Beauty and Brutality: The Feast of Our Lady’s Birthday 2017

For those of us who live our lives according to the liturgical calendar, there can be both felicitous co-incidences and awkward disjunctions. The latter are more thought-provoking because they call in question many of our unexamined assumptions. Take today’s feast. I have often waxed eloquent about its beauty, as shy and lovely as the Autumn Crocus called ‘Naked Lady’ from its association with this feast. At other times, notably in this post for 2015,  I have been at pains to reflect on Mary as the archetypal mulier fortis, not at all the idealised milksop of much conventional piety. But I have not often drawn attention to the fact that we are sometimes confronted with a huge gap between what we are celebrating in choir and what everyone around us is experiencing. This morning that is especially marked. We sing of beauty but those devastated by the floods in South-East Asia or Hurricane Irma in the Caribbean know only the brutality of the disasters that have engulfed them. If we look further afield, we see more and more human suffering in the endless bloody conflicts and mass movements of people that characterize this century. How difficult it can be to go on affirming the promise of Micah 5. 1–4 or the confident assertion of Romans 8.28–30! Shall we really live secure, does God actually turn everything to our good?

I think the only honest answer to these questions is akin to that which Mary gave to the angel at the Annunciation. We do not know how, but we give our assent, we trust in the goodness of God. To those who have not tried it, that response will seem pathetically inadequate. It admits that we do not have any explanation (who could know the mind of God . . .); it acknowledges that there is no easy solution, no quick fix, no soothing balm (our wound is incurable . . . ). It simply says, God is God and as such he can be trusted; we cling to that knowledge with a wisdom wiser than we know, for it is faith and faith alone that can lead us. I love St Bernard’s image of Mary as the aqueduct that brings us the Water of Life. This morning, however, I think it is the image of Mary as a new-born child, unaware of her tremendous destiny, that both comforts and challenges me. It is not power or wealth that determines the outcome but love. There’s something in that for us all to ponder.

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