Mary, they say.

Mary, they say.

I don’t know if I can go through with this.

They’ll say that I’m a liar, a fantasist, that I’m making it all up just so that people will think I’m important, but I swear I’m just telling you what happened. Or trying to put into words what it means and how I feel. God was with me, and I was frightened. I had no idea what was going on – how could I make this up?! But when it was all over, and the angel had gone, and it was just me again, all on my own, I felt calm and glad, and I had a plan – God’s plan, and I was part of it.

They’ll say that I’m stupid, a naïve little girl who doesn’t know what she’s talking about. I agree, I don’t really understand this. I can’t explain it, can’t rationalise it, can’t make sense of what God is up to. They are right – I have no education at all. But this is God in action. We’ll work out later what it all means; right now we have to – I have to – join in with God’s action. I have no idea how this will end, but hovering in the air while the angel spoke were promises of glory that make no sense to me. I could not take them all in; I couldn’t now give you the exact words, but I am left with a deep calm, and a joy that wells up within me such that it bursts out in song.

They’ll say that I am a slut. That I’ve opened my legs for some man who took my fancy, but it was my heart that I opened to God. The message was so unexpected, so overwhelming. Who am I that God should take any account of me? Yet he has blessed me forever. And used me in his plan of salvation that is so outrageously unexpected, so gloriously unlikely to succeed, so creatively full of love and life and hope. So simple, no-one thought he would try it. Yet he has promised me that our salvation is secure and I believe him.

They’ll say I was forced; they’ll be oh so clever – far more clever than I will ever be – and say that behind the piety, really, I was raped. But that’s not how it was. I don’t remember being asked exactly; more told what was going to happen, but then again, I freely gave my consent. They will say that I didn’t really understand what I was letting myself in for, that I don’t fully see what’s going on – and they’re right, of course – but at the heart of it I do see. God needed me and my soul rejoiced. I exult in what is happening to me, in me, through me.

They’ll say that it’s degrading to be used like this, but now I think about it, it seems to me that many will say that it’s God who has degraded himself – getting himself mixed up in human flesh, when he should remain pure spirit. Conjoining himself to woman, whom so many despise, adopting the blood and mess of birth as the way to impart grace. Yet he has chosen the lowly in order to exalt us, and in humility, makes himself radiantly glorious. God chose me.

Again, people will twist my words: “So, he’s using you! Using your womb – and you don’t even see it!”. But I do see it. It’s happening to me. I can sense the presence and the power of God within me. And it is not just my flesh that’s being employed. They will call me “God-bearer”, and many will only truly see God when they see me cradling him, when they see my love for him and his dependence on me, even as I depend on him. And it was me who said, “let it be so”.

I’ve not heard anyone say yet that I’m blessed, but that’s how I feel. I feel that I’ve been included in God’s plan; chosen for a special task. I don’t want to say I’m special – maybe later on some people will say that, but for now, I believe I’ve been given a promise, and it’s up to me to keep it – I mean, let happen whatever it is that God wants to happen. He asked me to do something for him. He wants me to co-operate with his plan – and I think it’s a good plan, and many will be blessed because of what I’m doing.

But even those on my side will get in wrong.

They’ll say I’m still a virgin. As though my son wasn’t brought into the world through blood and pain like everyone else. As though it did not change me forever. As though, somehow, it was easy for me because God is involved. Isn’t it obvious that everything is more difficult for me precisely because God is involved? What’s the point of God doing this if you’re not willing to accept the reality of God in flesh?

They’ll say I’m perfect and put me on a pedestal. I’m bloody well not you know! I’m a woman. I live on the edge of poverty and powerlessness. I gave birth in the muck of a stable floor. And afterwards, life went on and I had to get on with it.

And, yes, I know it’s impossible. I’m not a fool you know. I’m saying nothing; they just say I ponder these things over in my heart.

They say I should not do it. It’s too risky, too dangerous. Look at the state of the world! Why should anyone want to bring a child into the world only to risk heartbreak. But I say this is why I have to do it. The world needs my child. I give birth in hope, not in fear. Why? The Lord has promised me; I can’t say more. He’s promised me that my child is a gift. He did not promise that all will go well, just that he is with me. I don’t deny that I am troubled and, yes, sometimes I am afraid, but I don’t let the fear win. He asks me to trust him, and I do. I will give the world my baby as a gift of love.