Homily: January 1, Mary, Mother of God

Readings: Num 6:22-27; Ps 67; Gal 4:4-7; Lk 2:16-21

There’s no need to exaggerate the role that Mary played in the story of our salvation. It’s a role and a story we’re all familiar with. The story of how Mary willingly and courageously accepted the remarkable mission God asked of her – how she agreed to bear the Son of God, the Savior of the world.

The gospels describe her role, especially St. Luke’s Gospel; for Luke paints the most vivid portrait of Mary…and what a portrait it is! He describes beautifully those scenes we all know so well: the Annunciation by the Archangel Gabriel at Mary’s home in Nazareth; the Visitation – Mary and Elizabeth greeting each other at the door to Elizabeth’s house; the birth of our Lord in the stable at Bethlehem; Jesus’ Presentation in the Temple; and then, years later, Mary and Joseph finding the young boy, Jesus, once again, in the Temple. Luke paints these scenes in rapid succession in the opening pages of his gospel…and then nothing, or almost nothing.

And while the gospels include a few other scenes, most are brief and fleeting. In Mark, for instance, we encounter Mary on the road, seeking Jesus in the midst of the crowds gathered around him. In John we see Mary at the wedding in the village of Cana, and we find her again at the foot of the cross. And then, in the Acts of the Apostles, Mary joins the disciples in the Upper Room as they receive the gift of the Holy Spirit on that first Pentecost, the day the Church was born.

These are all wonderful scenes! Marvelous events! But they give us just glimpses of the Mother of the Lord. And in the last book of the Bible, the Book of Revelation, we find a fleeting reference to Mary as a woman wrapped in the brightness of the sun. But, in truth, Mary is more often a woman wrapped in something else; she’s a woman wrapped in silence. Indeed, one of my favorite books about Mary is titled just that: A Woman Wrapped in Silence -- a woman wrapped in the silence of God.

Let’s take a moment tonight to join with Mary, to step into that silence, the deep silence of God on that day when, as a young girl, Mary was given a choice. Have you ever considered what that choice could have meant for her? It could have cost her reputation in her hometown of Nazareth. It could have ended her engagement to Joseph. It could even have led to her being stoned to death by an angry mob. After all it was the people of Nazareth who later tried to kill Our Lord.

We know the choice she was given. And, oh, are we ever grateful for the decision she made. But what I want us to contemplate this evening isn’t the choice she was given or the decision she made. What I want us to consider is the silence, the deep silence that preceded her “Yes.”

What did Mary see in that deep silence of God? Was it a silence so deep, a sorrow so profound, that it carried within itself the shock of every crime, every sin ever committed, every evil plot ever devised? Did that silence reveal to Mary all that her Son would bear as He carried that Cross to His death? Did she realize then that the sins of the world would be laid across His back and pounded through His hands and feet?

What was the color of that silence? Was it as black as the night? Like a night in some back alley? Or was it silver, like the flash of a knife or a sword? Or was it red, like the color of blood? Or blue, like a bruise on the skin?

And, remember, in the silence of that moment, the redemption of the human race hung in the balance. Was all this revealed to Mary in that instant when she pondered her decision and what it might mean? Did Mary peer into the sorrow of God? I’m sure she did, because God wouldn’t hide the truth from her; He would want her to know what she was agreeing to, what this would mean for her and for her Son.

And how fortunate for us that Mary was “full of grace” – so full of God’s amazing grace that there was room for nothing else. There was no room for doubt, no room for cowardice, no room for selfishness, no room for the sins that so often turn you and me from accepting Our Lord into our hearts. Only Mary, only the grace-filled one, could have the depth of faith and the courage to say “Yes” to God’s plan to deliver the world from the power of darkness, and from the evil that we do to one another.

What a remarkable plan! It’s a plan of love, a plan arising from God’s hope that we will turn from our sinfulness and accept Him into our hearts. And it’s a plan of divine forgiveness, a plan founded on God’s desperate hope that His outrageous mercy might, someday, trump the power of addiction, the anger of revenge, the death of love and the violence of hate…

Tonight, then, as we worship here together on the vigil of this feast of Mary, the Mother of God, we pray for peace: peace in the world; peace in our country; peace in our cities and communities. We pray for peace in our homes; but most importantly, we pray for peace in our hearts.

1,600 years ago, at the Council of Ephesus, the Church gave Mary the title, Theotokos, which means God-bearer, and confirmed that, yes, because she is the Mother of Jesus Christ, true God and true man, she is truly the Mother of God. As the God-bearer, Mary brought Our Lord into the world, and presented Him as the Father’s gift to all humanity.

Icon of Mary, Theotokos, "God-bearer"

Brothers and sisters, let’s learn from her, and follow her example. When we receive the Eucharist this evening, when we receive the Real Presence, the Body and Blood of Our Lord, Jesus Christ, we too will become God-bearers. Just like Mary, we are called to carry Jesus to the world, to all the others in our lives.

And so, as we prepare to become God-bearers, let us join our prayers to the prayers of Mary. Let us pray that the darkness of sin will be overcome in this world and that the light of love — the way of Mary’s Son — will take hold in our hearts and the hearts of all.