Annunciation or Explanation? The Marian heart of liturgy

In Advent we wait with Mary for the birth of Christ. This is an invitation into a deeper experience of contemplative prayer as Mary wonders at the Word entrusted to her and ‘ponders these things in her heart’. It is also an invitation to both hope for the incarnate One and simultaneously feel the life of the Word growing and coming to birth within us.

This Marian experience teaches us something important about liturgy. It seems to me that Western Christianity has undergone a disconnect of Word and embodied sacrament. Too often, whether in evangelical or liberal forms, the good news is severed from the flesh. The result is a tyranny of blunt words. Christianity becomes about beliefs in our head (whether we accept them or doubt them) and experiences which are essentially individualised.

A symptom of this in liturgy is when everything that happens has to be explained. Hymns are prefaced with mini-sermons. Prayers are stuffed with information. Ritual actions (if there are any) are book-ended with announcements and rationales: this is why we are doing this, this is what we have just done, did you notice? And so on.

I know that sometimes introducing and contextualising liturgical moments can have its place, especially in teaching. But to do this as a default mode seems to me a loss of confidence in the liturgical gift, a breakdown of our sense of ourselves as symbolic creatures. The ‘word’ becomes information.

I know also that the solution is not elaborate esoteric ritual for the sake of it, especially if conducted with prissy elitism. Nor is it unthinking emotivism.

However, I do think we need to rediscover afresh that ancient insight: that Christianity is lived mystery before it is ‘belief’. Its heart is God enfleshed for us. Its call is for us to bear that divine Word in every part of our being. It is, ultimately, about becoming divine: us being wholly opened, liberated from ego, and transformed so we share the overflowing being of God. 

When Mary hears the word, she wonders, embraces, embodies, prophesies and sings that joyful encounter. At the same time, she questions, fears and senses the suffering that is to come. She remains a marginalised woman on the edge of an empire which cares nothing for her. It is a wholly embodied, holistically incarnate, realistic faith. Mary’s part in that is unique; but through her prayer and path, we are invited to share it in our own way.

A Marian liturgy would not simply add Marian devotions (though it would be wonderful if our divided churches would rediscover the riches she offers) but would feed us body and soul. It would place the eucharist at the centre, since that is where we are fed, where we encounter, touch, and eat the Word. Where we learn to bear the divine in order to become the divine.

That was the gospel from the earliest days: why offer anything less to a world hungry for spiritual food?

Loving mother of the Redeemer,
gate of heaven, star of the sea,
assist your people who have fallen yet strive to rise again,
To the wonderment of nature you bore your Creator,
yet remained a virgin after as before,
You who received Gabriel's joyful greeting,
have pity on us poor sinners.

(The Alma Redemptoris Mater)