What happens when a prayerful young peasant receives a whisper so powerful that she dares not tell it? She hugs the secret close. And it is incarnated.
Going over and over the reality in her mind, she touches it timidly and unwraps it with equally unspeakable thrill each time. Looking at its significance from every possible angle, replaying the words repeatedly, jumping up and down and twirling around in her soul until she's dizzy with the implications, she "ponders it in her heart."
And when someone else, a cousin, reveals that she too knows and understands and believes what unspeakable thing has happened, the riot of praise and poetry and stupendous irony fizz out of her, spreading out in a pool of song that runs up the sides of the hills of history like a wave.
This is Mary's Magnificat. This is Mary's Song. Hers is the song of the Church.
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