In this final Advent reflection, I turn now to St Anne, mother of Mary and grandmother of Jesus, and the patron saint of minors, mothers and women in labour. Her depiction emerges not from canonical Scripture but from apocryphal traditions, most notably the Protoevangelium of James (c. mid-second century CE), whose opening chapters recount Mary’s miraculous birth and the special circumstances of her childhood. Anne’s narrative draws on Old Testament motifs, notably those of Hannah and Sarah (1 Sam 1; Gen 21). Yet her portrayal also pushes back against patriarchal patterns in such typologies by highlighting the role of maternal agency, not only in Mary’s conception, but in the unfolding of salvation history itself. Anne’s story reminds us that God’s work does not begin with powerful men or public institutions, but with the hope and perseverance of a woman living outside the centre of attention.  

Anne is described as barren (Protoevangelium of James, 1:5-2:6), and her miraculous conception of Mary is theologically rich. In ancient Jewish and early Christian thought, fertility was a sign of divine favour, and infertility often experienced as a spiritual or communal burden. However, Anne’s marginalisation becomes the site of divine encounter, showing her childbearing to be integral to God’s saving plan.  In response to her lament in Chapter 3, an angel announces that her prayer has been heard (4:1). This is a striking parallel to the annunciations given to patriarchs and prophets, but here addressed to a woman outside the public sphere. Anne’s long struggle with infertility becomes an example of how God’s plan is often delayed but not denied (Proverbs 16:9; Eccl. 3:1; Jeremiah 29:11).

This portrayal, while not canonical, has significantly shaped Catholic Mariology, particularly in the development of doctrines such as the Immaculate Conception, which presuppose the sanctity of Mary’s lineage. As such, Anne’s story has supported a deeper appreciation of mothers’ lives and histories, an appreciation reflected in the Catechism’s reference to Mary’s preparation ‘from the first moment of her conception’ (CCC 490-493). Anne’s hiddenness, far from diminishing her, becomes a locus of spiritual strength. This hiddenness points to the formative labour of raising Mary, the steady domestic work that shaped the women who would later offer her own ‘yes’ to God. It affirms the theological value of unseen labour. Grandmothers in refugee resettlement contexts perform quiet, essential work, caring for grandchildren when mothers are absent, separated, or forced into survival work. Grandmothers closer to home sustain family life through daily, often unpaid childcare, enabling their adult children to meet the financial demands of contemporary living. This kind of domestic constancy embodies what Catholic Social Teaching names subsidiarity: local, familial agency exercised in ordinary life.

St Anne invites us to consider how salvation unfolds not only through dramatic interventions, but through the hidden fidelity of those who wait and nurture. In this light, the grandmother who offers daily childcare and the older woman praying in solitude are part of a holy pattern that keeps hope alive. They, with Anne, remind us that the unseen is not unimportant but essential. In 2021, Pope Francis established the World Day for Grandparents and the Elderly, celebrated near the feast of Sts Anne and Joachim, her husband. This day recognises those whose lives are often hidden but whose labour sustains families, parishes, and the Church itself. Francis honours grandparents as ‘the enduring “chorus” of a great spiritual sanctuary’ who carry memory and hope. In this, the Pope gave contemporary voice to what Anne has long symbolised: the quiet faithfulness that prepares the way for future grace. Anne’s story shows us that theological significance does not depend on public roles. Like many grandmothers today, she offers quiet faith and steady care, often unnoticed, yet deeply felt.

This Advent, I would like us to remember the strength of three women, each of whom teaches us something essential about waiting and witnessing. They form a lineage of maternal resistance and spiritual resilience, offering the Church relevant models of faith lived not in the spotlight, but in everyday care and courage. As John Henry Newman wrote in his 1829 poem The Hidden Ones, ‘Hid are the saints of God; – Uncertified by high angelic sign… They gleam amid the night, Chill sluggish mists stifling the heavenly ray; Fame chants the while… Yet not all-hid from those Who watch to see…’. The saints live their faith quietly, usually unnoticed by the wider world, much like Elizabeth’s waiting, Anna’s vigil, and St Anne’s work. Newman’s words remind us that true holiness frequently lives in the margins, witnessed only by those attentive enough to ‘watch to see’.