ANNUNCIATION
Deep within the clay, and O my people
very deep within the wholly earthen
compound of our kind arrives of one clear,
star-illumined evening a spark igniting
once again the tinder of our lately
banked noetic fire. She burns but she
is not consumed. The dew lights gently,
suffusing the pure fleece. The wall comes down.
And—do you feel the pulse?—we all become
the kindled kindred of a King whose birth
thereafter bears to all a bright nativity.
-Scott Cairns
…His wings as drifted snow, his eyes as flame…
The first lines of the carol “Gabriel’s Message” take my imagination straight up to Heaven, and down again to the encounter the Virgin Mary had with the Angel Gabriel. This song of the Annunciation I heard for the first time a couple of years ago. Nowadays, if I so much as think about it once in the morning, or often even without consciously bringing it to mind, it plays in my head all day, beautifully, joyously.
In looking for a YouTube video of it to share here, I found that I don’t like the ones in which boys’ choirs are singing sweetly bird-like. It seems a strong man’s voice should speak the message of the first two stanzas, which come from Gabriel.
This version is my all around favorite, in which a choir sings in lower registers.
This man singing solo is my favorite manly rendition. I like the way he sings it straight, and the only way I’d improve on it is to not have to look at him as the performer.
I was interested to see that there aren’t many icons or paintings of Gabriel in which his wings look anything like drifted snow. In fact, the image of drifted snow doesn’t evoke the idea of the strength that would be necessary for the swift messenger of God we know an angel to be. In many paintings Gabriel’s wings look very powerful, and poised to be in flight in an instant, at the next word from God. But the phrase does make me think of purity, and certainly the scene of fresh snow is somewhat other-worldly.
Angels do not have any inherent form; they are spiritual beings who only take on human-like form in order to be seen by those who are given the spiritual eyes to see. We don’t have a record of how the Archangel Gabriel appeared to the eyes of the Virgin, but we do know his message:
GABRIEL’S MESSAGE
1 The angel Gabriel from heaven came,
his wings as drifted snow, his eyes as flame;
“All hail,” said he to meek and lowly Mary,
“most highly favored maiden.” Gloria!
2 “I come from heav’n to tell the Lord’s decree:
a blessed virgin mother you shall be.
Your Son shall be Immanuel, by seers foretold,
most highly favored maiden.” Gloria!
3 Then gentle Mary meekly bowed her head;
“To me be as it pleases God,” she said.
“My soul shall laud and magnify his holy name.”
Most highly favored maiden, Gloria!
4 Of her, Immanuel, the Christ, was born
In Bethlehem, all on a Christmas morn,
and Christian folk throughout the world will ever say,
“Most highly favored maiden.” Gloria!
“Artists in the Christian tradition have been inspired by the New Testament stories, and one story in particular has prompted them to reflect on the nature of beauty and its place in our lives: the story of the Annunciation. In this story we encounter a moment of interaction between the human and the divine, when an angel appears in the most private and protected part of a woman’s home.
“The light that radiates from the angel falls not only on Mary but on all the objects that surround her, showing the fitness of the woman for her holy task in the order and beauty of her room. The Annunciation by the Dutch master Joos van Cleve (1485–1540) illustrates the point. None of the objects among which Mary sits is purely functional: everything has an edge, an embellishment, a kind of gentle excess. The furnishings are not just accidentally there: they are there because they are also owned, shaped, and cherished. Mary has arranged the room with beauty in mind, so as to be a fit welcome for an angel.”
The quote above is the first paragraph (divided by me into two) in an article
by the late Roger Scruton, “The Beauty of Belonging”,
published several years ago in Plough magazine.
Because when I recently rediscovered this post from three years ago, I was nourished by it again, I am re-posting it for my new readers and for all of us. It concerns the most enduring things, never outdated. One of those always-new things, which I’ve only this year begun to read and think about in the context of the Annunciation, is hospitality of the sort that the Virgin demonstrated toward the very Son of God. She is an example for us all.
Today is the beginning of our salvation;
the revelation of the eternal Mystery!
The Son of God becomes the Son of the Virgin
as Gabriel announces the coming of Grace.
Together with him let us cry to the Theotokos:
“Rejoice, O Full of Grace, the Lord is with you!”
I had wanted to continue my ruminations on The Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air by further considering The Moment that Søren Kierkegaard refers to when, after waiting in silence, “…the silent lily understands that now is the moment, and makes use of it.”
I don’t know what that moment consists of for you, for me, for us as a world community, or in our cities or church communities or families. No doubt there are overlapping times and seasons containing infinite instants, and only by quiet listening can we make any sense of them. But this passage in particular I wanted to pass on, in which the writer discusses what is missed when we fail to make the proper, standing-before-God kind of preparation:
“Even though it is pregnant with rich significance, the moment does not send forth any herald in advance to announce its arrival; it comes too swiftly for that; indeed, there is not a moment’s time beforehand…. But of course everything depends upon “the moment.” And this is surely the misfortune in the lives of many, of far the greater part of humanity: that they never perceived ‘the moment,’ that in their lives the eternal and the temporal were exclusively separated.”
So many thoughts swirl in my own noisy mind and heart that I could not imagine how I might find a way to share even these few gleanings with you. Then, in God’s providence and the church calendar, appeared someone who is the supreme example for us of being ready for the moment, that time in history and that time in her life, in a particular moment of a day, when the Angel Gabriel appeared to her. Today we remember that event, when Mary listened, and responded, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.”
The Word became flesh and came to live with us, taking on all our human experience, its weakness and suffering and death. He defeated death, and opened the gates of Paradise. The Incarnation, the beginning of our salvation, is The Moment of history; our own “Yes” to God, echoing Mary’s willingness, can be the essence of our every prayer as well, as we wait on Him.
Kierkegaard exhorts us, in words that seem especially fitting for this time of uncertainty and change: “Would that in the silence you might forget yourself, forget what you yourself are called, your own name, the famous name, the lowly name, the insignificant name, in order in silence to pray to God, ‘Hallowed be your name!’ Would that in silence you might forget yourself, your plans, the great, all-encompassing plans, or the limited plans concerning your life and its future, in order in silence to pray to God, ‘Your kingdom come!’ Would that you might in silence forget your will, your willfulness, in order in silence to pray to God, ‘Your will be done.’“
We know that God’s will for us is good, now as ever. Our inability to see or understand that is due to our weakness or sin, or His hiding of His works. May He give us grace to wait and to pray, and eventually we will see the full salvation of the LORD.
Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God!
How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways!
For who has known the mind of the Lord,
or who has been his counselor?
Or who has given a gift to him that he might be repaid?
For from him and through him and to him are all things.
To him be glory forever. Amen.
Romans 11
Gladsome Lights 