The Annunciation

Posted by DJL on Dec 8, 2012 in Poetry | 2 comments

We are not yet at the point of Advent where we hear the story of Gabriel’s visit to Mary. But, to be honest, I think we save that reading too late in the season to give it due attention. Perhaps it’s because, as Denise Levertov notices in her poem “The Annunciation,” we have been treated to so many artistic renderings of the scene that are variously beautiful but also somewhat formulaic. Certain elements we come not only to expect – Mary in blue, a lectern and lilly in the background – but allow to lull us into thinking that we know this scene. We are familiar with Mary, her pure heart and willing obedience.

But Levertov asks us to slow down, to take a second look, to ponder for a moment what this eternal moment was like for Mary. Levertov invites us to notice. To notice Mary and her courage, her willing consent, her freedom offered to the glory of God.

And as we do this Levertov asks us one more thing: to take seriously that we might also experience an annunication. Not just like this, of course, and yet something like this. Certainly, as she says, there have been other annuciations, some where the recipient accepts in a sullen spirit, others who refuse altogether. And this observation both heightens the beauty, boldness, and courage of Mary’s response as well as invites us to wonder if we might do the same. Invites, us, indeed, to do the same: to be open to the movement of God, to receive with courage and joy, mingled of course with a holy terror at the presence of God, and in this way to participate in the movement of the Spirit.

Levertov’s focus on Mary reminds me of Henry Tanner’s painting “The Annunciation,” which I’ll place beneath the poem. Here Gabriel is rendered simply a steak of brilliant light and there are none of the familiar and expected elements. Instead, our gaze is fastened on Mary, alone, afraid, courageous in her contemplation, more beautiful stripped of the usual props in her joyful consent.

What might be God announcing to you this day, to us? Will we, can we, answer?

The Annunciation
By Denise Levertov

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

Arrived on solemn grandeur of great wings,
the angelic ambassador, standing or hovering,
whome 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 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, spelt
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,
perceiving instantly
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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Henry Tanner, The Annunciation, 1898.