Mary comes in soaked, cold, and, exhausted.
She wants things to be made right, because they are so wrong. It feels wrong to be alive, and alone, with no sense of when that will change. She doesn’t understand how she is supposed to keep on living day after day. She doesn’t understand God’s time, how everything can be transformed in an instant and yet continue along in ordinary time.
She has been ruined for ordinary time.
Jesus understood how to marry God’s time and ordinary time, how to work in this world but keep a connection to God’s sacred time. But Jesus is gone, whisked back into that sacred time. He said he would return, but she has been waiting for a long time. She longs for the wait to end.
Stop this, she tells herself. You have been down this path before. It’s the path into despair and bitterness, and just because Mary means bitter does not mean that you must become bitter.
But the longing, longing for Jesus, for the angel, for understanding, for the end of hurt and confusion and doubt and so much tiredness, is overwhelming. More than anything, she wants to see the big picture like she did once before, when she knew that the Lord’s mercy lasts from generation to generation. She longs for that mercy.
The words burst out. Lord, you came into this world and promised to turn it around. You showed me that there is no one too insignificant or overlooked or unimportant to be a part of your plan. You embodied love. You transformed me entirely, body, mind, and spirit, and now I don’t know what to do! I have lost so much and in this long silence, I feel that I have lost you too. Show me that I am wrong, Lord.
Mary pours out the deepest desires of her heart until the rain on her face made salty by her tears has dried, and the storm in her heart has settled once more. She can carry on in ordinary time for now.