Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb.
The final line of John Donne’s sonnet, “Annunciation,” speaks briefly, yet ever so profoundly, to the wondrous mystery of the prenatal beginnings of the Incarnation.
Take a moment to ponder the purport of each word:
the weight and breadth of immensity,
the hiddenness and containment of being cloistered away,
the humanity and limitations of the womb.
My mind cannot comprehend the fullness of the mystery of God becoming man in this way, limiting Himself to the smallest point of our existence.
Then again, this smallest point of our existence is itself too large a thing for me to fully grasp. It’s been nearly five months now that a small life has been developing inside of me, and my wonder at it is growing, not diminishing. Immensity is not hidden away within me, but I carry one formed in the image of that immense God: a living soul, with who knows how many years, how many adventures, how many misadventures, ahead. More than that: an eternal soul.
All this cloistered in my womb, growing rapidly and only beginning to make itself known to my senses. A mystery echoing that of the Incarnation—within my body.