And in the sixth month, the angel Gabriel was sent from God into a city of Galilee, called Nazareth, to a virgin espoused to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David; and the virgin's name was Mary.
As I watch her, silent as she is silent, I begin to get an impression in my soul; a pattern is created in my heart by her being. My mind, sifting the meaning of this pattern, searches for a word, a logos, a boulder-like, imperfect lingual analogy, a definition of the definition. A word comes to me: capacity. This young woman has a capacity that I cannot grasp fully with the grappling hooks of the mind. It is only when I try with the gentle tendrils of the imagination and the heart that I begin to understand.
She has a certain space, but not quite emptiness; it is the space created by the handmaid sitting next to the ruler's throne, sitting cross-legged on the mosaic floor as they do in the East, hands upturned and laying, waiting on each knee; there is a space created, symbolically, by the posture of the body, a space, a welcoming which small children recognize as a space to crawl into, to curl into, to receive caresses.
This body-analogy, though, my mind whispers, is not enough; the true capacity is that of the soul, a capacity that is only seen by the soul, all at once, for it is a soul-capacity:
And the angel being come in, said unto her: Hail, full of grace, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women.
When the angel enters, I begin to understand more fully this capacity in the young woman. As one understands the wind by watching its effects on still lake-water, that sudden, mysterious fan-like pattern one cannot hold in the mind, I see in her eyes, in her stillness, that she takes in his presence, receives it fully, in the soul. Her capacity is indeed great. She has been gifted already with a great space in the soul, a God-sized space, and it is like a mold waiting for the gold to fill it. Yet her mind is a human mind, her heart a human heart; it is her soul-silence that reveals her capacity, a capacity of which she is, perhaps, in the mind, yet unaware, a capacity different from all others.
The angel has golden locks not akin to gold, but locks of living gold, and as he speaks, gifts, his lily-words, small stars of golden light rise from his head, out of his mouth. The young girl's mind, a handmaid to her capacity of soul, begins the attempt to grasp meaning, so that her will may be fully engaged:
And Mary said: Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it done to me according to thy word.
[Mary] having heard, was troubled at his saying, and thought with herself what manner of salutation this should be.
And the angel said to her: Fear not, Mary, for thou hast found grace with God.
Behold thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and shalt bring forth a son; and thou shalt call his name Jesus.
He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the most High; and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of David his father; and he shall reign in the house of Jacob for ever.
And of his kingdom there shall be no end.
And Mary said to the angel: How shall this be done, because I know not man?
And of his kingdom there shall be no end.
And Mary said to the angel: How shall this be done, because I know not man?
And the angel answering, said to her: The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee, and the power of the most High shall overshadow thee. And therefore also the Holy which shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of God.
And behold thy cousin Elizabeth, she also hath conceived a son in her old age; and this is the sixth month with her that is called barren:
Because no word shall be impossible with God.
As he says the last words, the angel shakes with laughter, with a deep joy coming from a great vision, a capacity that sees the Face of God and knows the infinitude that is love. As he moves, and ripples, a great cloud of golden stars drift outward, towards her.
And Mary said: Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it done to me according to thy word.
The girl's response is related to her capacity, that infinitude of grace, and it will burst forth in a great power, an unearthly power that is not content to remain beyond the humble, but will transform dust, that formed dust, a dust breathing, thinking, hoping, wondering, waiting, clouds of dust helpless, mired in the bracken water of a polluted earth.
And the angel departed from her.
As I watch her now, pondering in the room lit now by a soft dawn, the gold given way to the rose, I again sense her great capacity, a greatness of availability, of self removed to the corners, and I weep. Why? The tears fall because I know I stand before dust that has been transformed by grace to a level I had not known was possible; the angel's words come floating back: Because no word shall be impossible with God. I see again the quivering joy, the golden-star locks thrown back in pure ecstasy; I meditate on this word 'capacity.'
In our language, it has two meanings: 'the maximum amount that something can contain,' and 'the ability or power to do, experience, or understand.' The womb is a powerful, analogous example of this 'capacity' having, simultaneously, both meanings: it is an organ of space, of reception, wherein self must recede to the corners to allow room; even empty, the very ability to create space is potent, as the womb can provide space for another by expanding exponentially and eventually delivering this other being into the world.
This young girl is given, because nothing is impossible with God, the simultaneous soul-and-body capacity to receive and deliver God; she was given the formative, foundational capacity in her own soul at her own conception. I see it already there, in the essential waiting, that readiness to receive, before the angel comes. His coming is the fulfillment of that which had grown with the girl, expanding with her over her young life.
As Mary rises up from pondering and thanksgiving and goes to greet Elizabeth, I realize also that a capacity like hers has an inverse relationship to possession. We often mistake the desire to possess for the desire to love, but these movements of the soul have very different fruit. One delivers envy, the desire to devour, and death; the other, freedom, illumination, nurture, growth, and life. One has no capacity in its selfish fullness, the other selfless, waiting to be filled by God and His power. Love is the emptiness and power-from-emptiness that St. Francis, that living symbol, will, centuries later, embody when he strips himself naked in front of all Assisi.
Mary sings to Elizabeth and John, a prophetess, with the power coming from a capacity never known in the world before; she sings to another mother and her child, as prophetess to prophet:
My soul doth magnify the Lord.
And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.
Because he hath regarded the humility of his handmaid; for behold from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed.
Because he that is mighty, hath done great things to me; and holy is his name.
And his mercy is from generation unto generations, to them that fear him.
He hath shewed might in his arm: he hath scattered the proud in the conceit of their heart.
He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble.
He hath filled the hungry with good things; and the rich he hath sent empty away.
He hath received Israel his servant, being mindful of his mercy:
As he spoke to our fathers, to Abraham and to his seed for ever.
Because he that is mighty, hath done great things to me; and holy is his name.
And his mercy is from generation unto generations, to them that fear him.
He hath shewed might in his arm: he hath scattered the proud in the conceit of their heart.
He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble.
He hath filled the hungry with good things; and the rich he hath sent empty away.
He hath received Israel his servant, being mindful of his mercy:
As he spoke to our fathers, to Abraham and to his seed for ever.
Scripture verses from Luke 1:26-56, Douay-Rheims 1899 American Edition (DRA)
