It was a tall order.
She was to carry the Son
of God in her womb. She was favored in
God’s sight – a status that belonged to the Israelites, but now God’s favor was
here; it was real.
Yesterday, she had been engaged.
Her life was following the path of all good women in her day: engagement, a
happy and fulfilling life with a good man, her future spreading before her. The promise of
children she and Joseph would raise to love this God of the Old Testament.
A God who, yesterday, had
not seemed so close.
The angel had said, “The
Lord is with you!” when he greeted her. She hadn’t realized he would mean it so
literally.
She wasn’t just going to
do important Kingdom work, but be part of the most important kingdom work:
being the mother of Jesus – ransom and savior of the world.
A scene from the Garden of
Eden came to mind. God told the Serpent that a descendent of Eve would crush
Him. Later, there was the first Passover. It was by the blood of a spotless
lamb that God’s people were spared. It was grace.
Isaiah’s words, so
lovingly studied night after night came flooding back. His words spoke of a new
lamb, one who would bear all the world’s griefs and sorrows. Thousands of years
of broken, wandering hearts would be laid on this servant.
She felt the weight of her
own sin, her heart a Gomorrah that was no place for a Holy God.
Her son would be an
offering for her guilt – the better, perfect sacrifice that was promised at the
beginning. Her baby boy would be the atonement the weary world sought. A
reconciliation, at last. A thrill of hope.
What is there to say but,
“I am a servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.” This a
shallow echo of what her son would say thirty-three years from now: “Not my
will, but yours, be done” (Luke 22:42).
