As the days turned into weeks, the young woman of Nazareth carried within her the hope of the world. The Angel Gabriel's words echoed in her heart—He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High—and Mary knew her child was the promised Messiah. Yet, as she felt the subtle movements of the life within her, her human mind surely wrestled with the vastness of this divine mystery. How would this tiny, vulnerable infant fulfill the ancient prophecies? How would he rule upon the throne of David? She must have watched the artisans and the workers in her village, wondering what future awaited her son, perhaps imagining the grand events foretold by the prophets. But every doubt and every human curiosity was gently surrendered to the profound certainty of God's will. She sought not to hasten the revelation or force understanding; instead, she chose the path of quiet reverence.
Mary’s patience was not passive ignorance, but an active, powerful trust in the Lord's timing and wisdom. She understood that the plan was God's, and her role was to be the faithful handmaiden. Her magnificent fiat given at the Annunciation was a commitment not only to conceive but to wait. She spent her months of pregnancy not anxiously questioning the details of the future kingdom, but praying, preparing, and nurturing the divine life entrusted to her care. This deep, unwavering faith is the very model of discipleship. It teaches us that when God gives us a promise—a calling, a direction, or a hope—we must accept the mystery and the wait, knowing that the One who began the good work will surely bring it to completion in His perfect time.
I am just beginning to dive into the beautiful, ancient devotion to the Five Wounds of Jesus, and I wanted to share a bit of the journey with you. It can feel a little overwhelming at first to look at the Crucifix this closely, but I’ve found such a gentle guide in St. Bernard of Clairvaux . In his Jubilee Rhythm on the Passion, Bernard doesn't treat the wounds of Jesus as distant historical facts or sights to be avoided. Instead, he approaches them with the tenderness of a friend, speaking directly to the feet, hands, side, and face of our Lord. For someone like me who is just starting out, his rhythm teaches that prayer isn't just about reciting words; it’s a holy hide-and-seek. Bernard invites us to literally hide ourselves within these wounds, seeing them as clefts in the rock where we can find shelter when our own lives feel turbulent or heavy. As I start this process, I’ve been practicing what I call gazing and greeting. Following Bernard’s lead, I look at the Crucifix an...
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