Advent Jessica Powers I live my Advent in the womb of
Mary. And on one night when a great star swings free from its high
mooring and walks down the sky to be the dot above the Christus i,
I shall be born of her by blessed grace. I wait in Mary-darkness,
faith’s walled place, with hope’s expectance of nativity. I
knew for long she carried me and fed me, guarded and loved me, though
I could not see. But only now, with inward jubilee, I come upon
earth’s most amazing knowledge: someone is hidden in this dark with
me. (1948) We started this Poem of the Week series
with Jessica Powers. Jessica Powers—Sister Miriam of the Holy Spirit—was
a poet both before and after she became a Carmelite nun. Many of her
poems use imagery from the Church’s rich mystical tradition, and this
poem, “Advent,” is no exception. “I live my Advent in the womb
of Mary.” It’s such a surprising line. Advent is, when you think about
it, a pregnant season. In Advent, we wait for the second coming, which
is sometimes likened to a birth: “all creation is groaning in labor
pains, even until now,” said St. Paul (Romans 8:22). And we wait for
Christmas, our celebration of Christ’s first coming. If Christmas is
about Christ’s birth into the world, then Advent is about Mary’s
pregnancy. “I live my Advent in the womb of Mary.” The poet imagines
herself in Mary’s womb. Here, in darkness, yet with “hope’s expectance
of nativity,” she waits to be brought to birth. I love this poem’s
description of the Christmas star, swinging “free / from its high
mooring,” walking “down the sky / to be the dot above the Christus i.”
In the second part of this poem, the sense of mystery deepens.
“I knew for long she carried me and fed me, / guarded and loved me,
though I could not see. / But only now, with inward jubilee, / I come
upon earth’s most amazing knowledge: / someone is hidden in this dark
with me.” In this place—the speaker is “carried” and “fed,” “guarded and
loved,” but in the darkness. And yet, not alone in the dark. Who is
hidden in this dark with her? Christ, of course—her brother, even her
twin! “I live my Advent in the womb of Mary.” This poem is not
really about the liturgical season of Advent. Rather, Advent here is a
metaphor for the life of faith: a life of waiting, in darkness, yet
conscious, in moments of “inward jubilee,” that we are not alone: that
Christ is with us. The poem reflects the Church’s teaching about Mary.
The Church calls her Mother of God, because God became incarnate in her
womb. She is also Mother of the Church and Mother of believers.
The Church has always raised Mary high, not simply because she gave
birth to Jesus, but rather, because she is the model of Christian
discipleship. Mary was not a passive vessel. She did not merely consent,
but actively cooperated with God’s plan, and continues to play an active
role in the life of believers, just as she did at the wedding feast at
Cana—“do whatever he tells you” (John 2:5). As Pope Francis has written,
“She is the handmaid of the Father who sings his praises. She is the
friend who is ever concerned that wine not be lacking in our lives. She
is the woman whose heart was pierced by a sword and who understands all
our pain. As mother of all, she is a sign of hope for peoples suffering
the birth pangs of justice…. As a true mother, she walks at our side,
she shares our struggles and she constantly surrounds us with God’s
love” (Joy of the Gospel, 286). Mary always points us towards
Christ. Incarnate once in her womb, he continues to make himself
present, in the sacramental life of the Church, and in the suffering
flesh of our brothers and sisters in need. In this way, Mary constantly
reminds us of “earth’s most amazing knowledge: someone is hidden in this
dark with” us.
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