"Here I am, the servant of the Lord; let it be done to me according to your word."
With these words spoken by Mary begins a new, decisive chapter in human history and in the story of salvation. They are words laden with meaning, each one an invitation to reflection for every Christian called to wrestle with their own vocation—and especially for us young people, who in these years are making important choices, choices that should align with the faith we profess. This is not an easy path. Often doubt and uncertainty overwhelm us. We struggle to surrender completely to God's design for each of our lives, almost as if we fear the consequences of our yes. But Mary, with her "Here I am," embodies the highest example of a human being who welcomes—even without fully understanding—her vocation, what she has been called to: to become the mother of God.
The Annunciation is a story of vocation, and so it concerns all of us, because each of us is marked by a vocation, by a calling. God has sent an angel to each of us too, in different ways, to deliver a message. Our lives are nothing but our response to the Lord's call. We should follow Mary to learn her "yes," to learn her "Here I am!" What has always struck me profoundly is the freedom God grants us. The Almighty speaks, asks, clarifies through signs—but does not compel. Mary does not feel forced. She knows well who is asking her to welcome this sublime mystery into herself: it is God in Person, whom she has loved with her whole heart always, and in whom she has absolute trust. Even knowing nothing of what was about to happen, unaware of the consequences of her gesture, Mary said yes to the angel: an unconditional yes, bending herself to God's will, choosing her—the most humble, simple, and good among all women—to become the Mother of God.
Rereading the Annunciation story, one word has always struck me deeply: "servant." The angel is sent to Nazareth—the "land of humility"—because Mary's vocation was born in the soil of humility. Her greatness lies precisely in her humility. Mary does not boast of the favor God has shown her. She knows she is both protagonist and servant of the divine will, and so she chooses freely, spontaneously, to speak her yes. In us, it is pride that blocks the openness of our freedom, that prevents the wholehearted yes and "Here I am." Mary's "Here I am" is one of total loyalty, without limits or hesitation. It is clear and pure—very different from the yes we pronounce. Our yes is often full of fear, of doubt, as if we could not fully trust God, as if we could not accept his plan for each of us. And perhaps that is why we close the door to true happiness. God stands at the door and knocks. It is up to us, to our will, to open it and say "Here I am."
In the angel's message there is an important reference: Elizabeth's experience, which links together, across history, two events that are part of a single design. Mary must have known of Elizabeth. John, after all, would be born to prepare the way for Jesus's coming. Before Mary was called, Elizabeth was called. No vocation stands alone—not even Mary's. Everything moves according to a plan in which vocations converge to form a unified whole.
Mary's encounter with the Angel changed history. From the moment the Son of God began to live in her womb, something extraordinary happened—something destined to overturn the judgment we pass on all future historical events. God revealed himself in history by becoming part of it. And to do so, he chose a simple Jewish girl.
To fully grasp what this event meant, we must pause on the role and condition of women in Jewish society in the first century. First: Jewish women in Jesus's time were not permitted religious education. The rabbis justified this by pointing to the Torah, which says "You shall teach [these words] to your sons" (Deuteronomy 11:19). If God wanted this teaching extended to daughters, they argued, he would have said so. Moreover, women did not participate in the public life of their people. When they left the house, they kept their faces hidden behind veils, made unrecognizable.
Because of her particular physical condition, a woman lived in a state of perpetual impurity (Leviticus 15:19-30), and was therefore considered the human being most distant from God. In the Jewish world, the birth of a daughter was seen as a true calamity. The Book of Sirach expresses this brutally: "A daughter is a source of sleepless anxiety to her father; worry over her drives away rest. In her youth, lest she remain unmarried; when married, lest she be hated. While unmarried, lest she be seduced; as a wife, lest she be unfaithful; lest she bear no children; lest she be childless" (Sirach 42:9-10).
Against this cultural backdrop, it is remarkable how the Gospels give exceptional prominence to women in general, and what role is reserved for Mary in particular. God entrusts to her the destiny of all. With her "yes"—the fruit of free and obedient faith—Mary became the "new Eve," mother of all the living.
It is striking, I think, to compare the profound difference in behavior and choice between two women so important in human history: Eve and Mary. One—Eve—corrupted by the discourse of an angel, Lucifer, turned away from God by transgressing his word and thus lost true freedom. The other—Mary—received the announcement from another angel, Gabriel, and by obeying his word, she restored to all of us that same freedom that allows us to call ourselves children of God, and we are truly his children. Just as Eve's wrong choice cast us into sin, so Mary's free and joyful yes laid the foundation for Christ to confirm, through himself, the New Covenant and redeem us from sin.
This changed, I believe, how we live our faith in God. It transformed human life. It made us turn to Mary as our heavenly mother, asking her to intercede for us with the Father.
Throughout the centuries, the Church has always looked to Mary as a model to follow—for her strength and gentleness, her simplicity and determination, in short for her difference and particularity. I too am different, because I am a girl with a disability—a quadriplegic girl—and those who know me consider me special.
Mary's example means a great deal to me. Just as she accepted, without understanding it, God's design, I too live my disability as God's plan for me. I have accepted my condition without fully understanding it. But I am convinced that wanting to fully comprehend God's plans is a sign of arrogance on our part, as if we wanted to be like God, omnipotent and omniscient.
I often ask myself what the meaning of my life is. And through the support of prayer and my wonderful family, I have come to understand that each of us fulfills God's will only by opening ourselves and giving generously to others, regardless of the constraints and limits we face. In this journey, I believe prayer is essential. It allows us to listen with our hearts to the One who speaks to us. Only by finding silence within ourselves can we dialogue with God and discover the vocation to which we are called—so that we might, as Mary invites us at the wedding of Cana, "do whatever he tells you."
Arianna Giuliano, 2013