of the Annunciation, nine months before Christmas, when we take time to remember and rejoice that the Word of God broke into the life of a young girl and upended it completely, all because she had enough courage and love to say “yes” to the will of God. To us who have been saved by Jesus’ actions and her assent, it is a day of great joy, the first day of our salvation. And yet, at this time when so many of our lives have been upended for real, I cannot help reflecting on what that assent really meant for her — on all the beloved things God takes away from us for a time, or for ever, so that God can give us something better in the end.

We often remember the Annunciation in the images given us by painters, images like the one above, or like the exquisite pictures of the Italian renaissance, images which seek to capture the sheer beauty of our salvation: the timid girl, astonished, waking to her power; the angel kneeling in reverence before a human being; the calm and peace of a life before it was all changed, in an instant, from calm and peace to grace and power and love.

But these beautiful images, which I love, do us a disservice: they put the Annunciation into a world we can only imagine: a world of wealth and seclusion far removed, for most of us, from the world of our daily lives. And so, today, I would like to share with you a different image, one by contemporary artist and activist Ben Wildflower. This image reminds me that Mary was poor, that when her world was upended, she did not have much to fall back upon, other than the grace of God.   It speaks to me of those who have haunted my heart this week: those whom this pandemic will catch at their most vulnerable.

The author of Hebrews writes of the Incarnation of Jesus, “It was fitting that God, for whom and through whom all things exist, in bringing many children to glory, should make the pioneer of their salvation perfect through sufferings. For the one who sanctifies and those who are sanctified all have one Father. For this reason Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers and sisters.” I do not know what it means to be made “perfect through suffering,” but I do know it is a great mystery. There is a lot of bad theology out there which glorifies suffering.  Jesus never glorified suffering, but only sought to relieve it. He took it on for us, not so that we could inflict it on one another in his name, but so that we would not have to bear it without hope. He suffered, so that we could learn mercy.

And so this day, I invite you to pray with me:

Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you.
Blessed are you, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners,
Now and at the hour of our death.

As you walked the dusty streets of Nazareth, so walk among those who most need grace this day. We remember before you all prisoners and refugees, those who lack homes and those who are interned in camps, who lack access to clean water and privacy and the ability to practice social distancing. Pray for them, Mary, now and in the hour of their death.

As you fled to the home of your cousin Elizabeth, intercede for all those who have had to seek a place of shelter, whether it be our own living rooms or places far from where we usually live. Give us the discipline to honor our quarantine, and make this time of our seclusion a time of growth in grace. Pray for us, Mary, now and in the hour of our death.

As your Son walked among those who needed healing, intercede for all who serve the sick, for doctors, nurses, and ambulance-workers; for hospital orderlies and janitors and administrators; for pharmacists and medical researchers and public health experts. Shield them in body and in soul, and prosper the works of their hands. Pray for us, Mary, now and at the hour of our death.

As you stood at the foot of the cross and allowed your Son to see a face of love, intercede for all who are frightened or worried for those they cherish. Give us your steadfast strength, and your grace to love even when that love brings its own cost. Pray for us Mary, now and in the hour of our death.

You cradled the body of your Son, and still praised him with the rest of your life. Intercede for all those who will lose loved ones this day, that they may know the presence of God. Pray for us, Mary, now and in the hour of our death.

Mary, you welcomed the Word of God into your life, delighting in your child’s beauty and joy. Help us to see and rejoice in the gifts of the present day, even amid its challenges. Help us to welcome your Son however he comes to us, knowing that always he is here, and grant that this time of trial may be for us and for all God’s people a time of growth in grace and in love. Pray for us, Mary, now and at the hour of our death.

Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you.
Blessed are you, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners,
Now and at the hour of our death.

— Deborah Meister