Author Stephanie Duncan Smith writes of Mary’s yes to God as a choice for expansion over contraction, mirroring God’s own yes in creation:
Genesis tells the story of God’s radical choice for expansion over happiness, and the world is born. Advent echoes and reprises this divine choice, and the world is reborn. First, life from the womb of God, now, life from a woman who made a radical choice for expansion, not just over happiness, but over personal comfort, safety, and reputation. Expansion was the call, and against its many risks, the mother of God said yes—stretching her body as well as her imagination for just what kind of hope this might be, growing now within her.
Had she said no, she would not have faced public scrutiny or physical endangerment as an unmarried pregnant woman in her day would have faced. She would have been spared the empire’s hunt for her blacklisted family, driving them to live the life of refugees on the run. And she would have never known the unthinkable loss of watching her firstborn take his last breath.
Her path would have been so much safer, perhaps easier and even happier, if Mary had just not. And yet she chose the growing edge, where our truest self and life will always be found. And this choice made way for the life of the world. [1]
Duncan Smith invites us to consider how we are being asked to expand our hearts in this season:
There are many ways for a life to expand. Some will do so through this particular muscle of women, though pregnancy is far from the exclusive icon of expansion, neither is it the primary metaphor. The stretching of a belly is not sure equivalence to the stretching of the heart, and the heart that stretches may never manifest itself in the body….
We stretch by reaching toward each other—by reaching out from the solo act into the plural “we,” the pronoun God loves most. Life is long, the feast is wide, and we are meant for keeping it together. Our hearts are a muscle made in the image of God, made for connection. And there are so many ways of being kindred.
We enact our own advents every time we brave reaching beyond the borders of the self toward each other. Expansion is the anthem of anyone who is “brave enough to break your own heart.” [2] Every time we reach toward each other—considering the risk, compelled by love—we sing its anthem anew….[3]
Advent is nothing if not the story of beginnings, revealing a God who dares to expand, who chooses enlargement over happiness, no matter the chaos. This season shows us the astonishing view of a God gone radial, one who will never stop reaching toward his beloved, no matter the risks. And so, in the true spirit of Advent, we find our courage to chance. [4]
References:
[1] Stephanie Duncan Smith, Even After Everything: The Spiritual Practice of Knowing the Risks and Loving Anyway (Convergent Books, 2024), 16.
[2] Cheryl Strayed, “Dear Sugar, the Rumpus Advice Column #64: Tiny Beautiful Things,” The Rumpus, February 10, 2011.
[3] Duncan Smith, Even After Everything, 19–20.
[4] Duncan Smith, Even After Everything, 32.
Image credit and inspiration: Pranish Shrestha, untitled (detail), 2020, photo, Unsplash. Click here to enlarge image. Not knowing what comes next yet still saying yes is courage rooted in a framework beyond the practical—like Mary holding the small light of her yes in the midst of a dark night.
Story from Our Community:
“An Advent Poem”: In the darkness before dawn, the yearning heart lies waiting. / Not asleep. / The dark night speaks of emptiness. Of solitude. / Waiting for He who is to come. / For nine months, the Lady waits, wondering…. / Each moment pregnant with unknown possibilities. / We wait, wondering, yearning. / The Sun rises, incrementally. The Child grows, day by day. / Slowly, oh so very slowly, that which is hidden becomes more clear…. / The way before us opens up…. / To the Presence in which we, all unknowing, are immersed. / We step forth now, in increasing radiance, no longer quite as blind.
—Christina V.
