In
the days of Elizabeth, pregnancy and childbirth were conceived as bearing fruit.
The fruit of a woman was her children. And Elizabeth is barren. Her life is
fruitless. Regardless of the love she shares with Zechariah, regardless of the
life they have made together and all the good that has flowed between them and through
them to the world around them, she carries within herself the shame of
infertility. Shame tells us that we are not worthy of love, not worthy of connection
with others. In the dark it grows bigger within us, as does a foetus, ironically.
And it keeps our body on edge, alert to the fact that at any moment someone
else might discover just how unworthy of love we understand ourselves to be.
When
Elizabeth conceives John, she declares that the Lord has taken away the shame
she has endured.
The
antidote to shame is empathetic connection. Mary sets out, is determined to go
to Elizabeth in her confinement. The Lord might have taken away her shame, but
in the isolation of confinement – intended as a precious gift of space for the
expectant mother – shame might easily return. There are times when solitude is essential,
life-giving to the driven soul; but for someone in recovery from shame, isolation
can be a killer.
When
Mary comes to Elizabeth, there is an immediate connection, between them, between
the children in their wombs. Even so, Elizabeth can’t quite see herself as
worthy: who am I that the mother of my Lord should come to me?
Mary
sings a song of revolution, of a changing of the world. A song of those who are
nobody in their own eyes being shown honour by God. A song of such people
finding solidarity, finding connection, with others like them. These are the
conditions in which the body might be cleansed of its shame. And Mary sings
this song over Elizabeth before anyone else gets to hear it. And then she stays
with her for three months, just to underline the point.
These
days approaching Christmas and into the new year, when many step back from their
place of work to spend time with loved ones, can be difficult (not only but not
least) for those who carry shame (which is pretty much everybody you will ever
meet, by the way). How might we be present to one another, in ways that affirm,
‘You are worthy of love and connection’?
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