Let It Be
Jeremiah 32:1–9, 36–41; Matthew 22:23–33
Today the church calendar interrupts Lent with a feast: the Annunciation, when Gabriel appeared to Mary and the Word began to take flesh. In the middle of our season of penance and self-examination, we pause to remember that God’s great work of salvation began with a young woman’s yes. Let it be to me according to your word.
The Sadducees come to Jesus with a riddle about resurrection: a woman married seven brothers in succession. Whose wife will she be in the resurrection? It is a trick question, designed to make resurrection look absurd. Jesus’ answer cuts through the cleverness: You are wrong, because you know neither the scriptures nor the power of God. In the resurrection they neither marry nor are given in marriage. He is God not of the dead, but of the living.
"I said to the almond tree, ‘Sister, speak to me of God.’ And the almond tree blossomed." —Nikos Kazantzakis, Report to Greco
The Sadducees’ error was imagining the resurrection as an extension of the present life—the same arrangements, the same structures, projected into eternity. But resurrection is not more of the same. It is transformation. The caterpillar does not become a bigger caterpillar. It becomes a butterfly. The acorn does not become a larger acorn. It becomes an oak.
Jeremiah, from prison, buys a field. It is an absurd act. Jerusalem is under siege. The Babylonians are coming. Real estate is worthless. But God tells Jeremiah to buy the field as a sign: Houses and fields and vineyards shall again be bought in this land. The purchase is an act of faith in the future—a down payment on a promise that has not yet been fulfilled.
Mary’s yes at the Annunciation is the same kind of act. She does not understand what is happening. She does not know how a virgin will conceive. She does not know that this child will be crucified. But she says yes to the unknown. Let it be. Fiat. The most consequential act of faith in human history is a consent to mystery.
Meister Eckhart wrote: We are all meant to be mothers of God. What good is it to me if this eternal birth of the divine Son takes place unceasingly, but does not take place within myself? The Annunciation is not merely a historical event. It is an ongoing invitation. God is always seeking flesh to inhabit, always asking: will you consent?
Today, in the middle of Lent, let the feast interrupt your fasting. Let the angel’s greeting reach you: Greetings, favored one. The Lord is with you. You do not need to understand everything. You only need to say: Let it be. Let something new take root. Let God buy the field. Let the dead be living. Let it be.
The date of the Annunciation—March 25, exactly nine months before Christmas—places the beginning of salvation in spring, when the Northern Hemisphere awakens from winter. The liturgical calendar is not arbitrary. It embeds theology in the seasons. New life begins in the softening soil, the lengthening days, the first green shoots. Mary's yes is the spiritual spring—the moment when the frozen ground of human history cracks open and something unprecedented pushes through.