The Annunciation - a poem

I heard recently an interesting advent sermon from Andrew Robinson (who once contributed stimulating things over here), about Mary. I won’t blame Andrew for anything I write here, but as protestants we can be hasty to throw Mary out completely, as smelling of Catholicism with a mere mention, and yet she has things to teach us, as an exemplary disciple of the Lord, particularly in her response to what is required of her.

In the course of the sermon, Andrew read a couple of portions of the poem The Annunciation by Denise Levertov (whose father, incidentally, was an Anglican priest, though there might be objections to her notion of choice) in particular the lines “Aren't there annunciations of one sort or another in most lives?”. Love it. So here is an unusual advent poem. (And why is there a book on a lecturn and a lily in most annunciation paintings? Put it in google images and see.)

Annunciation, by Auguste Pichon, from Wikigallery.org.

The Annunciation

We know the scene: the room, variously furnished,

almost always a lecturn, a book; always

the tall lily.

Arrived on solemn grandeur of great wings,

the angelic ambassador, standing or hovering,

whome she acknowledges, a guest.

But we are told of meek obedience. No one mentions

courage

The engendering Spirit

did not enter her without consent. God waited.

She was free

to accept or refuse, choice

integral to humanness.

Aren't there annunciations

of one sort or another in most lives?

Some unwillingly undertake great destinies,

enact them in sullen pride,

uncomprehending.

More often those moments

when roads of light and storm

open from darkness in a man or woman,

are turned away from

in dread, in a wave of weakness, in despair

and with relief.

Ordinary lives continue.

God does not smite them.

But the gates close, the pathway vanishes.

She had been a child who played, ate, spelt

like any other child - but unlike others,

wept only for pity, laughed

in joy not triumpf.

Compassion and intelligence

fused in her, indivisible.

Called to a destiny more momentous

than any in all of Time,

she did not quail,

only asked

a simple, "How can this be?"

and gravely, courteously,

took to heart the angel's reply,

perceiving instantly

the astounding ministry she was offered:

to bear in her womb

Infinite weight and lightness; to carry

in hidden, finite inwardness,

nine months of Eternity; to contain

in slender vase of being,

the sum of power -

in narrow flesh,

the sum of light.

Then bring to birth,

push out into air, a Man-child

needing, like any other,

milk and love -

but who was God.

~Denise Levertov (poem taken from here).