The Hidden Glory of God in Advent

Once at a recent retreat at Ty Mawr convent I became fascinated by the wonderful statue of Mary in the dining room. I was struck by the fact that her halo was black rather than the usual golden hues. Black being the colour that artists use to portray darkness in contrast to choosing gold or dazzling white to indicate the glory of holiness. But there was a stage in Mary’s life when her holiness was hidden from the world. A time when she was quite literally filled with the glory of God and no one else knew or could perceive it.

I began to reflect on the changes in Mary that were being developed in secret. As God was being knit into human form in her womb. Did the reflected glory of God shine inside Mary, as Moses’ face shone when he had seen the back of God as he passed by. Did all those wonderfully made organs of Mary’s femininity glow as Jesus developed into her precious baby.

Was she aware of that internal glow? Of the reflected glory that was initially hers alone. Did she feel lighter, safer, more empowered as her child grew within her?  Or did the fear of the reaction from the outside world seep into her joy, shrouding the glory within?

As we travel through Advent this year we can take the time this week to imagine being the only one who knows about the coming of Jesus. But it is not a secret we can keep to ourselves. We know that the imminent birth of Jesus, the Saviour of the world, is such good news that we want to sing it out to all who will listen. But Mary, Mary has to wait for her time to come before the glory within can be seen as the true glory in the world.

With all my love and prayers this Advent time

Revd. Sandra

Icon

She’s not a painting by Crivelli,

no slant-eyed blond in Florentine brocade;

no solid pyramid by Raphael

with boneless hands and sweet and tiny mouth;

no fair flushed teenager Batoni drew;no pale El Greco goth.

She is a dark scared girl in dusty djellabah and veil,

with her dirty feet – I think she bites her nails -and two small lines upwards between her brows.

Her face is olive and her hands have pads

of calloused skin from grinding grain for flour,

but if you concentrate, you’ll see, perhaps

through her chemise a faint transparency

which glows – as though she’s swallowed fire.

Lynn Roberts

From the sequence “Rosa Mundi”