Ave Maria Meditations encore
During Advent Christ rested in Mary – still, silent, helpless, utterly dependent. The Creator trusted Himself to His creature. He trusted to her the expression of His love, the expression of God’s love for the world and of His love of His Father, just as the work of His love would be trusted to us, in His life in us.
He was dumb; her voice was His voice.
He was still; her footsteps were His journeys.
He was blind; her eyes were His seeing.
His hands were folded; her hands did the work of His hands.
His life was her life; His heartbeat was the beating of her heart.
This was a foreshadowing of what the Incarnation would mean for us; for in us, too, Christ rests as He rested in Mary. From the moment when the Christ-life is conceived in us, our life is intended for one thing, the expression of His love, His love for God and for the world.
Our words are to be the words that He wants to speak; we must go to wherever He wants to go, we must see and look at whatever He wants to see and look at; the work that our hands do must be the work that His hands want to do, our life must be the living of His life, our loves the loving of His heart.
But there is the other aspect of Christ’s Advent. While He remained hidden in Mary, His rest was a tremendous activity; He was making her into Himself, making Himself from her. From her eyes He was making the eyes that would weep over Jerusalem, that would shine upon the wild flowers, that would close in death and open on the morning of Resurrection. From her hands He was making the hands that would heal and raise the dead and be nailed to the Cross. From her heart He was making the heart whose love would redeem the world.
The same thing occurs when, allowing the infant Christ to rest in us, we wait patiently on His own timing of His growth in us, and give Him just what He asks, the extremely simple things that are ourselves – our hands and feet, our eyes and ears, our words, our thoughts, our love. Not only does He grow in us, but we are formed into Him.
(From Caryll Houselander: Wood of the Cradle; Wood of the Cross)
