Mary, most plain,
to your home, not of wealth but of welcome,
God comes.
To your dirt floor and bare feet and dark skin,
the Divine draws near.
In your eyes, that know hope and horror,
the Beloved sees.
In your hands that have only done menial work,
your face into which no one has ever looked closely,
your body no one has loved, your soul no one understands,
there Holiness settles.
Mary, most small and unworthy,
you who have not mattered to anyone,
now, not for your virtue, but God’s grace,
the Mighty One chooses you.
The love you shall bear into this world—
not by your own doing—will prevail forever.
Mary, Daughter of Love, Mother of God,
sister of all humankind—more like us than we wish—
blessed are you, and blessed is the fruit of your heart.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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