Annunciation

Annunciation

Even if I don’t see it again—nor ever feel it
I know it is—and that if once it hailed me
it ever does—
And so it is myself I want to turn in that direction
not as towards a place, but it was a tilting
within myself,
as one turns a mirror to flash the light to where
it isn’t—I was blinded like that—and swam
in what shone at me
only able to endure it by being no one and so
specifically myself I thought I’d die
from being loved like that.

As soon as I saw this painting by Patty Wickman and then read again this poem by Marie Howe, I was overwhelmed – with what, I ask? – and the only answer that comes to me is, by ‘relationship’. I know that girl, that Mary among Marys. I am her. We all are. 

In a miraculous reversal of the centuries old use of the masculine “man” to represent all genders, here is “woman”, girl, really, representing all genders, including non-binary. “She” is all of us receiving this magnificent message: We are so singularly blessed and so profoundly loved we can carry within us, if we so choose, Love that can change the world.

I love that in the painting her room is messy, a normal teenager’s room, and yet at the same time a perfect symbol of the messiness of the life we face today. I love, as the poem states, she is both “no one” and yet “so specifically” herself. This is us; this is whom Love chooses for its most urgent transformational tasks.

I love that in the painting the lampshade that would have dimmed the brilliant light has been tossed aside so that, blinded, she is able see more clearly. I love that the phone is disconnected and tossed carelessly aside; communication this day will be more penetrating and profound. I love that the birdcage on the left side of the room is empty – or more likely – transformed into the dove the shadow her folded hands casts upon her body. She has been both embraced by the Holy Spirit and given a momentous task.

And so have we. Notice where we, the viewers, are in the painting. We stand – or kneel – on the opposite side of that same lamp. Its light would have shone just as brightly onto us as it has on Mary. If we had folded our hands in reverence or acceptance or even respectful questioning, we would have cast that same dove upon our own bodies. We would have been similarly embraced and similarly challenged.

“Another world is possible,” the Sisters of Mercy remind us in their Advent message.

Isn’t it wonderful that a little girl – a “woman” standing in for us all could lead us there.