if I were Mary? Well, we’d most likely have a different story. That, I realize, would change quite a bit when it comes to the small things, like our salvation. So, ya know, good for you, God, for being wise enough not to send your messenger to me. Plus, if an actual angel ever did appear to me, I would be so terrified that I would, without question, die of a heart attack before the angel ever had a chance to share God’s plan. I don’t even answer the door when it is the UPS guy knocking. Unexpected visitors horrify me.
But let’s say I didn’t die on the spot. Then, yes. Before agreeing to anything, and before making some sort of sarcastic remark of this being “news of great joy,” I would totally ask, “What’s in it for me?” Because I would want to know. I mean, wouldn’t you? If you were asked to give up your plans, your marriage as you had dreamed it to be, your very body, your hopes, your will, your control, and every single bit of life as you know it and desired it to be, wouldn’t you sort of be curious about the payoff? Wouldn’t you want to be sure that this incredible inconvenience, this unusual sacrifice, this unheard-of teen pregnancy bound to be the hot topic at the well, was going to be worth it?
Because, let’s be honest here. We demand to know what the payoff is with lesser things than being asked to be the Mother of God. We don’t usually like to put ourselves out there, or change our plans, or make ourselves vulnerable, or go the extra mile, or simply do something we don’t want to do, or fully understand, unless we get some sort of reward in return. Some kind of consolation prize. I mean, our children can’t poop in the potty without getting a sticker on a chart, and are we really any different? How often do we do what we do, not because we were asked, not because it is the right thing to do, not because we love the person asking, not out of obedience, not because pooping anywhere but the potty is actually kind of gross, but because of the hope that there is something in it for us, personally? Being told, “Well done, faithful servant” just isn’t enough for us, is it? We want a sticker on our chart.
And we don’t just do this with the lesser things. We do this with the big things, too. We do this with our relationships. With our spouses. Our children. Our friends. Our church. Our places of work. With our God. We haggle and we gamble and we place our bids. We try to negotiate the price down, we scheme and we finagle. We cut corners and we go down roads we were certain we would never go down, just to be sure we don’t get the short end of the stick. We do everything we possibly can to get the best deal for ourselves, sometimes regardless of who gets hurt or overlooked or slighted in the process. Because unlike Mary, whose one motive was her love for God, our motive is mostly love for ourselves. And “thy will” becomes my will. And this is a dangerous place to be.
My husband and I went through a difficult season years ago (not to be confused with the difficult season we are in now, or were in many, many years ago, or will most likely be in, in another few years. If you are not yet married, my apologies for breaking the news to you, that you might not hear while testing wedding cake flavors or planning your exotic honeymoon, that marriage is one beautiful trial after beautiful trial. But please, do not be afraid. Cake and vacation do not strengthen a marriage. Trials do.).
I remember, very clearly, being at a party in conversation with a friend’s husband, who decided that I was going to be the lucky person he would share all of his life’s dissatisfaction with. And after running down the laundry list of what his day-to-day routine lacked, he moved on to the sacred: his wife. Maybe it was the drinks. In fact, I am sure it was the drinks. But suddenly, he was very much at ease sharing the most personal details of his marriage with me: running down the things his wife did not bring to the marital table — the lack of respect she had for him, the lack of intimacy between them, really, just the plain ol’ lack. And after his rant, I remember him shaking his head and sort of smiling this sad smile of despair, if there is such a thing. Then he spoke those five deadly words out loud: “What’s in it for me?”
Those words were not only deadly for him, but deadly for me, too. Because once floated out there, like a neon sign hanging over our heads, I started to ask that question for myself. For my own relationship. My own marriage. My own life. My own day-to-day routine. There was this shift in my heart, ever so slight, but that is all it takes, you know, to steer you off track. One small shift of the heart is something our enemy patiently waits for. And in an instant, without being aware of it, I went from thinking about how we could make things better for us, to how I deserved to make things better for me. Because when the tempter has you asking, “What’s in it for me?” you immediately, and unknowingly, erase authentic relationship. With your spouse, with your loved ones, and most importantly, with God.
Now, just a side note here, but speaking poorly about your spouse or a loved one to another person, or sharing intimate details and feelings that truly should go no further than the ears and the heart of the one you made vows to, most especially to the opposite sex, is never a good idea. For obvious reasons. Because this is a fiery poison that will burn down necessary hedges of protection we must plant and place around our most precious relationships. Remember, the enemy hates your marriage and he hates your family, and he will do whatever it takes to destroy them. And he starts with one small shift of the heart. Sister, guard yours. With all that you have, please, guard your heart, because small fractures never remain small fractures. Eventually, they break big. So plant those hedges. And maybe stop talking after two drinks. Or maybe just one.
But Mary. Mary never asked, “What’s in it for me?” Rather, she pondered it all in her heart. She pondered. How often do we ponder? Especially in response to a difficult command or calling from God that we do not understand. Honestly? I think the last time I pondered was in aisle 6, when I had to choose between the tortilla chips with a hint of jalapeño, or the tortilla chips with a hint of lime. Seriously. I spend more time pondering the useless, the stuff that in the end makes no difference whatsoever in my life here on earth, or eternally. But I give immediate, knee-jerk reactions to God when he offers me a game-changing plan, a gift disguised in discomfort, an opportunity for my heart to grow — the things that hold eternal value.
This is why we have to love and learn from Mary. She did not doubt God’s unusual plan for her. She did not look at this truly bizarre calling as a mystery that she had to solve. Rather, she agreed to it, asking to be shown how God wanted her to make it happen. And her response to this angel, this yes to her God, and everything that follows, is something so powerful, so exceptional, that I can barely wrap my selfish human mind around it. Because even at my most faithful, the fire in my heart for Jesus is more like a pathetic, flickering birthday candle than the blazing, all-consuming fire that fills Mary’s heart. When God appears and calls me to do hard things, I usually blow that candle out and run for the hills. And by the hills, I mean the chips and salsa. But not Mary. Her obedience and trust fanned the fire within her, and she stayed still, pondering.
And you might wonder, did I buy the tortilla chips with the hint of jalapeño or the hint of lime? Just kidding. You don’t care. But for the record, I bought and ate both.
But seriously.
You might wonder, because I sure have and often still do … how? How on earth does one get to this place of total trust? Of real, hard-core surrender? Of putting yourself last and others before yourself? Because every single time I think I have reached that place, every single time I say to myself, this must be what it means to lay it all down at his feet, every time it appears I have given all that I have to give over to my Savior, and that green pasture is just around the corner, I am slammed with another trial. I am blindsided by another blow. I am thrown into a brand new battle. I am asked to sacrifice just a little bit more. Trust a little bit more. Have a little more faith. And it is here that I throw myself on the floor, or throw something across the room, or throw that tantrum, just freaking throw … and I scream and I demand to know the answers to those WHY questions that, deep down inside, I know better than to ask. I will be honest: I’m one of those Catholics who prays that Rosary and lights those candles and hits those novenas and rises up early for prayer,
