The associated reading for this reflection can be found in your Every Sacred Sunday Mass journal or online here.
I can’t remember the last time my soul proclaimed the greatness of the Lord, finding deep resonance in that cavern of gratitude and echoing the rapture of our Lady. And I don’t mean the last time I was grateful, because I am grateful. I mean the last time the symphony welled up and the crescendo wave broke in prayer. I can’t remember the last time my soul really proclaimed God’s goodness. I know he is good, and believe he is good, but my voice has grown hoarse crying out in the storm.
It feels trite to blame 2020 for all the things humanity has endured of late. It’s not twelve pages on a calendar that chewed us up and spat us out. The floods and fires, the spreading disease, the political tension, and indifference towards human life — these things aren’t wildcards thrown in to shake things up. They reflect decades of neglecting creation and each other. I think Mary’s Canticle in the Responsorial Psalm was affronting to me because, though beautiful, it prods at an ache that seems to be growing more raw by the day.
It’s funny how hope can do that: how it is altogether weightless and anticipatory, tangled up in expectant joy, and yet somehow still manages to prod at sorrow — at those parts of ourselves where we dare not dream for fear of disappointment. And Mary had plenty to hide from hope: young, pregnant, unmarried and vulnerable to cultural backlash, pulled from her childhood home and the comfort of familiarity... the list goes on. But I think my favorite habit of hers is that, in all things, she made a home for hope. It’s brave to declare greatness in uncertainty, to “bring glad tidings to the poor, to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to captives and release to the prisoners, [and] to announce a year of favor from the Lord” when headlines mock reconciliation and neighbors turn on each other. It’s bold to profess the holiness of God’s name when surrounded by the profane.
But therein lies the crux of hope. It has no home in perfect circumstance, for what is there to hope for? It can only nestle in and renew the interior of a soul in pursuit, a soul in progress. I can’t remember the last time my soul proclaimed, and I mean really proclaimed, the greatness of the Lord, but I also can’t remember the last time I let hope make a home there. I’m a sucker for too much, too fast, loading devotions and plans on the frontend and burning out quick. So this Advent I’m just sitting in the discomfort of Mary’s Magnificat every day. I’m letting her words of hope seep in and carve out a home in my soul. I’m trying to host hope, offering it all the things I usually hide, and see if that holy boldness can take root in my tired ground. And on days when my own hope feels the most feeble and worn, I’ll let it be enough to rest in hers.
Hannah Kelley is a Catholic Worldview Fellowship alumna who, after completing a year of mission work in Chicago, IL, began her undergraduate studies at the University of Georgia. She is currently finishing up her Master’s of International Policy before interning at the Permanent Observer Mission of the Holy See to the UN this upcoming Summer. Hannah loves black coffee, holiday eves, and seasonal Charlie Brown movies. If you’re looking for her, she’s probably sitting under a tree annotating an apostolic exhortation for fun. Come say hi on Instagram sometime.