Holidays - Seasons Greetings!

Mary was alone; alone with the Word that was in her heart!

She did not realize that of all the people in the entire world she was the most alone. She only knew that the light of the Angel’s presence was gone; leaving but a dim, pale morning in its stead. She knelt on a little time in the breathless, empty silence of the little room; not thinking, nor praying, nor wondering; but adoring in simplicity and a holy fear.

When she arose and went out again to her work, she came upon a world all new: a world that had been subtly and infinitely changed for her.

It was true that the white flocks dotted the hills as always. Below the village men and women were hurrying out to the fields of the plain, as happened every morning. The flowers on the rutted hillsides wore the same colors that they had worn yesterday morning. The thread came twirling through her fingers in the wonted way. But these were only the outer and cruder points of contact of the world. The soul of the world had been changed to Mary. She had been picked up and put in the very center of all. With her God had begun the Salvation of the soul of the world!

The idea was infinitely greater than the dream of Israel to which Mary had been listening all her life. It was greater than Mary. It was greater than earth itself. Mary did not realize it now. But she was in the presence of it. Already it had taken its hold upon her. The work of salvation had begun.

The first, the single, the overwhelming impression was of loneliness.

In the past, when Mary had dreamed of the coming of the King, there had always come before Him some wonderful, revealing portent. The daughter of David whom God would thus honor would be pointed out to all the people by some work of His hand. She would be known instantly. The people would acclaim her with a joy and a pride proportioned to the depth of their longing through the years. Her name would be on every tongue. It would be written in every Jewish heart.

How different was this reality! There was no one to acclaim her. No man or woman knew that secret which God had hidden in her breast. None would have understood. She felt herself set apart, removed from all others of her kind. There was a seal upon her lips; God had set a seal upon her heart. Never again would she see or think or feel as others did.

Because she was the most perfect of God’s human creations, Mary was perfectly and intensely human. She loved her kind with sympathy and a depth of understanding that made her capable of being the mother of all. And because she was human she craved love and understanding in return. How gladly she would have breathed her secret into the heart of every daughter of Juda! But that was denied her.

She was a woman facing the most momentous thing that ever came to woman of this world, and her heart turned instinctively to other women, to look for counsel and understanding. But where was there a woman living in the world who could help her in this?

She went the accustomed round of her daily duties with the grave, serene manner of every day, but with heart aching in loneliness and fearsome bewilderment. Those about her, of her own household, were the last to whom she could have confided her awesome secret. Instinct, sharpened by suffering and apprehension, told her in what manner her revelation would be received by them.

She could fairly feel the smiles of patronizing disbelief with which the elders would brush away her dream, as they would call it. She could hear, in prospect, the very words in which the girls of her age would first deride and then blame her presumption. Mary was one of themselves. Did not all know her? Who was she to arrogate this great thing to herself?

Even the little children would learn that there was something strange about her and would stare at her!

She could not; oh, she could not bare the wonderful glory of her secret to incredulity, to comment, to derision!

Whither, then, could her heart turn? Contact with those about her began to weigh sorely upon her spirit. At times it seemed that her lips would no longer hold back the secret which came rushing to them. It seemed that she must cry it out in the face of all. Then it seemed that she must fly, fly from the sight and hearing of men and women, to the high hills and the desert beyond, to hide herself and her secret from the eyes and ears of all. She must shut herself away, she must wander the world alone and unknown, to guard her secret from eyes that stared and ears that listened, unbelieving!

Then, late one night, when all were sleeping, Mary prayed with tears to God; for all this was more than a maiden could bear. And the words of the Angel came to her in answer:

“Thy cousin Elizabeth.”

Mary remembered what she had passed over in the wonder and bewilderment of her own secret, how the Angel had told her that God had touched the aging years of Elizabeth and had wrought a miracle in them.

Now she knew why the Angel had shown this to her.

He was the Angel of God’s wisdom. He had foreseen her perplexity, her trouble, and these tears. And he had pointed out to her the one person in the world who would be able to understand.

The need, the hunger, of her heart for understanding, for another woman’s heart to which she might entrust her secret, took hold of her. She knew that roads could not carry her swiftly enough, until she could come to that older woman with the burden of her soul.