It is God who enables you

to smile in spite of tears;

to carry on when you feel like giving in;

to pray when you’re at a loss for words;

to love even though your heart has been broken

         time and time again;

to sit calmly when you feel like throwing up

         your hands in frustration;

to be understanding when nothing seems to

         make sense;

to listen when you’d really rather not hear;

to share your feelings with others, because

         sharing is necessary to ease the load.

On this feast day honoring Mary, the mother of God, we find this simple statement about Mary in today’s gospel: “And Mary kept all these things, reflecting on them in her heart.” Other translations use the word “treasure:” Mary treasured all these things in her heart.

And this is what we have come to expect of Mary, is it not? After all, she was visited by an angel, and was asked to consent to God’s plan for her. Two thousand years of art depict a calm, serene Mary with a halo around her head, perfectly tuned in to God’s will.

But I beg to differ. Because of the demands of a census, the very pregnant Mary had to make a one-hundred-mile trip on a donkey over dirt roads, with no one to offer comfort but Joseph. Now, I have to admit that I’ve never been pregnant, so this may be a stretch. But I’ve sat on a plane for fourteen hours, hoping to be anywhere else but in that miserable seat.

And then, when Mary and Joseph arrive in Bethlehem, they find that every place is booked. There’s no hospital. The best they can find is a shelter for animals. And then this band of shepherds barges in, not giving Mary any privacy.

Some days later, they learn that crazy King Herod is out to kill the child, so it’s back on the donkey, this time to Egypt, to a foreign land, where they will be refugees without any status, without any rights. And it’s all rather vague: stay there, they’re told, until King Herod is dead.

Through all of that, Mary reflected, Mary treasured what was happening because she and Joseph both knew that they were part of something bigger than the discomforts of the moment. And so, Mary was able to smile in spite of tears, to carry on when her weary body felt like giving in, to pray even though the words didn’t come easily, to sit calmly even when feeling like throwing up her hands in frustration, and to love even when the world seemed to give little love in return.

January 1^st is, as we’ve noted, the feast day of Mary, the Mother of God. It is also the universal day of prayer for peace. And so, it is the patronal feast day of Our Lady of Peace. For twenty years now, we have worshipped and prayed, welcomed one another, comforted one another, enjoyed one another, put up with one another—all under the watchful eyes of Mary.

We have a mother who is holy, to be sure. We have a mother who has taught us the value of compassion because she experienced what the world can be like when compassion is lacking. We have a mother who has experienced poverty, making do and providing a home for her little family. We have a mother who can sympathize with those who have experienced loss, and poverty, and the untimely loss of a child. We have a mother who has grit and a calm determination. She may have been pushed aside, but she was never counted out. Even when everyone else ran away, she was there, holding things together, encouraging the brokenhearted, sharing the wisdom she gained on the dusty roads of life.

For twenty years as the parish of Our Lady of Peace, we have had a mother who has been with us in all the ups and downs, all the accomplishments and disappointments, all the phases of our life. And because we have a mother who has always been there for us, we have tried always to be there for each other, and to be there for all the others who have needed us. If we are special in any way, it is because our mother is special.

Today, we pause to reflect. We pause to treasure. And we continue our journey, walking with grit and determination, for we have a mother who has shown us the way.