A Vigil in Nazareth

Joseph and Mary love one another. And theirs is the love that Saint John would, a few years later, praise using the Greek term agape (charity)—that love of God for man which becomes man’s love for God when God imparts it to him.

A characteristic of agape, Saint John teaches us, is that it always seeks to express and manifest itself. Thus, we may imagine the couple in Nazareth sharing moments of intimacy, where each of them reveals their innermost self, translating into humble earthly words the glimpses of God they have sensed in prayer.

And so, as Joseph and Mary share their spiritual riches out of love, the great Presence gradually emerges between them. It envelops them in its “shadow”—the same “shadow” that once rested upon the Ark of the Covenant and had enfolded Mary on the day of the Annunciation. Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est. They experience an immense, serene joy in opening themselves to one another and in communing together in the knowledge of God.

Joseph surely sees Mary surrendering to this Presence; it seems to him as though she is being swept away into another world. She is there, yet—as is evident to Joseph—she is also infinitely far away. In the peace nature of her face—or rather, something far greater than peace: the calm, eternal happiness of God shining through a wondrously pure womanly countenance—he senses and divines the mystery unfolding within his wife’s soul.

In turn, Joseph feels himself drawn in by his God. It is as if he were gradually drifting away: his surroundings, and even Mary herself, fade from view. God becomes so intensely real and present—imposing Himself with such undeniable clarity upon Joseph’s inner vision—that nothing else exists but Him. The immense, infinite solitude of God engulfed Joseph.

Years later, Jesus would speak of the need to “leave” and “hate” father, mother, wife, and even one’s own life; Joseph experiences this in these intense moments: nothing else exists—not even himself. He is living out and experiencing what mystics across the ages have yearned for: selflessness, yet within God. How far he is from Mary! How far he is from himself! Alone with the One. No—beyond that: lost in the One. God alone is: Joseph is in Him, and He is in Joseph.

With a start of wonder, Joseph finds himself back beside Mary; night has fallen, bathing everything in its embrace, and he sees his betrothed—still motionless, as if illuminated from within. Joseph experiences—in the presence of the woman God has swept up into His mystery—the very words John the Baptist would soon utter, “The one who has the bride is the bridegroom. The friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly at the bridegroom’s voice. Therefore this joy of mine is now complete.” (Jn 3:29)

Then Mary opens her eyes—wells of clarity—and looks at Joseph, smiling. He wonders if that smile, that radiance of immense tenderness, is truly meant for him, or rather for that God whose presence surely has not yet left her inner gaze.

But it is for him; his name is indeed on the lips of the woman he suddenly cherishes with a love that feels brand new—this betrothed, who comes to him from the land of God, bathed in light. The words of the shepherd from the Song of Songs rise up within him, “You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you.” (4:7)

Who, then, is this jealous God who asks one to “hate” everything, to leave everything behind, in order to plunge into and lose oneself in the desert of His Transcendence—and who kindles such perfect love between these two beings? He knows full well that by loving each other in this way, they will encounter Him anew. “Everyone who loves is born of God and experiences God.” (1 Jn 4:7) And the great solitude will once again regain them.

Joseph and Mary love each other only to help one another penetrate more deeply into the divine Solitude. Far from being a screen—however transparent—each is, for the other, a prophet of the jealous God, inviting the other to become a whole burnt offering, to cast themselves into the consuming fire of the Presence.

Henri Caffarel, Cahiers sur l’oraison, No. 86