Mary —(Madison Chau)

Mary —(Madison Chau)

November 29th–– Mary


5 In the days of King Herod of Judea, there was a priest named Zechariah, who belonged to the priestly order of Abijah. His wife was a descendant of Aaron, and her name was Elizabeth. 6 Both of them were righteous before God, living blamelessly according to all the commandments and regulations of the Lord. 7 But they had no children, because Elizabeth was barren, and both were getting on in years. (Lk. 1:5-7)

Reflection (Madison Chau): 

I often wish that I was tasked only with destroying evil rather than creating good. 

If I could light a match and set fire to the forests of wickedness that seem to have overgrown the earth, I would. Imagine standing from afar, watching it burn down to embers. It’s an important job; I envy those who do it. 

I once thought it was the only job worth doing. There seemed to be enough evil that everyone could take to setting fires, and it still wouldn’t be enough to burn it all down. 

The night the angel came to me, I listened to him with shaking hands. As he spoke, I realized that the job he was asking me to do—the birthing of a savior, the nurturing of hope—is a resistance in and of itself. A different kind of resistance, to be sure—one that feels more intimate, the soft glow of a candle as opposed to the ardent force of a forest fire—but resistance nonetheless. Someone has to remind us that the power of hope is stronger than the power of death. 

On the nights when there appears to be too much wickedness to overcome, I hold my hands over my belly and feel the hope and goodness that still grows there, against all odds. When it seems that the hope is so fragile it could fall apart, I remind myself not to mistake gentleness for weakness, or love for passivity, or peace for complacency. 

Hope, itself, is resistance.


What reminds you of hope today?


God, may we feel your ardent presence among us, and may we be reminded that our hope for tomorrow is itself resistance. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

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