The Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God
The Lord spoke to Moses, saying, "Speak to Aaron and to his sons, saying, 'This is how you shall bless the children of Israel.'You shall tell them, 'The Lord bless you, and keep you. The Lord make his face to shine on you, and be gracious to you. The Lord lift up his face toward you, and give you peace.'
"So they shall put my name on the children of Israel; and I will bless them."
But when the fullness of the time came, God sent out his Son, born to a woman, born under the law, that he might redeem those who were under the law, that we might receive the adoption as children. And because you are children, God sent out the Spirit of his Son into your hearts, crying, "Abba, Father!" So you are no longer a bondservant, but a son; and if a son, then an heir of God through Christ.
They came with haste and found both Mary and Joseph, and the baby was lying in the feeding trough. When they saw it, they publicized widely the saying which was spoken to them about this child. All who heard it wondered at the things which were spoken to them by the shepherds. But Mary kept all these sayings, pondering them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, just as it was told them.
When eight days were fulfilled for the circumcision of the child, his name was called Jesus, which was given by the angel before he was conceived in the womb.
Mary receives the title "Mother of God" not just as an honor, but as a profound theological truth—she gave birth to Jesus, who is fully God and fully human. This feast celebrates both her unique role and what it reveals about God's incredible plan for all of us.
What strikes me most about these readings is how they weave together blessing, adoption, and pondering. The ancient blessing from Numbers—"The Lord bless you and keep you"—becomes deeply personal in Galatians when Paul tells us we're no longer servants but adopted children who can cry out "Abba, Father!" This isn't just poetic language; it's the revolutionary reality of what happened when God became one of us through Mary.
But here's what I find beautiful: while the shepherds rush off to tell everyone the good news, Mary "kept all these things, pondering them in her heart." In our age of instant reactions and social media responses, Mary shows us another way. She doesn't diminish the wonder by immediately analyzing or broadcasting it. Instead, she creates space for mystery to unfold.
This pondering isn't passive—it's active spiritual work. When we ponder, we're like someone turning a precious stone in the light, seeing new facets each time. Mary teaches us that some experiences with God are meant to be treasured quietly before they're shared, allowed to transform us from the inside out.
As adopted children of God, we're invited into this same kind of relationship—one where we can both proclaim God's goodness and sit quietly with the mysteries we can't fully understand yet. Both responses honor the God who chose to enter our world through a young woman's yes.
How might you create space today for pondering rather than just reacting? What would change if you truly believed you're God's adopted child, not just a servant?