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In the liturgical year, we rarely celebrate birthdays. For the saints, we usually commemorate their day of death—their homecoming into eternal life. Yet there are three exceptions: Christ himself, John the Baptist, and Mary on September 8th.
This feast possesses its own unique, quiet character. The biblical scriptures are silent regarding the birth of Mary; only early traditions tell of Joachim and Anna, who, after long childlessness and in deep trust in God, conceived a child.
In the liturgy, Mary is often compared to the morning star or the dawn: she does not yet dispel the night on her own, but reliably announces the rising of the sun—the coming of Christ. The Nativity of Mary reminds us of how God’s history with humanity begins: not with a loud drumroll or overwhelming power, but in secret, in the vulnerability of a newborn child.
It is a feast of hoping against outward appearances. A sign that God often begins anew where, from a human perspective, there is no way forward—quietly, faithfully, and full of promise.
