Tag Archives: Mary

“Good, I’m not crazy.” Mary & Elizabeth compare notes (4th Sunday of Advent, 12/22/2024)

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Readings

There’s a double dose of good news in today’s readings: God is indeed coming to set things right, and God generously invites us to be part of this. We’ll start with the invitation, then move to the setting things right.

The Gospel reading starts out “In those days…” If we ask “which days?” we need to go back a few verses and hear the angel Gabriel saying to Mary: “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.”

“Do not be afraid…” first, probably, because angels are powerful creatures. Gabriel’s one of the more powerful and he’s standing right there in the living room. But “Do not be afraid…” also because Mary’s a Jew, whose people have been colonized by a series of pagan empires for over five hundred years, Rome simply being the latest. Mary has to think back over 500 years to remember a time when the Jews were free—if only in theory. If we had to think that far back it’d put us before Columbus. After all that time, can the God of King David, who many think has been conspicuously absent for the last 500 years, be trusted?

Mary trusts, and at the end of the conversation responds “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” God gives Mary—gives us—the quite amazing dignity of being agents in this story. Recalling our reading from Hebrews, Jesus is able to say “See, I have come to do your will” because Mary has given her “Here am I.” Jesus offers up his body because Mary has offered hers up: “let it be with me according to your word.”

Mary’s response brings us up to today’s reading, in which Mary heads for the one person who might understand what she’s just gotten herself into. Elizabeth, her relative, is also pregnant, despite being “advanced in years” and previously judged barren. An angel had been involved in that one also. A year before all this happened, neither Elizabeth nor Mary would have had any thought of being part of a divine project of this magnitude. But here they are.

Elizabeth greets Mary, and her speech takes up most of the Gospel reading. We read Mary’s reply, “The Song of Mary,” between the first two lessons. It’s one conversation.

Why did Luke include this scene? It doesn’t particularly advance the action. But it shows us something we almost never see elsewhere in the Gospels, and never at this length: two disciples talking to each other. And what comes through in both their speeches is a combination of “Oh, good, I’m not crazy,” wonder at being in the story at all, and a fierce joy at what God is doing.

“Oh, good, I’m not crazy.” Neither of them say that; I suspect both were thinking it: Elizabeth, preparing to be a mother when most of her friends are enjoying being grandmothers, Mary, with the angel’s voice—it was an angel, wasn’t it?—ringing in her ears. When you get caught up in God’s projects it helps to have someone with whom to run a sanity check. This is why God puts us into congregations.

Both are a little dazed at being in the story at all. “[W]hy has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me?” “[F]or he has looked with favor on his lowly servant.” And the joy: present in Elizabeth’s “the mother of my Lord” and developed throughout Mary’s song.

Repentance, about which we’ve been speaking these last weeks, is not the focus of the Christian life. That would be like a photographer spending all her time cleaning her lenses. But it’s necessary so that something interesting can happen. And in the encounter between Elizabeth and Mary, we have an image of what that “something interesting” might look like. Two strong women, dreaming dreams and seeing visions, supported by and rejoicing in each other’s friendship, rejoicing in the first stirrings—quite literally—of what God is doing in their midst.

God’s generous invitation to be part of God’s good news, extended not just to Elizabeth and Mary, but to each one of us. Recall Paul’s absurdly mixed metaphor: “My children, I am going through the pain of giving birth to you all over again, until Christ is formed in you” (Gal. 4:19 NJB). Until Christ is formed in you.

Now, what about this business of God coming to set things right? Here we might focus on these lines from Mary’s song:

He has shown the strength of his arm,
he has scattered the proud in their conceit.
He has cast down the mighty from their thrones,
and has lifted up the lowly.
He has filled the hungry with good things,
and the rich he has sent away empty.

Mary’s channeling pretty much the entire biblical witness here: we as a race have turned away from God and as a result regularly commit atrocities against our neighbors, all of whom bear God’s image. So “setting things right” is more than a bit of reform here or there. The status quo is inhuman. No wonder that the British banned the singing of Mary’s song in India during their rule, or that in the 1980’s the Guatemalan government banned its public recitation, or the military junta in Argentina banned its public display.[1]

Is God’s coming good news? If my status and riches depend on oppression and violence, not so much. So, not surprisingly, some of the most pointed prayers in the Book of Common Prayer are assigned to these four weeks of Advent:

Week 1: …give us grace to cast away the works of darkness…

Week 2: …Give us grace to heed their warnings and forsake our sins…

Week 3: …because we are sorely hindered by our sins, let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us;

Week 4: Purify our conscience, Almighty God, by your daily visitation…

So, in one of our prayers of confession, we acknowledge “the evil we have done, and the evil done on our behalf.”Is God’s coming good news? Depends on which side I’m on, the sheep or the goats, and the Advent season pleads with us to take this seriously.

OK, preacher, how do we witness to this? If the status quo is inhumane, what do we do? A good chunk of the New Testament is devoted to this question; consider these snapshots:

Jesus’ instruction: “You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.” (Mk. 10:42-44)

Philemon is a slave-owner and Onesimus a slave: Paul tells Philemon they need to treat each other as brothers in Christ. That plants the seed that eventually results in many countries abolishing slavery.

The first witnesses to the resurrection are women, and Junia is recognized among the apostles (Rom 16:7). Things like these plant the seed that eventually results in women winning civil rights and, in some parts of the Christian Church, the barriers falling to ordination.

“Honor the emperor” (1 Peter 2:17)—and hold the empire accountable for the pretty language it uses to describe its values (Acts 16:35-40).

In short, the default strategy is consenting to God transforming our life together in the church (“let it be with me according to your word.”) and that acting as a catalyst—as leaven—for the whole loaf. And, when it comes to it (“We must obey God rather than any human authority.” ([Acts 5:29]), not being afraid to cause “good trouble.”

God is coming to set things right and—wonder of wonders—we’re invited to be a part of that. How might that play out in the week ahead?

[1] See http://enemylove.com/subversive-magnificat-mary-expected-messiah-to-be-like/, accessed 12/7/2021.

Conduits for God’s Future: Christmas Eve 2023

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Readings

Both my brother and I enjoy sci-fi in multiple formats. A couple years back he sent me season 1 of Star Trek: Voyager; who knows what’ll be under the tree this year. As TV series go, my favorite is undoubtedly Dr. Who, particularly as played by Tom Baker. Dr. Who is a Time Lord, who travels through time in contraption called the TARDIS, which, due to a long-standing malfunction, has the outward appearance of a blue English police box.

Time travel has been particularly relevant in 2023. Who hasn’t instinctively reached for the fast forward button at multiple points—or perhaps the reverse button. But life doesn’t seem to come with that sort of remote. So 2023 has had more than its fair share of moments in which we might feel stuck.

And, at first, glance, our readings, particularly the first, are not of much help. “…endless peace…He will establish and uphold it / with justice and righteousness / from this time onward and forevermore.” And Isaiah fills out the vision: “they shall beat their swords into plowshares, / and their spears into pruning hooks;” “the wolf shall live with the lamb, / the leopard shall lie down with the kid.” But that’s then and we’re here. Add the devastation that forms the immediate backdrop to Isaiah’s words (“the yoke of their burden, / and the bar across their shoulders, / the rod of their oppressor”) and we have plenty of material for a “Blue Christmas” observance right here.

And yet, Jesus’ birth has something to tell us about this experience of feeling stuck, trapped in the present. For that, we might start with Santa Claus, who started out as St. Nicholas, bishop of Myra (now in Turkey) at the beginning of the 4th century. Nicholas did some of his most important work at night, anonymously distributing food, clothing, and—sometimes—small bags of gold down chimneys to those in need. During the day, he periodically used the full weight of his office to defend the innocent. Eventually the anonymity collapsed and he was honored also in the multiplication of stories about him.

If we wonder what was at the heart of what Nicholas was about, perhaps we could put it like this: he recognized that God invites us to open ourselves so that we become a sort of conduit through which God’s future—the sort of future Isaiah was describing—can flow into the present. He may have been distributing blankets in ad 320, but more than ad 320 was in play.

In this Nicholas was somewhat like Mary, part of whose story we heard in the Gospel. Nine months earlier an angel had appeared to her: would she be the conduit—in a quite literal sense—through which God’s future might arrive? She replied: “Here am I, the servant of the Lord, let it be with me according to your word.” That was one of the high points; it doesn’t take much reading between the lines to recognize the likelihood of low points in the story from the Gospel we just heard: tired after a multi-day journey, giving birth for the first time, far apart from most of the folk she would have liked around her, making do in the manger. The year was—scholars guess—about 4 bc, but much more than 4 bc was in play.

That invitation to open oneself as a conduit through whom God’s future can flow into the present: that’s an invitation extended not just to Nicholas and Mary, but to each one of us. The birth we celebrate today: unique. The divine invitation to cooperate with God in bringing God’s future into our present: that’s a standing invitation. And God nurtures places like St Peter’s where we can learn together how to do that together.

This opening oneself as a conduit through whom God’s future can flow: what more can we say about what it looks like? Well, that’s the question that drives most of what shows up in the “Sermon” slot throughout the year, isn’t it. For now, it’s enough to say that if we’ve gathered together to celebrate Jesus’ birth, just wait till he starts talking, starts acting. May we—please God—keep paying attention, keep learning.

So, time-traveling that leaves our present mostly untouched—that’s probably not in the cards. Opening ourselves as conduits for God’s future to flow into our present: God’s all over that one. Experiencing ourselves as stuck is not the only option. And so we say: Merry Christmas.

Glory & Absurdity (4th Sunday of Advent)

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Readings

The texts still ringing in our ears suggest point and counterpoint (on the one hand… on the other hand…). On the one hand, we celebrate the glorious history of our salvation. And it is glorious. About ten centuries before Jesus, the Lord promised to David, King of Israel and Judah, an eternal dynasty. And despite all the wars, a long exile, and all the other vicissitudes that accompany life, the Lord fulfills this promise, as the Gospel reminds us: “behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High; and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom there will be no end.” And this is a reign not only over the house of Jacob. His reign will include all nations, and for this reason one of his servants, Paul, writes to the Christians in the capital of the Roman Empire, which letter we know as “Romans.” “Romans.” Every time we use this name it’s an invitation to recall something of the daring of this letter, directed to the capital, and proclaiming a future for the human race that ignores completely the pretensions of empire. That empire fell—in the West—in the fifth century, and fifteen centuries later the followers of Jesus compose more than 30% of the world’s population and are found in every country of the world.

Yes, it is a glorious history. And we, like the recipients of Paul’s letter, are invited to sense some of this glory in the midst of all that passes for glory in our culture and world.

On the other hand, there’s the continuity between the experience of King David and the Virgin and our quite unglorious experiences on the other. That continuity…

David. King of Israel and Judah, as our lesson opens he’s now in a position to build a temple worthy of the Lord his God. To Nathan his prophet the project seems so obvious, so natural, that he doesn’t even think of consulting the Lord. “Go, do all that is in your heart; for the LORD is with you.” That very night the Lord sends a message to David via Nathan, a combination of good news and bad news. The bad news: you are not to build me a house (a temple); the good news: I will build you a house (a dynasty). This promise of an eternal dynasty sustains the people during the darkest moments of their history, and is the basis for the hope for the Messiah, Son of David.

At the same time, this “you are not to build me a house” represents an enormous danger. Why? Because at that time, the construction of a temple for the king’s god signaled the god’s approval of the king. And this was particularly important for David, who was not himself the son of a king. So not building a temple would be something like winning the presidential election, but not moving into the White House. “No, Mr. Putin, you won’t be visiting President Biden in the White House, but at the Holiday Inn.… It’s actually a very nice suite… OK, I’ll tell him that you won’t be coming at this time…” So David not building the temple places a large question mark over his entire reign, and this may have something to do with the number of rebellions he had to put down.

If we ask the reason for this prohibition, the text gives no clue. There are attempts to answer the question elsewhere in the Old Testament, but here, no.

Mary. Real estate agents tell us that the three most important factors for the value of a home are location, location, and location. In a society that values honor, like Mary’s society, the important factor in marriage is timing: first the marriage, then the pregnancy. This doesn’t seem all that complicated, even for the Lord. Nevertheless, for Mary the order is pregnancy, then marriage, which represents a permanent stain on both Mary’s and Jesus’ reputation. “We were not born of fornication” gets hurled in Jesus’ face (John 8:41).

Again, if we ask what this divine decision was about, we encounter only silence.

That is, both David and Mary experienced what we know all too well, these elements in our life that don’t appear to have any meaning, these absurd elements that hobble our efforts and threaten the most beautiful of our days.

As we recall this dimension in the history of David and Mary, we might recall something St Paul wrote: “And to keep me from being too elated by the abundance of revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan, to harass me, to keep me from being too elated. Three times I besought the Lord about this, that it should leave me; but he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made fully present in weakness.’ I will all the more gladly boast of my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may rest upon me” (2 Corinthians 12:7-9 [RSV*]).

I wonder if these lines from Paul have something to do with David’s and Mary’s experience.

“Too elated” is a wonderfully diplomatic phrase, something like Alan Greenspan’s “irrational exuberance.” If the Old Testament is any indication, it’s a regular problem for God’s people. Moses: “Take heed lest you forget the LORD your God… when you have eaten and are full, and have built goodly houses and live in them, and when your herds and flocks multiply, and your silver and gold is multiplied, and all that you have is multiplied, then your heart be lifted up, and you forget the LORD your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage” (Deut 8:11-14).“Too elated” indeed.

“Too elated” is not, of course, a typically Episcopal problem. We “solved” that problem when we drove out the Methodists a couple centuries back! So we can hear week after week that we are sons and daughters of the living God, that we can talk directly to our Creator without any intermediary, no roaming or data charges—and we’re not elated. This is not necessarily a good thing. It’s like being in the driver’s seat of a Ferrari or Jaguar and not being tempted to go even a mile over the speed limit. We could do with a bit more elation. But I digress.

Whatever we do with the earlier part of Paul’s text, his more general point “power is made fully present in weakness” speaks directly to David and Mary and each one of us.

It’s not the script most of us would have chosen. Supermanwould have been more like it. (And the nice thing about playing Superman was that all you needed was a towel with one of the narrow sides tied around the neck!) Power, power, and more power.

What Mary is presented with is rather different. All her weakness and vulnerability remain. But what will grow within her is nothing other than the Son of God. And through that One those lines from her song will be fulfilled: “He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, / and has lifted up the lowly. / He has filled the hungry with good things, / and the rich he has sent away empty.”

And what the angel presented to Mary, our gracious God presents to each one of us. The weakness and the vulnerability don’t disappear. But what God would grow within us and among us is nothing less than the down payment on the fulfillment of all the hopes and dreams captured in the carols we will start singing this evening.

The Christmas story gives the absurdity and the futility of the world its full due. If the stories of David, Mary, and Paul are any indication, God’s not above using some of that to prevent too much elation. But at the end of the day, neither the absurdity nor the futility get the last word. “Power is made fully present in weakness,” and through Mary’s “let it be to me according to your word” the Savior of the world is again at our doorstep.