Jesus by James Martin Read Free Book Online Page B

gratitude, wonder?
    This is God beginning a conversation. And when we realize that this might be God’s voice, what happens? Sometimes we’re grateful. But just as often we’re fearful—like Mary.
    Fear is a common reaction to the divine. When one realizes that it is God who might be drawing near, we instinctively withdraw. Thinking about the Creator of the Universe entering into the “particularity” of our lives can be terrifying. Sometimes on retreat, when I feel that I’ve suddenly received an answer to a long-standing problem or been given an insight that seems to have originated from outside me (as in “There’s no way I could have come up with that on my own”), I grow frightened or, as one translation describes Mary, “greatly disturbed.” God is paying attention to us. How could that not frighten?
    We may also struggle with the notion of God’s paying attention to us in our littleness, in other words, “Who, me ?” It may be hard for modern-day believers to appreciate this aspect of Mary’s life, particularly when conditioned by the kinds of images of Mary that decorate the Basilica of the Annunciation—ten-foot-high mosaics of a strong, proud woman—but we must remember who Miriam of Nazareth was. First, she was a woman. Second, she was young. Third, she was most likely poor and living in an insignificant town. Finally, she was a Jew living in a land ultimately ruled by the Roman Empire. Taken together, Mary can be seen as a figure with little power. For a more contemporary image, think of God’s appearing to a young girl in a small village in Africa.
    The angel gently counsels her to set this aside: “Do not be afraid, Mary.” Among the first words Mary hears are ones that her son will frequently use in his ministry, as when he walks on water in full view of the terrified disciples. Perhaps Mary shared her own experiences with Jesus. Why wouldn’t she? Who knows if Mary repeated the angel’s calming words to a frightened boy, a confused adolescent, or a worried adult: “Do not be afraid, Jesus.”
    The angel then explains things for her. Again, as in our own lives. Take the example of a young person from an affluent background who hears a call to a different way of life. Naturally, it’s not as dramatic as Mary’s encounter, but it is an encounter with grace all the same. Imagine a college professor inviting you to consider working among the poor in the developing world. You’re initially stunned—“ Me? ”—but you also intuit a sense of God’s voice in the invitation. After the initial shock wears off, the professor describes what life overseas will be like. You’ll be living in a remote village; you’ll have to learn a new language; you’ll be separated from your friends and family; but your encounters with those living in poverty, she says, will transform you. This is what the angel does for Mary once she surmounts her alarm: he helps her discern.
    At this point, along with Mary, you would probably ask, “How can this be?” This may be the facet of Mary’s life that intersects most with our own. We feel inadequate to what God seems to be asking—even if we are sure that it is God who is asking. This happens not only with an invitation to something wonderfully new and exciting, but also with a sudden turn of events that darkens life. An illness. The loss of a job. A ruptured friendship. Who hasn’t said, “How can this be?”
    A few years ago, my father was diagnosed with lung cancer. When I heard the news from my mother over the phone, I was seized with fear. By then in my forties, I knew friends who had accompanied their parents during a terminal illness and I could see the future: sorrowful hospital visits, painful conversations, monumental feelings of fear and loss. And finally the terrible reality of seeing my father suffer and die. I knew