H
e had thought of a thousand ways in which what he had to say could be said. He wanted to say it in such a way as to make the very most of it. He wanted to announce it to the sound of trumpets and the race of stars across the heavens. He wanted to make an event of it. These urgings stirred powerfully in the heart of this magnificent creature but in the end he said simply, “You are to bear a child.” Mary’s heart stopped. Questions, unformed, unintelligible, bubbled in her mind. “A son. You will call his name, Jesus!” She had been standing but at this, she dropped to her knees and then sat on the grass. Covering her face with her hands, she wept. She was confused, undone. She had no idea why this man would tell her such things but the mystery of his appearance and the authority with which he spoke opened her mind to the possibility, the plausibility of his words. It was now not his appearance, not the tone of his voice that frightened her, but the import in his speech. Weakly, she stammered,
“I cannot . . .”
“Mary,” he continued, each syllable of sweet velvet, “Your son will be very great. He will be the Son of the Most High God.” And then the man appeared to succumb to transcendent ecstasy and uttered words that seemed to her to be the refrain of a song, words that soared beyond her comprehension,
“And the Lord God
will give to him
the throne of his father, David.
He will reign
over the house of Jacob forever
and of his kingdom
there shall be no end!”
It was then that Mary realized that this man is no man at all. It was an intimation, a subtle emanation, a verisimilitude of superhuman life that caused her to cry out within herself, “He is an angel!”
“Ah!” She squealed in adolescent agitation. “Ah!” Again. The emotion of the moment almost took her. Questions came hard into exclamations, “I have never been with . . . a man!” The premise upon which all else was considered. Mary, just preparing to visit her sixteenth year, knew how babies were made. I am betrothed! She thought of Joseph. Whatever the angel meant, she understood that Joseph was not a part of it. “How can this happen?” said she. How can this be? She inquired not of the possibility, but of the process. In her heart, she was certain of the truth.
He, as actuated by emotion as she. This, his highest moment, the zenith of the purpose for which he had been created in lost millennia past. However restive his excitation, his words did not betray him. With perfect lucidity he proclaimed, “The Holy Spirit shall come upon you, child. And the power of the Highest will overshadow you.” He took a deep breath, “That holy thing born of you shall be called the Son of God,” he repeated. Mary could not speak. A moment passed. They sat quietly. The soothing stillness of the evening, like a mother’s reassuring hand, extended its calm.
