One of the benefits of my work in parish religious education is hearing scripture repeatedly. Seriously, coordinating the RCIA class has forced me to read and re-read and then read again every Sunday Gospel reading each week. . I read and make copies of the Gospel excerpt on Friday to prepare for class, go to Liturgy of the Word with the Catechumens on Sunday morning, lead them in a close reading of that excerpt for the first half hour of class, then attend Mass for myself later that day. All in all, I can count on four or five different encounters with the same Gospel reading each and every weekend. The wonderful thing about Scripture readings, though, and the Gospels in particular, is that they lend themselves to such repetition. The archaic and often awkward translations, the opaque parables and stories, Christ's dynamic and multi-layered sermons- each reading really requires the kind of attention that I am forced to give for work. That's attention that I definitely wouldn't give otherwise.
The day before I left Florida to visit family in Northern California, the Gospel was Luke's iconic account of the Visitation of Mary to her cousin Elizabeth. The beauty and mystery of this story had struck me many times before. But, it had never felt so personal to me as it did that day, around about the third encounter with the excerpt. For weeks I had been anticipating my first visit home in months, a long trek to celebrate the same birth Luke writes about. Mary and Elizabeth's joyful reunion was the same reunion I would have the very next day, 2008 years later. Certainly, Christ had grown in me since the last time I'd seen the people of my childhood. Certainly, I could try to bring them the great honor of the Incarnation just as Mary did for Elizabeth. I was excited and overjoyed for the affection, care and genuine love experienced in the Visitation. But something felt wrong about identifying so strongly with the Mother of God.
At Mass later that day, I was subject to one of the worst homilies I've ever heard. This gave me the opportunity to further reflect on my own discomfort with the prospect of bearing Christ to my family and friends during my two-week vacation. Was it impious to think of myself so highly? Surely, I am not Mary. I'm not her holy cousin either, faithful enough to bear the fore-runner of Christ in her old age. I am not the conduit of prophetic utterances as meaningful or faithful as the Magnificat. Was I being condescending? Here I am, the Masters in Theology student from Notre Dame come home to teach my family and friends a thing or two about love and Jesus and Christmas.
I am definitely condescending. In a bad way. The meeting of Mary and Elizabeth is the meeting of two equals, two individuals who admire each other and love to spend time in the presence of one another. In fact, if anything, it is the story of a desperate young girl going to her older cousin for help while she sorts out her apparently illegitimate pregnancy. Identifying with Mary is necessary for growth as a disciple, but her amazing virtue and power is reinforced by her frank humility- sometimes she needs help. I, too, weary and angry from a difficult time at work needed help from my friends and family. Sure, I wanted to help them grow in faith and love of Christ, but part of that would involve being honest and open and as weak as I am.
The Visitation is about mutual human love and support, for Mary will certainly be comforting to her older cousin. Reunion is a time to hear about another and to share my story, and I've found that my dearest friends are wildly successful in providing this mutuality. I am impious for hoping to be as virtuous as Mary? No. I'm impious for not challenging myself to be. My close friends, though I don't see most of them very often, make me think and help Christ to grow in me. I, too, bring my experience to them and lovingly help them to find the baptist within. This is not something that comes easily to a grumpy, cerebral and condescending grad student. But living the radical love of the Incarnation means trying to be as good at Mary is to Elizabeth, while being humble enough to ask help of those who are in need too.
Now, I'm getting ready to leave family and friends again. I don't feel like I've brought anything to my family, especially not the incarnational love I'd hoped to be able to. I've been difficult and grumpy at times. I've fallen into bad habits from my teens and flaked out on some visits. I think, though, that my visit and the lack of satisfaction I feel from it gives me a stronger commitment to make each encounter I have a Visitation.
St. Elizabeth, pray for us.
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