Motherhood: the Exponential Yes

“A time to give birth, and a time to die.” (Eccl 3:2)

Today I would like to focus on the “giving birth” version of this verse’s translation. Advent is a time to give birth.  Physical motherhood involves the transformation of the mother’s body, as well as her mind, heart, and soul in the process of bringing forth new life.  Spiritual motherhood, no less, calls all of us to a thoroughgoing transformation in the service of life.

Recently I read an excerpt from a book by Stephanie Duncan Smith, in which she pointed out that that the uterus is the most powerful muscle in the human body. Usually about the size of a fist, during pregnancy, it expands to between 500 and 1000 times its original capacity.  At the moment of birth, the uterus is capable of pushing out a baby three to five times its weight.  This physical stretching to make room involves risk and exemplifies self-transcendence – literally going beyond itself – to an astonishing degree.

In the Old Testament, as we know, the Hebrew word for womb has a cognate which is used to describe an attribute of God.  The singular noun rebem means ‘womb’ or ‘uterus,’ and the plural, rabamim, means compassion, mercy, and love.  We imagine God choosing to stretch, to expand, to reach beyond himself to bring forth creation and continue to embrace it as it grows.

In the New Testament, Mary’s “exponential yes” puts her womb – as well as her whole body, mind, heart, and soul – at the disposal of God’s expansive, encompassing, and inclusive love.  Duncan Smith makes the connection between what God is doing in the womb of Mary, what he does analogously in every woman who gives birth, and the challenge and mission addressed to each one of us during this holy season:

“If Advent begins with the body of a woman, we are wise to consider what its incarnation asks of our bodies, our lives.  This story tells of God making radical room for creation, and Mary making radical room for God—surely this is the way of love, and love now calls to us.  Far from what the surface sentimentality of the season would suggest, to let love be formed within you is inevitably an intimate transformation.  It does not merely touch you, as if a gentle hand brushes one’s back, it alters your very composition—a change of deep tissue, interior nerve.  To let love be formed within you is the bold consent to change shape, to undergo a transformation that is nothing less than the rearrangement of vital organs, of inner life as much as embodied self.  Such transformation is the very work of incarnation.”
(Stephanie Duncan Smith, Even After Everything: The Spiritual Practice of Knowing the Risks and Loving Anyway)

What does incarnation ask of us?  Interior and exterior transformation.  This echoes the call of John the Baptist we hear today:
“Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight his paths.
Every valley shall be filled and every mountain and hill shall be made low.
The winding roads shall be made straight and the rough ways made smooth,
and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.” (Luke 3:4-6)

How can we understand the transformation necessary for spiritual motherhood?  For this, I turn to the unforgettable words of Edith Stein – St Teresa Benedicta of the Cross – from her meditation on the vocation of a woman:

“The soul of woman must be expansive and open to all human beings; it must be quiet so that no small weak flame will be extinguished by stormy winds; warm so as not to benumb fragile buds; clear, so that no vermin will settle in dark corners and recesses; self-contained, so that no invasions from without can peril the inner life; empty of itself, in order that extraneous life may have room in it; finally, mistress of itself and also of its body, so that the entire person is readily at the disposal of every call.”
(Edith Stein, Essays on Woman, p. 119)

Speaking of expansiveness, Stein points to the natural interest in people and relationships characteristic of most women.  But natural interest is not enough, since it can so easily be diverted into curiosity, intrusiveness, a going out of oneself that is unfruitful, benefiting neither the other nor oneself.  On the contrary, our natural tendency must be cultivated in God’s likeness:

“Woman’s soul will profit only if it goes abroad to search and to bring home the hidden treasure which rests in every human soul, and which can enrich not only her soul but also others; and it will profit only if it searches and bears home the well-known or hidden burden which is laid on every human soul.  Only the one who stands with wholesome awe before human souls will search in such a manner, one who knows that human souls are the kingdom of God, who knows that one may approach them only if one is sent to them.  But whoever is sent will find that which she is seeking, and whoever is so sought will be found and saved.  Then the soul does not remain standing on the outside but, on the contrary, carries its booty home; and its expanses must widen in order to be able to take in what it carries.”
(Edith Stein, Essays on Woman, p. 120)

The quality of quiet calls for learning to manage our own inner tumult in order to hear the still small voice of another, within or without.  To be warm may come naturally, but we can be inconsistent or overzealous.  Clarity, both self-knowledge and transparency, is given not by nature, but by grace.  Only God’s love can purify us with its quiet warmth and light.

When we are empty of self, we are surrendered completely to God, belonging to him and therefore free of ourselves and able to make room for someone who needs our care.  To be self-contained is like living in an enclosure, not just of exterior space but of interior.  That means being capable of choosing what to let in or keep out, without compulsion to go out and seek satisfaction of our longings.  Being mistress of oneself is a necessary condition for becoming a handmaid of the Lord, ready for service and for obedience.

“Now she has all she needs; she reaches out when she is sent, and opens up only to that which may find admission to her.”
(Edith Stein, Essays on Woman, p. 121)

And what finds admission, the cause of our expansion, is both “treasure” and “burden” – the joy and pain that come with nurturing life.

My prayer is that we each allow ourselves to be transformed into Mary’s “exponential yes,” to give life to one another and to the world through the power of God’s expansive, encompassing, and inclusive love.

Sources:
https://sarahbessey.substack.com/p/the-most-powerful-muscle-in-the-world
Edith Stein, Essays on Woman, ICS Publications.

Image: Agiosoritissa (Mother of God), Constantinople, 7th century