The very first talk I gave to a large group was when I was in high school. I stood up in front of our Fellowship of Christian Athletes huddle1 during Advent and talked about how Christmas hit me harder than Easter because Easter told me Jesus died for me but Christmas told me he lived for me. “I’d die for Jesus,” I said confidently. “Honestly, I want to be a martyr. But it’s not because I’m brave. It’s because I’m lazy. I figure I can be holy for 5 minutes; it’s the prospect of another 70 years of holiness that terrifies me.” I’ve been giving some variation of that talk for the past 15 years and it’s never more powerful to me than when I’m meditating on the Annunciation.
Our feast today celebrates a God who became ordinary, born to an ordinary mother in an ordinary town. Oh, of course we know there wasn’t anything ordinary about them–and yet for thirty years, their holiness consisted in the dull monotony of everyday life. Jesus’ Passion, Death, and Resurrection were the culmination of a life of quiet sacrifice, of dirty feet and skinned knees, of sweat and stomachaches and boredom and rejection and chores and loneliness. Mary, the Queen of Heaven and Earth, spent 30 years sweeping floors, fetching water, consoling neighbors, and getting sassed by her many (spiritual) children. St. Joseph sawed and sanded and carried out the trash and all three gave glory to God by the very ordinariness of their lives.
How many of us are content to be ordinary? We want to be marvelous and impressive, to have the world look on in awe at our holiness–or we want to be mediocre and comfortable. We see our options as daring, terrifying lives of holiness or everyday, ordinary adequacy. But the Annunciation tells us that holiness lies in the ordinary and that the ordinary is supremely sanctifying.
The great saints weren’t hobos or martyrs or visionaries–or at least not above all else. Above all else, they were mothers and brothers and lovers and friends. They were made saints by changing diapers, listening to complaints, shoveling snow, forgiving, begging forgiveness, chopping vegetables, wiping away tears, grading papers, and loving. Always loving. It wasn’t St. Gianna’s death that made her a saint; thousands of mothers have made the same heroic choice. It was loving her husband and washing dishes and sympathizing with her patients. Thomas Aquinas didn’t become a saint by being the greatest mind the West had ever known but by recognizing how small he truly was. Mother Teresa wasn’t a saint because she won the Nobel Prize or founded a successful religious order but because she loved one child of God. And the next. And the next.
This morning I was blessed to attend Mass at a beautiful Dominican parish where I received Jesus kneeling at the altar rail. Like Mary, I did nothing to deserve this gift. Like Mary, all I could do was say amen, let it be done unto me, not even reaching out my hands but just opening myself to receive. And now, like Mary, I am sent out to bear Christ to the world, not to kings offering gifts or to angels crying Gloria but to shepherds and widows and pagans and friends and enemies. I am theotokos to the cashier and the fussy baby and the man without hope. It’s everyday, ordinary, change-the-world holiness. It’s day-in, day-out, dull, radical holiness. It’s my cross and my crown, it’s tedious and glorious. It’s time I stopped looking for holy wars to fight and started looking for a holy life in what I’ve been given. I am an ordinary woman following an ordinary God, a great saint-in-the-making following a great saint-maker.
Fiat mihi. Let’s go be saints.
- No, I was not an athlete. It seems to be rather a misnomer. [↩]
Love this! Thanks Meg!
annebender recently posted…Purgatory: The Forgotten Church and the Purgatory Lady
Yep. It’s hard for our egos to accept that we become holy by living our ordinary lives. It was one of those light bulb moments for me when I realized that God asked Mary to say “yes” to him, but then he wanted her to do what was her future anyway: to be a mother and wife. Her “fiat” was big, but she didn’t need to change her life’s trajectory to do God’s will. That’s a good reminder for Mom’s of little ones who sometimes ask themselves: “Is this all? Those groundhog days of changing diapers, breaking up fights, serving under-appreciated meals, and watching others earning worldly success?” It’s enough for God.
I love this. I had a similar meditation a few posts back while praying the Rosary., of course not nearly as eloquent as yours!
(I think it will show up with my comment- let’s see how good I am at working computers. Here is a hint, not very good 😛 )
Amanda recently posted…A Rosary in the Snow
Amen!
Amen, que Bonita forma de interpretar,la anuciacion,felicidades
Amen,Amen!
My favorite quote from the Catechism as of late:
“During the greater part of his life Jesus shared the condition of the vast majority of human beings: a daily life spent without evident greatness.” CCC 531
I think it fits into the point you were trying to make pretty well.
Keep doing the Lord’s work, Meg. Gig’em!