(Dr. Spielberg is the Director of Identity and Spirituality Projects with the Association of Hebrew Catholics. She lives in Jerusalem. This article is reprinted with permission from Canticle Magazine, the Voice of Today's Catholic Woman.)
Blessed are you who believed that what was spoken to you by the Lord would be fulfilled…” And Mary said, “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord; my spirit rejoices in God my savior…” (Luke 1:39-42,46-47).
When he told Mary of her election to be the mother of the “son of the Most High,” Gabriel also told her that her kinswoman Elizabeth, who had been infertile, had conceived a son and was in her sixth month of pregnancy. And so Mary set out on the arduous journey to the hill country of Judah. Was it to verify the miracle of Elizabeth’s pregnancy? I don’t think so. I don’t think that this woman of faith who so humbly and gently accepted her election (“May it be done to me according to your word.”) belonged to the “seeing is believing” school of thought. No, I imagine that Mary undertook this long journey — a most unusual step for a young, unmarried woman — because she wanted to share with Elizabeth the marvel of God’s mighty hand, His powerful intervention in the lives of men and women.
The journey from Nazareth to Ein Kerem (the hilly site about three miles west of Jerusalem, which many modern scholars believe to have been the home of Zechariah and Elizabeth) was not an easy one; how did a young woman travel this distance? Was she alone? Did she join a party of traders or of pilgrims? However she traveled, the journey would have required great courage and determination in the face of community sanctions against such an independent action on the part of a young, unattached woman.
However, Mary was probably no stranger to Ein Kerem. She had probably lodged with her priestly relative when her family made the pilgrimages to Jerusalem. Perhaps Zechariah took Mary and her family to meet the High Priest; perhaps he was able to show them the priests’ headquarters or their house of study. As a member of the religious and political elite, he was certainly able to keep his family informed of all the comings and goings, all the current news in Jerusalem, the regional and ethnic capital.
But this visit was different. What would await her? How would Zechariah react to her pregnancy? As a priest, he had a clear duty in cases of illicit pregnancy, as hers would surely seem to him. Mary was betrothed to Joseph. Betrothal was then, and remains today in certain Orthodox Jewish circles, an integral part of the wedding process. Betrothal was such a strong and formal relationship (unlike “engagements” today), that breaking one was tantamount to divorce. Unfaithfulness by one of the betrothed was defined as adultery. In Zechariah’s eyes, surely she would be an adulteress.
The Law clearly detailed what would have awaited Mary if Joseph, or Zechariah on his behalf, decided to charge her with suspected adultery: “The priest shall first have the woman come forward and stand before the Lord… Then, as the woman stands before the Lord, the priest shall uncover her head (an act of public shaming) and place in her hands the cereal offering, while he himself shall hold the bitter water that brings a curse…”
The priest reads the text of the malediction, performs the cereal offering and has the woman drink the bitter water. If she has been unfaithful, the bitter water “will go into her, and her belly will swell and her thighs will waste away, so that she will become an example of imprecation among her people. If, however, the woman has not defiled herself, but is still pure she will be immune and will still be able to bear children.” (See Numbers 5:11-31 for the entire ceremony.)
This ritual of public shaming and trial by ordeal is prescribed for the woman who is merely suspected of adultery. A confirmed adulteress — and pregnancy out of wedlock would be ample confirmation —was put to death.
What thoughts must Mary have had as she made her way to the home of Elizabeth and Zechariah! Would they understand? Would they believe her? Zechariah the priest, would he even listen to her, a mere girl?
In Ein Kerem today, there is a grotto in the Church of John the Baptist, which is revered as the spot of John the Baptist’s birth. I like to go there, look at the rock walls and imagine that moment when the two women see each other — and the two fetuses recognize each other.
I imagine young Mary, hot and dusty, trudging up the hill from the bottom of the wadi to reach the house. I imagine her thoughts racing from wondering about the reactions of her priestly kinsman, wondering what kind of reception would await her, to thoughts of praise and wonder at her election. I imagine her pondering Gabriel’s words, meditating on them, praying them.
And then I imagine she arrives. I imagine that the children or old ladies of the village had already seen her coming from afar, and alerted Elizabeth. I imagine Elizabeth rushing out to meet Mary, and I imagine the embrace of the two women: the older, infertile woman and the young virgin — both pregnant.
What must Mary have felt, after all her thoughts and perhaps her anxieties, at Elizabeth’s twice-repeated cry, “Blessed are you!” What a burden must have fallen from her young shoulders, what joy must have entered her heart!
The two women must have talked, exchanged accounts of the miraculous happenings. Perhaps the mute Zechariah quickly and joyfully wrote a few words about his own angelic encounter. What praises and hymns would have rung out from that house that day!
And the greatest of all would have been, “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, and my spirit is rejoicing in God my savior…”
