In addition to the term March Madness, various rounds of the NCAA tournament also have distinctive names. The third round, in which there are 16 teams left, is called the Sweet 16. The next round is referred to as the Elite 8. Then, there is the Final 4. The Final 4 play two games over three days to determine the national champion and close out March Madness. Amen to all this madness!
However, I don’t believe I’m into sports that much, so I’m pretty pathetic trying to make a metaphor about all of this madness. The madness that I know of is that I’m really getting a little perturbed (no – a lot perturbed) that spring is having such a struggle to arrive. I have seen our snow finally melting, but consistent warm breezes disappear overnight. Then with the early morning dawn, two to three inches of snow have visited once again. Is this not madness?
March Sadness: Today it was announced by the Malaysian Airlines that flight MH370 is now considered lost at sea. "We have to assume beyond reasonable doubt that MH370 has been lost and that none of those on board have survived," the message said. "We must now accept all evidence suggests the plane went down in the southern Indian Ocean.” So let us hold all involved in this happening in prayer – family, friends, relatives, and the deceased, those who have made efforts to search for the plane . . . and those with any other association to this tragedy. May we spend some time in quiet prayer to reflect on this happening, and ponder the fragility of life. What are the questions that we ask ourselves at this time?
March Gladness: Tuesday, March 25, is the Feast of the Annunciation. It is the feast in which Christians celebrate Mary's fiat—her willing acceptance of God's holy plan through the visit of the angel Gabriel to the Mary, during which he told her that she would be the mother of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.
I’ve provided a few poetic pieces about this sacred moment. Ponder what “annunciations of good news” you have experienced in your life? “When the Holy Spirit speaks it can be terrifying because it evokes profound fear of the unknown, fear of life, fear of stepping into our own destiny. If, however, women and men can find their own virgin within, they can learn to BE, both alone and with each other. The mystery lives in the possibility of Being. Love chooses us.” (Marion Woodman)
 |
| Art by: Henry Ossawe Tanner |
Poem: Fiat by Robert Fr. Morneau
(on viewing Henry O. Tanner's "The Annunciation"- 1988
On her bed of doubt,
in wrinkled night garment,
she sat, glancing with fear
at a golden shaft of streaming light,
pondering perhaps, "Was this
but a sequel to a dream?"
The light too brief for disbelief,
yet its silence eased not her trembling.
Somehow she murmured a "yes"
and with that the light's love and life
pierced her heart
and lodged in her womb.
The room remained the same
- rug still need smoothing
- jug and paten awaiting using.
Now all was different
in a maiden's soft but firm fiat.
Poem: The Annunciation by Denise Levertov
We know the scene: the room, variously furnished,
almost always a lectern, a book; always
the tall lily.
Arrived on solemn grandeur of great wings,
the angelic ambassador, standing or hovering,
whom she acknowledges, a guest.
But we are told of meek obedience. No one mentions
courage
The engendering Spirit
did not enter her without consent.
God waited.
She was free
to accept or refuse, choice
integral to humanness.
Aren't there annunciations
of one sort or another in most lives?
Some unwillingly undertake great destinies,
enact them in sullen pride,
uncomprehending.
More often those moments
when roads of light and storm
open from darkness in a man or woman,
are turned away from
in dread, in a wave of weakness, in despair
and with relief.
Ordinary lives continue.
God does not smite them.
But the gates close, the pathway vanishes..
She had been a child who played, ate, spelt
like any other child - but unlike others,
wept only for pity, laughed
in joy not triumph.
Compassion and intelligence
fused in her, indivisible.
Called to a destiny more momentous
than any in all of Time,
she did not quail,
only asked
a simple, "How can this be?"
and gravely, courteously,
took to heart the angel's reply,
perceiving instantly
the astounding ministry she was offered:
to bear in her womb
Infinite weight and lightness; to carry
in hidden, finite inwardness,
nine months of Eternity; to contain
in slender vase of being,
the sum of power -
in narrow flesh,
the sum of light.
Then bring to birth,
push out into air, a Man-child
needing, like any other,
milk and love -
but who was God.
This was the minute no one speaks of,
when she could still refuse.
A breath unbreathed,
Spirit, suspended, waiting.
She did not cry, "I cannot, I am not worth."
Nor, "I have not the strength."
She did not submit with gritted teeth, raging, coerced.
Bravest of all humans,
consent illumined her.
The room filled with its light,
the lily glowed in it,
and the iridescent wings.
Consent,
courage unparalleled,
opened her utterly.
when she could still refuse.
A breath unbreathed,
Spirit, suspended, waiting.
She did not cry, "I cannot, I am not worth."
Nor, "I have not the strength."
She did not submit with gritted teeth, raging, coerced.
Bravest of all humans,
consent illumined her.
The room filled with its light,
the lily glowed in it,
and the iridescent wings.
Consent,
courage unparalleled,
opened her utterly.
The Heart-in-waiting
Jesus walked through whispering wood:
'I am pale blossom, I am blood berry,
I am rough bark, I am sharp thorn.
This is the place where you will be born.'
Jesus went down to the skirl of the sea:
'I am long reach, I am fierce comber,
I am keen saltspray, I am spring tide.'
He pushed the cup of the sea aside
And heard the sky which breathed-and-blew:
'I am the firmament, I am shape-changer,
I cradle and carry and kiss and roar,
I am infinite roof and floor.'
All day he walked, he walked all night,
Then Jesus came to the heart at dawn.
'Here and now,' said the heart-in-waiting,
'This is the place where you must be born.'
By Kevin Crossley-Holland
No comments:
Post a Comment