Good Saturday morning, good Advent pilgrims who walk The Way of Mary. It's a pretty chilly morning here at Llangollen but our hearts are merry and bright as it begins to look more and more like Christmas in this neck of the woods.
You'll notice from the pictures that for the first time in the over 20 years we've lived here, we've got our outside lights on, thanks to the kindness and generosity of a dear friend who made it happen. I am delighted.
I love the word "delight". In English, the word finds its roots in the Latin word "delectare," which means "to charm" or "to please". The words "delicious" and "delectable" have the same root.
The word in French has definite sexual overtones. Of course, it has sexual overtones. Have you ever watched someone in France eating cheese and bread and drinking wine? It's almost obscene.
It is the root word in Hebrew that has the greatest resonance
with me. Two of the most common Hebrew terms for delight are
"hepes," "to bend towards, to be inclined towards [an object or person], " and
"rasa," "to delight or take pleasure in."
I especially love the connection between delight and the desire of our hearts. The Hebrew connects the Latin and the French in a way that is, well, delightful.
Every time I do a word study on the word "delight" I fully expect to find some connection with "light."
De = of. Light = the natural agent that makes things visible to the eye that had not been seen in the dark.
Nope. No matter how much I want it to be, it's just not in any of the OEDs or Word Etymology books I've searched. But, it makes a certain sense, doesn't it?
I mean, there is this element of surprise in being delighted, isn't there? You bite into an apple and you know what you are going to taste but then there is this apple . . . this apple right here . . . that is especially sweet.
The flavor is layered with earthy tones and fruity notes that harmonize with your memory of just a mere apple, making it more intense and pleasurable. There may even be a slightly sour note at the end, which immediately dries up your salivary glands and makes you pucker - like a kiss.
And then, there's the texture - the crispness of it - the way it curiously, if not somewhat miraculously, snaps and then melts in your mouth like a communion wafer.
You are surprised to know that you didn't know how much you wanted - desired - this apple. But, here you are, bending toward it like Eve must have tasted the first apple and couldn't wait to share the sensation with Adam.
Now, if you have ever seen the face of a person who is in the midst of having that kind of experience, you have seen the face of delight. You see their face "light up" with a smile or the countenance of pleasure.
It's interesting how artists never draw the expression of delight in the images of Mary, but I'm sure there were times when she was surprised by the unexpected pleasures of carrying new life within their body.
Not just carrying this growing body in her body but realizing that she was nurturing, helping to give shape and form, providing the blood and muscles and bones to move on its own, whenever it wants to. Participating in a miracle.
There is one lovely image of the Visitation of Mary and Elizabeth where both women are holding each other's swollen bellies and laughing with great delight. I love that image. I don't know the artist but it was either a woman or a man who had actively participated in his partner/spouse's pregnancy.
That artist understood delight.
That image always makes me want to change the prayer from "Hail Mary, full of grace," to "Hail Mary, filled with delight."
I felt the magic of the desire of my heart becoming the delight of another person. I wondered if that's what God feels when we delight in God's creation, in God's Light come into the world.
For a few minutes, as I walked around the house taking pictures, I took great delight in the way it looked, the light from the house sparked the light in my heart and filled in all the spaces that had been occupied by anxiety and fret.
For a few minutes, I forgot all about the obscenities of the incoming administration and the silent but obsequious way my life has been taken over by cancer. For a few minutes, I wasn't at all concerned with tomorrow or next week or next year but right now - this now - now, now.
It was delightful.
Joy to the world, the Light has come.
I think Advent is a time to anticipate delight, to allow ourselves the space to be surprised by things we weren't expecting or couldn't see in the darkness that suddenly come into view.
As I travel The Way of Mary this Advent, I'm going to bend toward the light, the way a plant or flower seeks out the warmth and nourishment of the sun. This Advent, I'm going to expect more experiences of delight, the way a pregnant woman anticipates being surprised by the movement of the child within her womb.
These days, I'm more like her cousin Elizabeth than Mary, but the thought of being surprised by the possibility of a new creation in the midst of the continual threats of destruction gives me a newer, deeper sense of Advent hope.
And, like Mary, I am filled with delight. Ave!
I hope something good happens to you today.
Bom dia.
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