Madonna with Child

She walked past the plate glass window

next to the booth where I sat with my friend Bill

in the worst hamburger joint on the eastern seaboard,

eating a dripping grease burger

oozing with melted Velveeta cheese of all things

with fries fresh from a year in the freezer.

She was twelve months pregnant, maybe thirteen.

Sashaying her first pregnancy

down the walk and through the door,

showing everybody who she was

and what she was carrying,

beneath her red spandex top,

and navy blue spandex tights,

stopping traffic and conversation,

as all onlookers

(And who could look away?)

paused in what they were doing

to honor, marvel at, rejoice in, worship, relish, adore, and remember

the wonder of a vision

equal in every way

to the one that stunned the angels

who announced the Messiah’s birth

with their hallelujahs, backflips, somersaults and high fives—

and as redemptive!

She redeemed the day, the week, the year, our lives, all of life,

forever, throughout all eternity.

And I carry her memory in my heart

to revere and esteem:

Mary, the mother of God,

ordering a grease burger with fries

and sanctifying the moment, and all gathered there

by the wonder of her grace bestowed upon us,

utterly transforming the ordinariness of our lives.