“Sunday Reflection” is a regular feature, looking at the specific readings used in today’s Mass in Catholic parishes around the world. The reflection represents only my own point of view, intended to help prepare myself for the Lord’s day and perhaps spark a meaningful discussion. Previous Sunday Reflections from the main page can be found here.  For previous Green Room entries, click here.

This morning’s Gospel reading is Luke 1:26–38:

The angel Gabriel was sent from God to a town of Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the house of David, and the virgin’s name was Mary. And coming to her, he said, “Hail, full of grace! The Lord is with you.” But she was greatly troubled at what was said and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. Then the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.”

“Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give him the throne of David his father, and he will rule over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” But Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I have no relations with a man?” And the angel said to her in reply, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God. And behold, Elizabeth, your relative, has also conceived a son in her old age, and this is the sixth month for her who was called barren; for nothing will be impossible for God.” Mary said, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her.

Fiat voluntas tua — “Thy will be done.”  When Mary gave her full and knowing consent to the angel of the Lord, she provided the apotheosis of human embrace of divine will. She placed all of her trust in the Lord, willingly and without any reservation, even though she knew full well what the difficulties that assent would likely produce. An unwed teen mother in those days would have been much more than just an embarrassment; it would disgrace the family and could have led to her death. The marriage her parents had arranged for her would most likely be at an end, and she might have to travel on her own to escape the shame of the constant rejection of her community.

We live in more tolerant times, and sometimes we miss that part of the fiat and what Mary risked in offering it. In this remarkable passage from Luke, Mary doesn’t just assent to the pregnancy, but to laying down her life for the Lord – both literally and figuratively. She commits her all to surrendering to His will. All she can know at this point from what the angel tells her is that she will give birth and that her child will live, but she is given no guarantees as to whether she will live and under what conditions. Even so, Mary has true faith that the Lord’s will is greater than any of her own worries or cares, and even if it means hardship and danger for her, Mary wants what the Lord wants and willingly conforms herself to His will. She does not seek assurances, nor hold back her conformity in some sort of alternate plan in case things go in a direction she doesn’t like. Mary accepts the will of the Holy Spirit and conforms herself to Him.

It’s no secret why this story gets told at Advent. It’s part of the Advent narrative, the timeline which brings us to the birth of Christ, which we will celebrate on Thursday. The literal sense of the story starts with this reading, in which God condescends to make Himself part of humanity through Jesus Christ, who will live a life fully human and fully divine. To be fully human, Jesus had to experience all that humanity experiences, and comes as a lowly infant in poverty to Mary, who becomes the vessel of the Lord. Our first reading from 2 Samuel makes this point more explicitly in discussing the Ark of the Covenant and David’s plans for a temple, which the prophet Nathan eventually warns against. Rather than build a house for the Lord, the Lord will build a house for David, and it will be his children who build themselves into the Lord’s house as a light for all nations. Eventually, those children produce both Mary and Joseph.

Although this is literally a part of the Advent narrative, it belongs here for another reason, too. Advent is about preparation and formation, as well as anticipation. The cultural celebration of Christmas helps hone the latter for other reasons (and, let’s face it, is a lot of fun too), but it takes us away from what should be the real preparation and formation of the Advent season. And that is to follow the example of Mary’s Fiat and make ourselves into willing and joyful disciples of Jesus, with complete trust in the Lord as to His will.

We have the gift of free will, which means we have our own ideas about how our lives are to go. That is our gift from God, and the manner in which we are made in His image. As C. S. Lewis wrote in The Screwtape Letters, God does not want slaves to do His bidding under His command, but sons and daughters who willingly and joyfully join in His work. But free will leaves us with constant choices about how we live our lives, and whether we live them only for ourselves or for the Lord. We have our hopes, our dreams, and our plans, and we often put our trust in those and our own designs more than the Lord’s. (An old joke: Want to hear God laugh? Tell Him your plans.)

When we have conflict between those designs and those of the Lord’s, do we accept the change willingly? Or do we do so grudgingly, angrily, or refuse to accept it at all? Recently, that challenge has been presented to me. I had pursued a particular vocation within the church and had felt called to it, or at least called to discern on it. This week, I found out that the option I had sought would not be opened to me, an outcome that I had actually anticipated for some time. I won’t lie and tell you that I embraced that with joy and a big, loud fiat, even though I had anticipated the outcome. It took me a while to work through it in my mind, and to uncouple my own plans for the future from the direction I had hoped they would proceed. I also won’t lie and tell you I’ve managed to accomplish that — at least, not yet, not even completely on an intellectual basis, let alone emotionally.

I’m working on it, though, and this passage from Luke today helps me to put this in perspective. Mary had plans for her life, too, before the Annunciation. She had become betrothed, and surely looked forward to a normal life within her community in raising a family and perhaps finding some ease of life. Mary put all of that aside in a moment when the Lord made His will known to her, and put her trust totally in Him. She set the example that John the Baptist would later preach in the desert of formation and preparation for the Advent of the Messiah. We commemorate that each year in order to remind us that we must prepare for the coming of our Lord by joyful conformation to His will, and anticipate His return and His kingdom. Mary lights the way with her Fiat.

So what will we say when that day comes? Will we have formed ourselves enough to say, Fiat voluntas tua? Do we have the faith — by which I mean the trust in the goodness of the Lord — to say that and truly mean it?

The front-page image is the cave on the lowest level of the Basilica of the Annunciation in Nazareth known as the Grotto of the Annunciation, traditionally where Mary received the visitation and declared her “fiat.” From my personal collection.