Dear Mary,
Kudos to the many artists who have tried to capture you as you held your baby boy and looked into the face of God. But throughout the years and in spite of their talents and devotion to this aim, they have largely failed. Consider the task, though. What pigments, what brush strokes, what vision and sleight of hand could result in more than a valiant approximation of this sacred moment? Knitted together in your womb and fashioned from pure God, how could any artist do justice to the light that shone from this holy child? And what canvas could contain a love that pours endlessly from heaven?
But they try as they might for even their crudest efforts draw us in. Closer then, our hearts take up where shapes and shades only begin. Here in your presence, something inexplicable, something akin to bliss takes over. Color pales here, and vapor-like, floats into the night. Lines lose their purpose and curl helplessly at your feet.
How you bend towards your son. Now this is a line that arcs towards mystery with a grace that defies all. This is a line that intersects with heaven and ends in your arms.
Oh Mary, I want to think that I have loved this way. Cradling my children in my arms, I want to believe that my joy was your joy. And I want to believe that, in the fellowship of mothers, my spirit leapt just as yours had. In the middle of the night as I held my sleeping babies, I have known the peace that passes all understanding. As their tiny hearts beat against my chest, their downy heads tucked under my chin, I knew that there was nowhere I would rather be. Time stood blessedly still as shafts of moonlight fell across their faces.
But in truth, these moments must kneel at the manger. From your son’s first steps to Calvary, you loved a Savior. A virgin, God’s bride, you faced shame and humiliation, fear and uncertainty, so that your child could save the world. How could any of us really know how this love blessed you and cost you?
But on that glorious night, you treasured up all these things–the light, the angels’ song, the breath of your infant son on your face. On that night, Madonna, you were blessed among women.
16 So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. 17 When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, 18 and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. 19 But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. 20 The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.
Luke 2: 16-20
