Full service can be view HERE.
Advent 4C
December 19, 2021
Luke 1:39-55
INTRODUCTION
Finally, on this 4th Sunday of Advent, we get some texts that sound Christmasy. Micah will announce the importance of the little town of Bethlehem, and Hebrews will tell us why the coming of Jesus is important. But the really Christmasy texts will be the Psalm and the Gospel – and I need to tell you, we will hear them out of order. They are actually part of the same passage, but reversed. So let me situate you: Just before the part of the Gospel we’ll hear today is the annunciation, when the angel Gabriel comes to Mary to tell her that she will be the mother of God. When Mary is, understandably, perplexed by this news, Gabriel adds that in fact, Mary’s cousin Elizabeth is also with child, and “it is the 6th month for she who was said to be barren, for nothing is impossible with God.” Then the angel departs from her, and that’s where our Gospel reading will pick up, with Mary leaving “with haste” to go see the cousin the angel mentioned. Upon hearing Elizabeth’s greeting, Mary will sing the Magnificat, which is today’s Psalm.
So look carefully at the text of the Psalm and keep it in mind as you hear the story that precedes it. Notice especially how very revolutionary the text is, describing a major reversal in the usual order. In fact, the song our Advent series features today is a paraphrase of Mary’s song, and keeps repeating the line, “The world is about to turn.” So watch in our readings and hymns phrases and imagery of the ways God is turning, changing your world, or the whole world. Let’s listen.
[READ]
 |
| Magnificat window in Taize, France |
Grace to you and peace from the One who is, and who was, and who is to come. Amen.
Throughout our Advent series, “My heart shall sing,” we have been highlighting two themes: one is that the world is always ending and beginning, sometimes even in the same place, and second, that throughout scripture people’s response to God’s marvelous ways of bringing about new beginnings is to sing. Today, the final Sunday of Advent, we see both of these themes come to their peak in the story of Mary’s visit to Elizabeth, and the song the springs forth from her.
And just like in the other stories we have heard during Advent, that song, while joyful, doesn’t necessarily spring forth from a place of happiness. Last week when we talked about joy, I said that while happiness is often dependent on circumstance, joy is not. Today’s story shows how that is true.
Now, I used to think the annunciation, when Mary finds out she is pregnant, which happens right before the reading we just heard – I used to think this was an unequivocally happy moment for Mary. “Oh, how nice!” I thought. “She must have been so happy to be chosen as God’s mom!” But now that I am a bit older and wiser, I realize: no. She must have been terrified. Pregnancy in the first century was always a little scary, because of the high rate of women who died in childbirth. But just look at Mary’s particular circumstances. She is unwed, and engaged to a respectable man. By the laws of the day, he could have her stoned for what clearly looked like a sexual indiscretion. At best, she would be dismissed by Joseph (which was originally his plan before getting his own angelic visitation). This would leave her alone to raise this child by herself, and without much or any hope of any other man ever wanting to marry her. By all counts, this is a very dangerous situation for a girl who, tradition says, was only maybe 14 years old.
What Mary does with this terrifying reality can guide us as we face our own terrifying or unsettling circumstances, our own moments of uncertainty. The first thing Mary does is seek out a faithful community. When the angel spoke to her, the angel mentioned that Mary’s relative Elizabeth, who was said to be barren, had also conceived and was in her 6th month. And so, in her uncertainty and fear, as well as her hope and trust, Mary packs up to make the long journey to the hill country.
I read a commentary this week that named this gathering of Mary and Elizabeth as the first Christian worship, the first time people gathered around the Christ to proclaim the good news, to prophesy, to bless, to sing. I love that, and I love that Mary was compelled to do it not alone, but in community. There is certainly power in being with other people – something we have learned profoundly during this pandemic when that possibility was taken away from us. There is strength in community. There is hope. There is the assurance that we do not carry our fear and uncertainty, nor our joy, alone. And, we know that God works through community.
Some time ago, I was going through a very scary time in my life, that involved a lot of discouragement and uncertainty. I remember one night in particular, sitting in my house and feeling so desperate and alone. I picked up my phone and started scrolling through my contacts, searching for someone, anyone who might understand how I was feeling. I found someone, another Christian woman, and called her, at 10pm. She listened, and said things like, “Oh, I have felt that way, that’s so frustrating.” And when we finished talking and I hung up the phone, I felt stronger. I felt more hopeful, and yes, I even felt some joy – not happiness, but the peace that often accompanies true joy. I was empowered to seek out more support from faithful women, and I found a support group. And suddenly, what had been a very scary situation became one that brought me purpose and hope.
I imagine Mary feeling similarly after the angel departed from her. I imagine her sitting there, alone, and thinking, “Who will possibly understand? Who can I talk to? Who can share what I am carrying?” And then she remembers those words, “Even now, your relative Elizabeth is with child, and this is the 6th month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing is impossible with God.” And she is driven to seek out that faithful community, for she knows it will bring her the strength that she needs.
Once she gets to Elizabeth’s doorstep, she makes her next move – she sings, and in so doing, she calls upon an even larger community, one that spans across time. The song Mary sings, the Magnificat, is not an original piece. It is based on the song sung by Hannah, the mother of Samuel, who prayed and prayed for a child, and when she was given a son, she dedicated him to the service of God, and sang a song of the greatness of God, and the great reversals God brings about, and the ways that God is always bringing about a new thing. It is the perfect song for Mary to reference as she and Elizabeth rejoice in their own divinely ordained new thing, and as they anticipate the wondrous things God will do with the children in their wombs.
That is not to say that their fears and questions have disappeared. While we may think we need to leave our questions and doubts at the door when we come to worship, Mary and Elizabeth do no such thing. Imagine the questions swirling in their hearts: Will they survive the rigors of childbirth? Will Joseph leave? Will Zechariah ever speak again? Will Mary’s family disown her? Will Elizabeth, in her old age, live long enough to see her son grow into adulthood? What will it mean for these children that God has some special plan for them – will they bring about God’s kingdom, or will they die trying? Yes, those questions still remain… and yet, still, these faithful women lean into their trust of a God who has been and will always bring about great reversals, who is always doing a new thing.
I first heard this week’s featured song, Canticle of the Turning, when I was on the precipice of my own new thing – I was about to head overseas to serve as a missionary. At that point, I didn’t even know what I would be doing, just that I would be living in a Slovak village called Vrbovce, working through a church. Gathered with the 60-some other young missionaries, we heartily sang, with Mary, “My heart shall sing of the day you bring. Let the fires of your justice burn. Wipe away all tears, for the dawn draws near, and the world is about to turn!” We did not yet know how the world would turn as a result of our missionary work, nor what tears we may shed that would need to be wiped. But we knew that the justice burned in our bones, compelling us to service, and we knew that, come what may, God had called us to this time, this place, this mission, and was somehow using us to turn the world toward God’s vision. And so, we went forth with trust. And, like Mary, our hearts and voices sang.
In the wake of the incredible, life-changing, world-turning news that she would carry the Holy-of-Holies in her womb, Mary no doubt felt a healthy fear. Yet still, she trusted. She found strength in the promises of God, and the ways God had already acted throughout history, and she also found strength in a community of faithful women, present and past. And in response, she sang – sang a song that is a revolution, that testifies to the ways that God always has and always will bring about new things, and turn us toward God’s justice, God’s vision, God’s hope. In her story and her song, Mary has given us words to empower us, too, as we continue facing the constant stream of endings-turned-beginnings that come our way. The world is about to turn, yes, and has always been turning, and always will turn - toward God's justice, mercy and love.
Let us pray… God of our hearts, our spirits sing of the wondrous things that you bring to the ones who wait. When we are confronted with a new thing that brings about fear and uncertainty, increase our trust, show us the way toward a supportive Christian community, and make our hearts to sing of your strength. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment