Let it Be
Way back in the book of Genesis, chapter 18, after Abraham and Sarah have tried to make God’s promise of children come about by their own machinations. (note: This isn’t a euphemism for sex; Sarah tries to obtain a child by having her husband impregnate her slave woman.) After the mess they make of that, and all the long and fruitless waiting it’s been since God initially promised Abraham descendants numbered like the stars in the sky, it’s likely that by chapter 18, they have given up on the preposterous idea of ever having even one child. But God comes to Abraham, and then Sarah, with more specificity: Sarah will bear Abraham’s child. Sarah who is 90 years old and post-menopausal. Sarah who was anything but long-suffering and serene these hard, barren decades. Sarah, who literally L(ed)OL when God’s messenger told her she would have a baby in the next year.
When Sarah laughed, God said to Abraham, somewhat obviously, “Why did Sarah laugh?”. I mean, really, I’m with Sarah on this one, laughing at the sheer absurdity of the situation.
And then God says, somewhat indignantly, “Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?”
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The Angels’s visit to Mary brings an announcement of equal, if not greater absurdity. Mary will bear God’s child. Mary who is a virgin. Little Mary minding her own business in the backwoods town of Galilee. Mary who no one’s even heard of before now.
But Mary doesn’t laugh. The Angel unloads all this business about “the Holy Spirit will come upon you” (I think that is a euphemism. Maybe.), “the power of the Most High will overshadow you,” and the child “will be called Son of God.” Then he concludes his absurd announcement with, “For nothing will be impossible with God.”
And Mary says, “Let it be.”
Good grief, I have trouble saying that about something as small as spilled milk, or the weather, or an awkward conversation. And here’s Mary, who just heard from a terrifying, towering messenger of the Lord God Almighty that her entire life is about to be turned upside down, not to mention the whole world, saying “Let it be.”
Maybe she was naive, or silly, or simple, to acquiesce, to accept, so readily.
But I don’t think so. I think the explanation lies in the entirety of her response: “Let it be with me according to your word.” This is not just a que sera, sera response. Not just a whimsical surrender, “what happens, happens.” Instead, Mary says, “Let it be with me according to your word.”
As if maybe she’s hearing echoes of God’s own words, and clinging to their truth. Is anything too wonderful for the Lord? As if she believes, really believes, that if God’s doing it, it’s good. And not just good, but wonderful.