Five hundred years is a long time. Longer when it marks time as quiet, empty, filled with a mournful wind. In a bleak wilderness, abruptly, a solitary figure arises. He takes his stand at the centre of biblical prophecy and shatters the longstanding silence. What does he say? The day of the Lord is at hand. What does he look like? He cuts quite a figure as he steps out of the wilderness, clothed in camel skin, a diet of locusts and honey, his spirit resolved on a message of baptism of repentance for sin. Some thought he had a demon. Who is he? His name is John. John the Baptist, son of Zechariah and Elizabeth. But he is more. He is a voice lifted up, loud and crushing. His baptism comes from heaven. It is the baptism of one who is greater than a prophet. It is the baptism of Elijah who is to come.
Let me enter the wilderness from which John has freshly emerged. What will happen to me? I want to reckon with this Day of the Lord. How should I prepare? Give to the one who asks. Share with the one in need. Be just and fair. Cleanse your soul in the raw grace of wilderness. Let it teach you to pray simply and poor before an austere presence that burns but does not consume (Ex 3:2). There I stand my ground. It will make me a contemplative listener who wrestles with God (Gen 33:23ff). It will lead me to Holy God and to myself in God. It will lead me to a silence in which I am free from fear and indeed from myself. In their place, humility. In this wilderness the Church is nourished (Rev 12:14). The wilderness points to the Day of the Lord: ‘Behold, the Lamb of God’ (Jn 1:29).
There is a woman. She is very different from John. He is a booming voice and no respecter of persons for the axe is already laid to the roots of the trees. Mary is pure silence. She speaks to Gabriel. John speaks to everyone. John speaks of a muscular God. Mary speaks to a joyful God who exults with joy over her. Already the greeting of heaven: ‘the Lord is with you’. Her mission is breathtaking. ‘You will bear a son.’ He will be called Son of the Most High, the glory of God who bears the stamp of His Being (Heb 1:3). To Mary comes the revelation of Trinity God. And now, absolutely everything pauses before her: ‘Let it be done to me as you have said.’
Now there is something very new in the world. It is the Incarnation of God in our flesh. In a tender and beautiful way, with this truth and focus we enter a uniquely Franciscan love of Mother and Son. Mary listened to God and said ‘Yes’. It is a pure grace. Its light reveals Mary as the poor and fragile woman of faith in her mission as Mother of the Messiah. In the unblinking grace of her Magnificat, she exposes my complacency and indifference.
John and Mary are our companions in Advent. With them we wait. We press what slowly comes into focus — are you the one we seek? Are you the One who is to come? Are you the one who is coming into the world (Jn 11:27)? Advent hope flickers steadily amid the noise and clutter. Hope always has. Advent invites us to watch with John and Mary, to await good news of great joy (Lk 2:10).
Kevin Tortorelli OFM