Mary has conceived the Son of God; God is in her womb in the midst of the world; Mary’s womb, rigorously speaking, is the center of the created universe, and she can only silently adore the deeds and the presence of God within her. To be the Mother of God is a reality that fills the entire gamut of human potentiality, so much so that her perfect stillness and silence is dense with being in a way no act or words could be. Her adoration and thanksgiving allow no time for external words or actions. Her attention and all of her energy are spent in being directed toward the quietude and humility of this diminished God dwelling within her. Only a great believing poet like Paul Claudel can give us some hint of the substance of our Lady’s interior drama at this moment:
Mary—heavy with her burden, having conceived of the Holy Spirit—Withdrew far from the sight of men, in the depths of the underground oratory, Like the dove in the Canticle that flies away to the cleft in the rock. She does not move, she says not a word, she adores.
She is interior to the world, for her God is no longer outside. He is her work and her son and her darling and the fruit of her womb!
The Theotokos, the Bearer of Life, she is all silent splendor, the living Ark of the New Covenant containing the eucharistic manna of God in the flesh.