On the Feast of the Annunciation #
By Bishop Mikhail (Semyonov)
In secular art, following a tradition that nonetheless has its roots in ancient Christian iconography, the Holy Virgin or the angel in depictions of the Annunciation is often shown with lilies.
The lily is a beautiful symbol of the chaste purity of the Holy Virgin—a fragrant, snow-white flower, joyfully opening itself to the sun. Was not the Most Pure Lily of Israel herself such a fragrant bloom? When we ask ourselves what quality of the Holy Virgin made her the Mother of the Most High, we will scarcely find it difficult to answer.
Was it her humility, her obedience, with which she received the angel’s message? But who would not bow in humble awe before the revelation of a heavenly messenger? Her graciousness? But that was revealed only later, when the Holy Virgin entered upon her life’s path. Her humility is great, the graciousness of her soul extraordinary, but above all these shines the purity of a soul that lives in love for the Lord, her Son. Her heart is filled with Christ, lives in Him. His image dwells and reigns within her soul and makes it a temple of grace.
“But what image?”—you may ask—“She is the Mother of the Lord and saw Him upon her bosom. Not an image, but He Himself was with her.” True—but the Holy Virgin was with Christ even before the Lord came down to earth through her. Consider the account which tells of the circumstances of the Annunciation. According to this account, the Holy Virgin was reading the Holy Scriptures. And she came to the familiar words of the prophet Isaiah: “Behold, a Virgin shall conceive, and bear a Son, and shall call his name Emmanuel” (Isaiah 7:14).
“How I wish I could be even the lowest handmaiden of the Mother who bears this Son,” thought the Holy Virgin. And at that very moment, the angel-messenger appeared. This account reveals what filled the life of the Virgin: she lived with the thought of the Coming Savior, of the Lord who would come and redeem mankind. She thought of Him while living in the temple. She awaited Him, desired Him, and wished only one thing for herself—to serve Him, even as the humblest servant in His Kingdom. And she became His Mother, because her soul was already His Pure Bride, arrayed in the golden garments of love’s purity: “Upon thy right hand did stand the queen in a vesture of gold, wrought about with divers colours.” And having become His Mother, she loves in her Son not only a Son, but the One whom she had long awaited: the Redeemer and Savior—her Lord. Thus, the purity of her soul, where even before Christ His image was enthroned, became a temple of Divinity.
We are not capable of receiving the likeness of the Lord into our souls to the same degree as St. Mary. We cannot, as she did, be so united in love with the Redeemer. But the path is shown to us nonetheless, by which we may draw near to the Most High and become worthy of the glad tidings. That path is to live after the example of the Pure One. She was raised in the air of the temple, breathed prayer, was nourished by the Word of God—and so received the image of Christ into her soul. And then she walked where the thought of Christ led her—His image, His word, His will—and with that guiding light, without stumbling, she walked the way of the Cross to eternal glory in the likeness of her Son.
This is the path of the Christian: to receive, in the air of the Church of God, by prayer and instruction in the Word, the image of Christ into oneself, and to follow Him wherever He leads. But how can we, sinners, walk in the footsteps of the Son of God, who knew no sin? In the footsteps of the One who is the very embodiment of Goodness and Truth? In the footsteps of God.
Indeed, her Son was man—but He was also God, and His Name fills us with awe. But she was a human being, born of righteous parents, yet not untouched by sin. She was not without human tenderness toward her Son, nor without human fear for Him. If the image of her Son dazzles like the noonday sun, her countenance is peaceful, like the gentle radiance of the morning dawn. Let us follow Him—learning from her humility, obedience, meek endurance of suffering, and devotion to the work of her Son. And she will cover us with her omophorion, and, like a mother leading her blind child, she will guide us to the Kingdom of God.
There is a story told of a Western ascetic, Anthony of Padua (whom we do not recognize as a saint, but the story remains edifying nonetheless): that once, the Holy Virgin cast to him her lilies, and all his life he perceived their fragrance. Let us ask the Holy Mother of God that she may grant us to breathe the fragrance of her lilies—the holy scent of her virtues—so that this aroma may never leave us, not for a moment, and may give us strength to imitate, even in part, the Inimitable.
Queen of Heaven, help us to love thy Son. Grant us the grace to hear with soul and heart His holy Good News—the Gospel. Before thy icon I stand, O All-Praised One:
“O Queen of Heaven! In my utter helplessness, in my complete unworthiness, in my condemnation and wretchedness, the gaze of this sinner rests upon thee. Thou dost not reject the despised and outcast. Thou art able to raise even from the depths of hell one who is perishing. Save me, O Sovereign Lady, by thy motherly intercession, even me, the wretched one! As the Mother of thy Son and my Judge, incline Him to mercy toward me! As my gracious Mother, incline thyself to come to my aid and to grant me mercy! O my Lady, O Theotokos! How much I need thee! How dear thou art to my sinful heart! How comforting it is to think of thee, to pray to thee, to imagine thee, to behold thy radiant, pure, virginally beautiful face, full of divine tenderness toward us—tenderness which in thy womanly gentleness and motherly care shines forth yet more beautifully, more majestically, more touchingly. O the Lord created and gave thee to us as the most perfect reflection of His ineffable goodness—as the clearest and most accessible embodiment of His love for mankind and mercy.”
May even a faint reflection of thy radiant light shine upon our soul.
“Thou seest all things, knowest all things—look thou into my soul and grant it what it needs. Thou who hast endured all things and conquered all things—thou wilt understand all things. Thou who didst wrap the Infant in swaddling clothes in the manger and didst receive Him in thine own hands from the Cross—thou alone knowest the full height of joy and the full weight of sorrow. Thou who hast received all mankind as thy children—look also upon me with motherly care. Lead me out of the snares of sin to thy Son. I see a tear that has moistened thy countenance. It is for me that thou hast shed it—may it wash away the traces of my transgressions.”
-Church, 1914, No. 12