The Moment Before Yes: Devotion for January 12

I was attempting to organize all things in storage over Christmas break and somewhere between old photos and half-remembered keepsakes, I pulled out a timeworn book from 1938 titled Christ and the Fine Arts. My sorting came to a full stop. I sat right down on the floor, surrounded by piles of things, and let myself be drawn into its pages. 

One of the treasures I found there was Arthur Hacker’s painting The Annunciation—a depiction of the moment when the angel tells Mary she will carry the Savior of the world. In the book, the image appears only in black and white, but even stripped of color it carried a kind of hush, as though I were looking through a doorway into something sacred and unguarded. When I later found the original painting online in full color, I was even more captivated. 

The book’s description of Hacker’s palette is almost a painting in words: 

“—the ethereal blue of the angel’s robe, the brilliant copper glow of the water pitcher, the dainty green of the grass, the strength of the Syrian sunlight flooding the white walls till they gleam through the very body of the angel and throw a sheen of luster on the spotless robe of the Virgin.” 

Color in this painting is not decoration—it is revelation. Light itself seems to participate in the holy moment, spilling across walls and fabric, softening edges, making even the angel appear as if he is formed from radiance. 

Notice how the angel’s mouth is so close to Mary’s ear. Mary’s eyes tell the story. There is a dawning awareness that nothing will ever be the same. The angel holds a lily—an ancient symbol of purity, innocence, and virginity. The lily floats between heaven and earth, between promise and cost. 

Mary’s hands are clasped at her chest, as though she is trying to hold her heart together. Just moments before, her only task was to gather water, the pitcher resting at her feet. She had been doing something ordinary—something forgettable—when eternity interrupted her afternoon. 

God did not wait for Mary to be in a temple or at prayer. She was in the middle of her daily life, when suddenly heaven leaned in. 

This reminds us of how God tends to arrive—quietly, unexpectedly, right in the middle of what we thought was just another day. 

We, too, may carry pitchers. We are busy gathering what we think we need—time, security, certainty, control. And sometimes, right there in the ordinary, God breaks in. 

This painting invites us not only to admire Mary, but to see ourselves in her posture: hands at our hearts, lives interrupted by grace, standing at the edge of a story far larger than we imagined. 

Featured art: Arthur Hacker, The Annunciation, 1892, The Tate Museum, London