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There are so many artistic depictions of the Annunciation, but one of my all-time favorites is one that a good friend of mine gave me a few years ago.  You can see it below.  Not too long afterward I came across a poem by Luci Shaw that seemed to have been written for it.  I share that with you as well.  Thank you, Mary, for your earth-changing yes. . .

Virgin

As if until that moment
nothing real
had happened since Creation

As if outside the world were empty
so that she and he were all
there was–he mover, she moved upon

As if her submission were the most
dynamic of all works; as if
no one had ever said Yes like that

As if that day the sun had no place
in all the universe to pour its gold
but her small room

(Luci Shaw)

Χριστός ανέστη εκ νεκρών, θανάτω θάνατον πατήσας,
και τοις εν τοις μνήμασι ζωήν χαρισάμενος 

Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death,
and upon those in the tombs bestowing life.

This is the day when everything is silent.  We can go about the day not giving much of a thought to it–just seeing it as the day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. Yet monumental things were happening in the spiritual realm.  Christ descended to hell to set captives free.

This still has meaning for us.  So often we think nothing is happening in our own spiritual lives, yet God is about monumental things.  Have hope in the Unseen.

Christ descended into “Hell” and is therefore close to those cast into it, transforming their darkness into light.  Suffering and torment is still terrible and well-nigh unbearable.  Yet the star of hope has risen–the anchor of the heart reaches the very throne of God.  Instead of evil becoming unleashed within man, the light shines victorious: suffering–without ceasing to be suffering–becomes, despite everything, a hymn of praise. (Pope Benedict XVI, Spe Salvi

From a profound book, Lament for a Son, written by Nicholas Wolterstorff on the death of his 25-year-old son from a mountaineering accident:

It is said of God that no one can behold his face and live.  I always thought this meant that no one could see his splendor and live.  A friend said perhaps it meant that no one could see his sorrow and live.  or perhaps his sorrow is splendor.

And great mystery: to redeem our brokenness and lovelessness the God who suffers with us did not strike some mighty blow of power but sent his beloved son to suffer like us, through his suffering to redeem us from suffering and evil.

Instead of explaining our suffering, God shares it.

There will be rest, and sure stars shining
Over the roof-tops crowned with snow,
A reign of rest, serene forgetting,
The music of stillness holy and low.
~Sara Teasdale

May we sit in silence,
content to know
the heavenly realms
circle slowly above us,
continuous and consistent,
in reign of rest fulfilled
in His serene forgetting our sins
and forgiving our flaws.
We hear Him now,
still and low,
saying our name,
inviting us to rest
with Him and
in Him
forever.

A good goal for Lent–a realizable one–could be to “Come away for awhile” with the Lord.  The space of time might be only 3 minutes.  Susanna Wesley, mother of John and Charles Wesley and 17 others, used to throw her apron up over her head in the middle of the kitchen as a sign to her children that she was praying.  Remember that children pattern themselves on what they see their parents do.  (Actions speak louder than words . . .)  I read this post from Ann Voskamp this morning and thought it was not only a brilliant idea for children, but also for us who are called to be like a little child: “How to make and take a peace retreat”. Praying that you find a corner or a chair and three minutes today to come away with your Beloved.

A painting or a song can be so powerful.  The picture below can be found on the cover of the first volume of Fire of Mercy by Erasmo Leiva-Merikakis, a Trappist monk.  I have been meditating on it this Lent.  I know I have posted about this picture before, but can’t help sharing it with you again.

This is how the back of the book describes this picture:

The book’s cover portrays Christ as the Good Samaritan in an illumination taken from the mid sixth-century Syrian Codex Rossanensis. The fire of God’s mercy, poured out without reserve by the Father into the Heart of his incarnate Word, impels the Son’s eager gaze earthwards.  Christ Jesus, Son of God and Son of Mary, the living ‘image of the invisible God’ in whom ‘the whole fullness of divinity dwells bodily’ (Colossians 1:15, 2:9), bends down his sun-like nimbus—the very splendor of…

Sometimes an old hymn is just what we need to lift up our hearts and souls.  So many of the old hymns are laced with Scripture, and singing them speaks much deeper to our hearts than we know.  (God’s word always goes much deeper than we know.) Here is a beautiful rendition of O God, Our Help in Ages Past(with subtitles so you can sing along!).

The reason why singing is such a splendid shield against the fiery darts of the devil is that it greatly helps us to forget him, and he cannot endure being forgotten.  He likes us to be occupied with him, what he is doing (our temptations), with his victories (our falls), with anything but our glorious Lord.  So sing.  Never be afraid of singing too much.  We are much more likely to sing too little.  (Amy Carmichael)