{"id":7679,"date":"2018-01-01T07:55:20","date_gmt":"2018-01-01T13:55:20","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/customwordpresssites.com\/mjb\/?p=7679"},"modified":"2026-02-26T13:43:07","modified_gmt":"2026-02-26T19:43:07","slug":"dont-blink","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/customwordpresssites.com\/mjb\/2018\/01\/01\/dont-blink\/","title":{"rendered":"Don’t blink"},"content":{"rendered":"

There is nothing everyone is so afraid of as of being told how vastly much he is capable of. You are capable of \u2013 do you want to know? \u2013 you are capable of living in poverty; you are capable of standing almost any kind of maltreatment, abuse, etc. But you do not wish to know about it, isn\u2019t that so? You would be furious with him who told you, and only call that person your friend who bolsters you in saying: \u201cNo, this I cannot bear, this is beyond my strength, etc.\u201d<\/strong> – From \u201c<\/span><\/i>The Diary of Soren Kierkegaard\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I turn to Mary when I just can\u2019t take it anymore.<\/span><\/p>\n

I am a person who can find myself suddenly overwhelmed. Perhaps I am looking out on the sorrow of the world. I read or hear reports of some tragedy \u2013 some dreadful violence \u2013 and my heart breaks. It\u2019s senseless and staggering, and the grief is as deep as it is sudden. I can\u2019t take it. So I turn away; I think about something else. I turn the page or change the channel. I look away.<\/span><\/p>\n

Or sometimes I come across a great joy. I watch my daughter do something for the first time; discover something she\u2019s never experienced before. I get a call from a friend finally home from the hospital \u2013 the treatment went better than expected. A long-distance friend is stopping by for a visit. I am overjoyed and overcome with gratitude, and get lost in the celebration. My heart is bursting. So I make a joke to break through the sublime, or I trivialize the moment. I look away.<\/span><\/p>\n

Sometimes I am battered by banality. It\u2019s not the light or the dark that assaults me, but mundane gray. Another hour of chores. Another cold and frustrating traffic-filled commute. Another busy tone while I wait on hold. Another bill, another task. Tedium seeps into my bones and I want to scream. I daydream or imagine I\u2019m elsewhere. I look away.<\/span><\/p>\n

And in these moments, when I can catch myself, I turn to my mother. Because Mary never looked away. Mary opened her heart to all that God had to give her. One of the most frequently repeated observations about Mary in Scripture is that she watches and listens, then reflects and ponders.<\/span><\/p>\n

But she was greatly troubled at what was said and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. (Luke 1:29<\/a>)<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

And Mary kept all these things, reflecting on them in her heart. (Luke 2:19<\/a>)<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

Standing by the cross of Jesus were his mother and his mother\u2019s sisters, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary of Magdala. (John 19:25<\/a>)<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

When Mary was confronted with the glad tidings of the angel, she did not look away. She did not diminish or shirk the joy. She did not, in a moment of self-effacing low self-esteem, deny the blessing and demand God find someone worthier. She embraced it, and cried out in joy thanking God for his blessings and his faithfulness.<\/span><\/p>\n

\"pregnant-Mary-joy\"<\/p>\n

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She did not flee from the suffering of her son. She kept in her heart the prophecy foreseeing that same heart pierced, and she stayed at the foot of the cross through the piercing. She bore witness to it until the end.<\/span><\/p>\n

Mary accompanied her son and his mission in all the moments in between. She watched and observed her young son faithfully, day in and day out, as he advanced in wisdom and age and favor. She stayed with his disciples after the sorrow, in those strange and fearful and breathless days in the upper room while they all waited for what would come next.<\/span><\/p>\n

Mary rejoiced and mourned fully, tasting the sweet and the bitter and every flavor in between. She gave each part of her life her full attention and countless hours of reflection, so as to fully receive the gift God was giving her in that moment. I have heard it said that Mary, in her perfect faithfulness, can come off as inhuman \u2013 a holy statue, too placid, too \u201cgood.\u201d This is not the scriptural Mary. Mary felt more than I have \u2013 she felt higher highs and lower lows. In this way, she is more human than I might ever be.<\/span><\/p>\n

In this new year, I ask for Mary\u2019s strength to be fully present. To sit in my sorrow and that of others and not run or hide from it, and to celebrate with people in their joy and not be embarrassed by it. To take even the dull moments and accept them with open hands, as moments to pause and reflect and to stay faithful.<\/span><\/p>\n

And when everyone else around me says it\u2019s too much, that it\u2019s beyond my strength, that I have to find a way to shake of these unbearable burdens, I hope I will hear my mother\u2019s voice, clearly and brightly cutting through the din: \u201cYou can bear it. You can. <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

“You are stronger than you feel <\/span>you are now<\/span>.\u201d<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n