The lesson of the joyful mysteries of the rosary: none of us are too small to receive God’s love

By Connor Hartigan, 30 October 2024
The Annunciation by Leonardo da Vinci. Image: Wikimedia Commons.

 

The joyful mysteries of the rosary guide us along a journey of prayer through Jesus’ conception, birth and early life. We see God not only in his human form, but in the most vulnerable phases of his earthly existence. It is one of the most intimately relatable periods in Jesus’ life. None of us have been crucified or raised from the dead, but we have all experienced the helplessness of birth and infanthood, when we are utterly reliant on the care and kindness of others. When I pray these mysteries, the idea that most often comes to mind is the littleness of Jesus (and, for that matter, of Mary).

These mysteries have much to teach us about the dignity and inherent worth of the poorest and most marginalized in our world, and about how God comes to us through our encounters with them. These lessons are apparent in the fruits of the mysteries: When praying about the Visitation, we gain a greater love of neighbor; and when contemplating the birth of Jesus, we are to think of people in poverty. At the end of it all is the final fruit, the joy of finding Jesus—and of finding him in the ostensibly lowliest and most unexpected places.

As I pray the first two decades of the rosary and reflect on the Annunciation and Visitation, I recall how God chose a poor, marginalized woman in a far-flung corner of the Roman Empire to serve the pre-eminent human conduit of his grace. It’s crucial to remember that at the moment of the Annunciation, Mary was a young, poor Jewish woman living in a land under Roman occupation. I am reminded of what America’s James Martin, S.J. wrote in his book Jesus: A Pilgrimage: “We may struggle with the notion of God’s paying attention to us in our littleness….Mary can be seen as a figure with little power.” Yet God does not discount Mary because of her vulnerability; on the contrary, God affirmatively chooses a woman of modest origins to bring his son into the world. I often wonder: To whom might God appear if he chose to set the Incarnation into motion today, rather than two millennia ago?

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Connor Hartigan is an O’Hare Fellow and former editorial intern at America Media.

With thanks to America and Connor Hartigan, where this article originally appeared.

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