Elizabeth’s words to Mary form the bridge from the Annunciation to the Visitation in the Hail Mary prayer: “Blessed are you among women, and blest is the fruit of your womb” (Lk 1:42). After Mary’s hasty journey to her kinswoman, she, carrying Jesus in her womb-ark, receives an exuberant welcome from Elizabeth and John the Baptist. The unborn babies, Jesus and John, meet for the first time as their mothers embrace. Elizabeth explains what she has felt in her heart and in her womb:
Father Thomas Esposito
Gabriel is not the first messenger of the LORD to greet someone with the phrase “The LORD is with you” (Lk 1:28). An anonymous angel hails Gideon, a young man from a poor and insignificant family, as the lad desperately hides his family’s wheat harvest from the marauding Midianites: “The LORD is with you, you mighty warrior!” (Jgs 6:12).
St. Luke gives us the angel Gabriel’s annunciation greeting to Mary as “Chaire, kecharitōmenē” (Lk 1:28). There are thrilling grammatical and theological mysteries packed into these two Greek words.
The days are darkest in late December. Our calendar year ends with the briefest appearances of sunlight. The wintry chill that covers so many lands, the leafless trees, and the absence of flowers and plants all provide a hint of death at work in the sleeping earth.
The two petitions that conclude the “Our Father” prayer form a single sentence. “And lead us not into temptation” is inseparable from “but deliver us from evil,” according to faith as well as grammar. And just as the word “temptation” needed to be mined for deeper insights, so too does the word “evil.”
In the last decade, the liturgical versions of the Our Father have been changed in both French and Italian to soften the apparent harshness of this petition. The French translation is now “Ne nous laisse pas entrer en tentation,” “Do not let us enter into temptation,” and the Italian runs “Non abbandonarci alla tentazione,” “Do not abandon us to temptation.”
This petition is the most scandalous of them all. The verb tenses reveal the heart of the matter.
My ideal translation of this phrase would be “Give us our ‘supersubstantial’ bread today.” That would sound gloriously awkward at Mass, and ‘supersubstantial’ would be a liturgical tongue twister for children trying to say the word quickly five times in a row. That translation, though, grants immediate access to the mystery at work in the first petition of the Our Father prayer.
Death, disobedience, and sin are not part of the original divine plan, and yet they are manifest facts of human life. How, then, is the divine will to be done by me or any other weak-willed man or woman dwelling in the valley of the shadow of death?
The current object of my loving mystification is “Thy kingdom come.” In an effort to be slightly less intimidated by this vast and marvelous petition, I will arrange my musings as responses to the time-honored journalistic questions.