Ecce Ancilla Domini (Latin: “Behold the handmaiden of the Lord”), or The Annunciation, is an oil painting by the English artist Dante Gabriel Rossetti, first painted in 1850. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ecce_Ancilla_Domini

I know Christmas has passed, but for today’s Sabbath Revival, I can’t help but re-post one of my favorite Christmas entries from the archives. Four years ago, when I first read this post by Annie, it opened my eyes to the humanness of Mary and to the wisdom in sometimes focusing my faith on the overall picture rather than on the details.

How shall this be?
December 10, 2009
Daily Special: Annie

She cowers on the bed as a young girl would, introduced (by an angel, no less)
to an overwhelming assignment/calling/challenge/blessing. I feel for this Mary, the initial weight of the impossible evident in her slouch and gaze.

Moments later she straightens her posture and says “be it unto me” and “behold” but I love that the artist paints the humanness of Mary’s initial “how shall this be?”

Every year I find something different in the nativity passages of the New Testament to identify with: the seeking wise men, the dazed shepherds, the distracted inn keepers. This year I’ve lingered over the figure of that young Mary and her “how shall this be?” keeps ringing in my ears.

I have had several “how shall this be?” moments in my life. They happen (for me) in that margin between invitation and acceptance of a calling, between the answer to a prayer and the standing up and going to work. Part wonder and part panic, I think these thoughts are understood by God to be a portion of our experience on earth rather than a Thomas-like doubt or lack of faith. They are expressions of the gap between my knowledge and God’s.

There are times when I simply can’t see how shall this be. On and off, this is where I’ve been this year. What then?

I’ve come to realize (but don’t always remember) that needing to know in advance how things will work out is less important than knowing that they will. There have been times when, loaves-and-fishes style, extra minutes miraculously show up in my day. There are other times when I struggle and fail and grow, more like Peter in his faltering sea walk. So I learn, through tiny miracles and mundane duties, that giving my trusting heart to the optimism of the question (an eager, curious “how shall it be?” rather than a pessimistic one) yields a more joyful experience (and with less soggy feet).

That’s why I love this young, pausing Mary—she’s at the brink of realizing how wonderful and weighty it really shall be.

. . .

Have you had a “how shall this be?” moment?

What participants in the nativity story speak to your life this year?