“And he came to her and said, ‘Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.’ But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be.” – Luke 1:28-29

I almost wish I’d punched him in the nose.
What do angels know, anyway?

“Greetings, favored one!” he said.
I wish I’d told him, “Do not do me favors.
I’m up to here with ‘Just a little task,”
from parents and with posies from that man.

“Don’t do me any favors, angel!
I’m up to here with favors done,
and favors asked, and too few favors given.
Leave me to the chores I have already.”

“Perplexed,” Luke called it. There’s another man
who asked the favor of my memories,
and dressed them up in pink chiffon,
made me sweet as pie.

At least he didn’t blanche the tan
upon my face and rouge my cheeks
and paint a simpering smile on my lips.
No, centuries of artists, they did that.

I almost wish I’d punched him in the nose.
What do angels know?

What do angels know of explanations
to my mother, to my father,
to my oh-so-righteous fiancée?
Only one – my cousin – didn’t ask for words.

What do angels know of smirking gazes,
harsh denunciations, pity hidden
from those oh-so-righteous ones
and hardly even shared with me?

I wish I’d been like Moses, “No! Not I!”
Except it didn’t work for him at all.
And Jonah, I could follow him, through fish and all,
to sit unshaded bitter in God’s favor.

What do angels know?

Well. What do angels know?
They know who will say, “Yes.”
They know who will embrace the need,
and tolerate the scorn, and do the thing.

They know who will endure
the travels and travails, and sing
of mournful seven joys, will break their hearts.
That’s what angels know.

I really wish I’d punched him in the nose.
He knew I wouldn’t.

That’s what angels know.

Luke’s description of Mary during the Annunciation reveals very little emotion. The Greek word translated here as “perplexed” also means “upset.” Unlike my depiction here, Luke’s Mary appears composed, forthright, mindful, and faithful. This is in stark contrast with nearly every other story of a prophet’s call, and if only in the Magnificat, Mary played a prophet’s role. Thus my imaginative retelling here.

I don’t really think Mary would have punched Gabriel in the nose.

A poem/prayer based on Luke 1:26-38, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year B, Fourth Sunday of Advent.

The image is Annunciation 1912 by Maurice Denis (1912) – Originally from en.wikipedia; description page is/was here., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1880715.