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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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Seattle, Washington  98104
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