Fiat and lux

Fra Angelico's Annunciation in Florence;
Mary heavy with the weight of her fiat

Fiat. It brought a universe into being. Fiat lux — let there be light. With a breath an unbearable radiance poured into the darkness. Fiat, said Mary to Gabriel. And with a breath that infinite, unbearable Light poured into a young woman in a small town, until she swayed with the weight of it. Fiat, cried Jesus in the garden of Gesthemane. Once again the universe was borne on a breath, carried across the shoulders of God incaranate.

We hear these assents as “let it be done to me.” Yet the Greek word Luke uses in this Gospel -- genoito -- means more than passive assent. It whispers of birth and growth, of what might we become. None of the events set in motion by these fiats are complete, they were each a “yes” to becoming. The light that tore through the darkness all those billions of years ago is still flaring out, igniting suns whose light will not reach us for a hundred billion years. 

Mary said yes to becoming the Christ-bearer. Even now she bears our prayers aloft, swaying under the weight of our needs.  And with a word ripped from the depths, Jesus became the redeemer of our sins past and present and even of the future. Light still careening through our darkness, moving heaven and earth. 

Light has no weight the physicists tell us. Except when it is in motion. Then it has power that can sweep the dust of dead stars together with enough force to bring the very earth we stand on into being. Dare I take on the weight of light? Dare I say “yes”  to moving toward what God hopes for me?  

Fiat.  Fiat lux. Let me be aflame with the Gospel, heavy with the light of Christ.

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A version of this reflection appeared in Give Us This Day on March 25, 2023.