et ait Maria

 et ait Maria 

It was raining as we waited to cross the bridge.* “Can you drive - in the rain - and answer a question at the same time?” Uncle Albert asked me.

     “I think so. Depends on the question.”

     “The Magnificat.”

     “What about it?”

     “Can you say it? I thought I could, but I can’t.”

     “I can,” Roz said.

     “How?” I asked.

     “How not?” Uncle Albert said.

     And she said, “I was Mary in the Christmas pageant once.”

     “It must have been a very elaborate pageant,” I said.

     “English or Latin?” Uncle Albert asked.

      She turned around, at him peered past her headrest:

magnificat anima mea Dominum

et exultavit spiritus meus in Deo salutari meo

My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,

      She paused a second:

for he has regarded the low estate of his handmaiden.
For behold, henceforth all generations will call me blessed;
for he who is mighty has done great things for me,
      and holy is his name.
His mercy is on those who fear him
     from generation to generation.
He has shown strength with his arm,
he has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts,
he has put down the mighty from their thrones,
      and exalted those of low degree;
he has filled the hungry with good things,
     and the rich he has sent empty away.
He has helped his servant Israel,
     in remembrance of his mercy,
as he spoke to our fathers,
     to Abraham and to his posterity for ever.

“I was thinking just about the beginning,” Uncle Albert said. “Why does Mary - what is it? - ‘magnify the Lord.’ It’s because he’s looked on her with favor, isn’t it? - ‘the lowly estate of his handmaiden.’ There’s always a ‘because,’ isn’t there? We aren’t homo orans - is that what it would be? We aren’t praying creatures, not by nature. We pray because we want something or we’ve gotten something.

     “We’re not humble creatures either. Mary mealy-mouths ‘lowly estate of God’s handmaiden.’ The next words out of her mouth are this gleeful cry, ‘Now everybody from now on in all the world will be talking about me.’”

There was silence as we paid our toll.

     “Well?” Uncle Albert asked. He was talking to Roz. Or, I chose to think so; this wasn’t something I wanted to get into the middle of in the middle of the river.

    Then she said, “He has scattered the proud in the imaginations of their hearts.” Then she said, “Hand me your passport.”

Then we were in Canada.

08.17.17

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 * from Ogdensburg to Prescott. For the whole story from the end to the beginning, start here.