The clunky clamors of the bustling town of Nazareth filled its ambience with discordance. A euphonious yet powerful voice grazed the ears of a little girl who broke free from the ambient clamors to heed to it further. The voice addressed her as the one whom the Almighty found favor in, the greeting that startled even her inner most being. The mantle of His Grace fell upon her who was pledged to be married to Joseph, the descendent in the line of King David. Little did she know that her betrothed carried the ‘call’ of being the ‘chosen’ for the ‘Messiah’s Message’. The mantle felt heavy on the little girl who held close her cherished treasures this life gifted: her family, betrothed and the pride in her traditions. “How am I to bear the fruit of this seed that you planted in me?” the inquisitions of her little mind poured out. “The Spirit of God has now chosen to reside in you Mary, to use you as His vessel to pour in the Message of Christ. Are you willing to make room for Him within the womb of your soul?” She peered into her heart, the vaults of which carried the love for her family and her betrothed husband. “Make way for the King of Israel”, her soul whispered from within. With pain she dislodged the aisles of her heart that were embellished with the reminiscences of the love they shared. The Spirit of God then grazed its voids, planting the seeds of His love in its deep crevices. “Punishment by death”, her mind retorted when her soul stooped over to receive Him in. Threats of social stigma, bitterness from her dear ones and the fears of being denied by the one whom she had entrusted her heart with; the dreadful thorns pierced painfully through her soul. Pulling out those qualms she prepared a crown to dress the brow of her reputed self. Squelching it against her mind, its thorns choked her fears and worries and the tears that poured out from the surrendered soul, nourishing the ‘Seed’ from Heaven. Stepping out of the silhouette of Mary that defined her she stepped into the light of her calling drenching her heart and mind in the Glory of His Grace, strengthening every limb of her soul to embrace the forthcoming suffering and reproach. The glitters of His Glory melded together forming a portrait of the Mary that existed in the mind of God: ‘the chosen nightingale from whose womb shall the ‘Message of Salvation’ be orchestrated’. The shimmers of this image glistened in her eyes. Emptying her ‘self’ of all that she cherished she scooped in His desire with the palm of her hands and gulped down that bitter Marah; bitterness turned sweet under the aura of the love that bloomed. Relishing every ounce of its unbearable bitterness the qualms of her soul were put to death. Clasping tight to the mantle of His Grace, the ingress of His power strengthened her to embrace God’s vision for her, cwthing it through the thorns of ignominy, scorn and reproach that surrounded it. Having found her greatest treasure, the gold that glittered from beneath the sheath of suffering, her acceptance echoed from the vault of her heart: “Behold, the handmaid of the Lord, be it unto me according to thy word” (Luke 1:38), marking the renaissance of God’s chosen Mary.
From the death bed of the virgin who devoted herself to her betrothed in this world, she rose up as the impregnated Mary carrying the seed of her eternal Groom. The harbinger from Nazareth left to the town of Judah where she ascended the stairs of courage, strength and power to return as the lioness of Judah; bold and unrelenting. She valiantly faced all disdain, denial and insults as the vision in her eyes shined brighter than the scornful glare of her kindred. The tears of oppression, denial and persecution failed to quench the flame of His love that burned in her heart.
“Mary is pregnant!”, the news shattered her morality before her world. Every appealing aspect of Mary was painfully chiseled away to carve out the lioness within, from whose womb shall the Lion of Judah roar quaking the foundations of Hades. The scraps of her old reputed-self smeared in the tears of rejection and reproach nourished the foetus during each term of its development. Her flesh struggled to cope up with the demand but grace carried her through. When she dutifully served the term of ‘solitude labor’ the hour of her betrothed’s ‘calling’ arrived, transforming the ‘labor’ divine.
Together they bore the reproach of Christ and the joys of Immanuel. The added offerings of Joseph’s sacrifice of praise led the child to develop to its full term. Traversing to the land of their roots, the hour of delivering ‘His Word’ arrived. Writhing in the ‘pain to birth’ they knocked multiple hearts, pleading to allow them in to deliver the ‘Good News’; the greatest treasure to the lost souls. Alas, their supplication did not find a room in the souls that were harnessed to the treasures of this world.
An empty manger deep down the dark valley, Joseph’s eyes spotted a prospective inn to shine the lantern of His light. Risking everything, they trod down the perilous route that led to the shabbily shattered and cluttered hearts of those who sought solace; the outcasts of this world. The void aisles of their heart had enough room for the ‘Message’ that was about to be birthed. Preparing their room within the space offered, Mary birthed the joy that burned in her womb. The light of Immanuel dawned in their darkness, filling the ambience with songs of praise. This ‘Good News’ echoed to the farthest valleys attracting multitudes of all ranks to flock together to witness the ‘Love of God bear fruit among man’
Dear little Mary, you of little strength, ye who have heard the voice of your Lord, whose spoken word created the Embryo of God’s Will in your womb, will you nourish your foetus with your tears of suffering and shame? Or will you abort it fearing the reproach it accompanies? Will you endure ‘Joseph’s resentment’, gulping in his bitterness to nourish your foetus or will you give birth to wind when the His destined hour arrives? (Isaiah 26:18). Will you endanger yourself to protect it from the fowler’s snare?, allowing it to grow to its full term, not that you may ascend the throne of royalty of this world, but that you may descend down to the miry, desolate hearts of the lost, to birth Christ in their shabby mangers!
Leave behind your treasures of this world and prepare to embrace the treasures He gifts: ‘The testimonies of transformed souls’; your crown of glory that you can cherish forever.
Comments