Who am I that I should be arrogant enough to claim myself worthy to be a slave to the Handmaiden? How dare I claim acceptance to Her court? Let it be that these lofty ambitions be a prayer.
O Holy Spirit, I implore Thee, allow me, by the Grace of God, to serve Him through the most perfect, most pure, most celebrated of His creatures, the Blessed Virgin Mother Mary.
Kneeling before Her, I am as filth on the floor. If only I be afforded the honour to be swept, mopped into the gutter, the sewer by Her, I would count myself among the most blessed of men. To warrant Her attention so much as to be brushed aside would mean more to me than all the treasures on earth, for being unworthy of Heaven’s rubbish bin, I would feel glorified to be counted among Its refuse. Please that I be so blessed.
By the Blessed Mother, I am softly awakened from deepest sleep. She beckons. She waits in morning hours: still, quiet, and in complete silence. A resounding boom of silence! The silence of Holy Mary echoes from the mountaintops! She is perfect humility–present, self-unimportant silent witness. In the silence of the Humble Handmaiden Her demand is made. Who can resist? Who can turn away? One must arise and follow Her. There is no turning away.
Lead me to the Lord most Gracious Mother, show me the Blessed Fruit of Thy Womb. Bring me to the vineyard in early morning, adorn me with thy graces that I be made worthy, through you, to kneel before Him, Son of the Most High God and beg His mercy for my transgressions that number beyond the grains of sand, beyond the star of the heavens, beyond even the numberless children promised to Abraham.
I am devoted to you, O Queen of Heaven, Empress of the Earth. I am made, by my own choosing, of my own free will slave to you for all time and in eternity. Although I long to do your bidding, my ears are filled with my own voice, a never ending din, an unceasing stream of folly, of nonsense, of conceit over which I am unable to hear. No noise, no clamour, no maelstromic bedlam, no trumpet, no battle cry from all the armies of men, or all the Hosts of Heaven can overcome my own mind’s cacophony! But You, Gentle Mother, speaking in silence to my heart, cut through this roar without a sound. You, Sweet Mary, create in me the slightest pause, a spark of stillness, a tiny flame that I pray be blown upon by the Holy Spirit that it might take flare raging into holocaustic inferno.
That I may increasingly burn with love for You, with love for Your most Holy Son, Our Lord and Redeemer Jesus Christ, with love for His Holy Spirit and knowing these three loves come to understand fully love for God the Father, the Creator of All Things Visible and Invisible. Then, only then it seems, will I be able to love my fellow man as should a child of God. For if I know not love of God, I know not love.
Fair and Blessed Virgin, You walked a path I can never trod, for You Holy Mary never turned your face from the Lord or for even the most imperceptible, femto-fraction of a moment cast your eyes askew. How, sacred and blessed Daughter of the Lord, did you achieve such perfect bondage of focus? Grace upon Grace–a well, a lake, a sea, an ocean, endless Grace multiplied on You, in You, born of Your uncompromising faith.
responsive to the Lord’s most inaudible whisper,
whose heart beats an eternal “Yes!” to God.
Whose each and every breath is in haste to carry out His Holy Will.
Who in silence, sings from Her soul
Who in Her womb with Her own breath, with Her own flesh, with Her own blood formed the very Son of God.
His breath is one with Yours; His Heart beat synchronized with Yours; His flesh taken from You; His blood flowing from You; being born of You He gives to us all these things through You. To eat His flesh is to taste you; to drink His blood is to commune of You; knowing Him, I know You, and yet, it is that only though You have I come to know Him, because your simple, unquestioning, submission to the Father’s Will brought Him into this world. You and He are one flesh, one blood.
God the Father is my Father by act of creation and merit of adoption, but I am incomplete until I have a Mother to form my humanity, my born anew body in the form of, to fill me with the blood of my Lord and Brother Jesus. Only thus can I come into the fullness of my being.
Form me in Your most holy, tender, loving Womb sweet Mother and raise me as you raised Your Son, that I may, one day, be called to sit in His company, at His table partaking of His Bread and His Wine that are His Body and Blood and Yours.
(C) Copyright 8 January 2019