The Annunciation

Denise Levertov

 

Hail, space for the uncontained God.—Agathistos Hymn, Greece

 

We know the scene: the room, variously furnished,

almost always a lectern, a book; always

the tall lilly.

Arrived on solemn grandeur of great wings,

the angelic ambassador, standing or hovering,

whom she acknowledges, a guest. But we are told of meek

obedience. No one mentions

courage.

The engendering Spirit

did not enter her without consent.

God waited. She was free

to accept or to refuse, choice

integral to humanness.

 

Aren’t there annunciations

of one sort or another

in most lives?

Some unwillingly

undertake great destinies,

enact them in sullen pride,

uncomprehending.

More often

those moments

when roads of light and storm

open from darkness in a man or woman,

are turned away from

in dread, in a wave of weakness, in despair

and with relief.

Oridnary lives continue.

God does not smite them.

But the gates close, the pathway vanishes.

 

She had been a child who played, ate, slept

like any other child—but unlike others,

wept only for pity, laughed

in joy not triumph.

Compassion and intelligence fused in her, indivisible.

 

Called to a destiny more momentous

than any in all of Time,

she did not quail,

only asked

a simple, ‘How can this be?’

and gravely, courteously,

took to heart the angel’s reply,

perceiving instantly

the astounding ministry she was offered: to bear in her womb

Infinite weight and lightness; to carry

in hidden, finite inwardness,

nine months of Eternity; to contain

in slender vase of being,

the sum of power—

in narrow flesh,

the sum of light.

The bring to birth,

push out into air, a Man-child

needing, like any other,

milk and love—but who was God.