By Mary Van Andel
“So,” I said to my husband, Ben, “I’ve been asked to write an article about spiritual self-care during these times, with a focus on Advent. I don’t feel like I know much about spiritual selfcare, even less so right now. I would probably just tell them to go see their Elizabeth.”
“Well, there’s your article,” he said. Maybe Ben was right.
Though I am typically quite content in my own company and favor approaching troubles by rolling up my sleeves, I am aware that these days, I feel uncharacteristically lonely and somewhat anxious. I’m weary of endless political ads, the overuse of superlatives, and one attention-seeking shenanigan more appalling than the last. My personal and political efforts feel paltry and ineffectual in the face of our imperiled planet and our mortal kin; millions bereft of a place to lay their heads, food in their bellies, care for their wounds, safety for their children, and basic human dignity. And then there’s COVID-19 and vigilante militias. From what I’m hearing, I’m not alone.
In our immediate context, a good bit of which might rightly be called first-world problems or self-inflicted wounds, and as Advent approaches, I am drawn to the first chapter of Luke’s gospel, and the character of Mary. In a quiet, homely story, the angel Gabriel drops by Mary’s house one day and simply announces that she will birth the Light of the world. There’s Mary, out in the backyard, humming to herself while hanging clothes on the line to dry. Then, no thunder, no rushing winds, no trumpets sounding, she is forever changed. The text uses the word “overshadowed” (1:35 NRSV) to describe what happened to Mary. In contemporary usage, to be overshadowed is to feel hidden or made invisible, as one might be by a more charismatic sibling or colleague. But in the scriptures, to be overshadowed is to be in the very presence of God.
This story has caught the imagination of artists from early Christian drawings on the walls of Rome’s catacombs to Picasso; it is beloved by Christians the world over. I wonder why? None but Mary has been chosen to birth the Christ child, to bathe and feed and scold and worry about him, to argue with and correct him, to refuse to shield their eyes from his crucified body, then to bathe and anoint him for burial, and once he was resurrected, ponder the angel’s words in her heart yet again. To be “overshadowed” cannot be conjured. It is a rare gift for God’s purposes alone. Could it be the story captures the hearts of so many because we, too, have homely moments in the presence of God that change us forever? No thunder, no trumpets, but while weeding in the garden, cleaning the attic, hiking in the Porkies, we have the sense that we are in the very presence of the holy, and in fact, we are forever changed.
To speak of being in the presence of the holy may sound much overplayed, something that happens only to rarified characters in the Bible or eccentrics who live in the desert eating bugs and roots. Actually, it’s fairly common for regular people to experience the holy, but those moments aren’t always recognized as holy. Further, experiences we might recognize as holy sometimes have an isolating effect. Something that rattles our spiritual timbers isn’t something we tend to talk about in the coffee shop. It’s for this reason I invite you to find your Elizabeth this Advent – for the care of your own spirit.
After Mary was overshadowed, she packed her bags and headed for the hill country to visit her cousin, Elizabeth. I doubt it was just a lark. Remember, Elizabeth was in her sixth month of a miraculous pregnancy. Elizabeth’s husband, Zechariah, had also been visited by an angel and was struck dumb for the duration of the pregnancy. In short, Elizabeth knew something of the strange territory Mary would traverse. I’m guessing Mary needed the support and validation of her cousin, Elizabeth.
You may already have someone in your life who serves as your Elizabeth, someone with whom you can talk about your holy moments. Your conversations may not sound “holy.” You may tell that person about being dumbfounded by the quality of light on an afternoon walk, how it felt to hold your newborn child, what it was like to keep vigil with a dying person, about the day you heard a story on the radio while driving and just had to pull over and weep, about a poem that gave words to an unnamed something you’ve carried for years. These are inklings of the holy. When we can talk with someone who is invested in understanding us, it validates our experience, just as Elizabeth’s baby leaping in her womb validated Mary’s experience.
If you are someone for whom such a conversation just doesn’t feel right, expressing experience of the holy through music, writing, poetry, or visual art forms are time honored ways. Some may have someone with whom you are so safe and your bond so tender, that words are not necessary to convey your experience of the holy. Some may commune only with God. The person-to-person way of soul tending is not for everyone, but if you simply haven’t nurtured that kind of relationship, this might be the time. If you long for an Elizabeth, perhaps it’s time to pack your metaphorical bags and head for the hill country to be with your Elizabeth.