“Sitting with Mary and Finding Elizabeth: Luke 1:26-38”

“Luke 1:26-38: Sitting with Mary and Finding Elizabeth”

Hope Lutheran Church (St. Charles, Missouri)

Year B, Fourth Sunday of Advent, Luke 1:26-38

Sam Melton, MDiv ‘19

As some of you may know, I am currently a seminary student in Boston and so as expected, my last week or so has been spent wrapping up finals, finishing papers, drinking far too much coffee, and huddled over a computer in the library. If you recall your own school memories or find your lives still revolving around the school year maybe as parents, students yourselves, teachers, or administrators, perhaps you too can recall the stress, anxiety, and just plain busyness that comes with this time of the year. I've been a student for as long as I can remember, but this year, in addition to school, I have had the wonderful opportunity to spend much of my time working as a vicar within a small congregation on the South Shore of Boston . This season, as I continued to spend more time in this role and with my community, I couldn't help but feel disconnected from how we often describe the season of Advent within our church. It just doesn’t seem to match up with end of the semester rush and what was actually happening in my life.

On Sunday mornings we speak of how Advent represents stillness, waiting, patience. Advent, this time within the church year that we prepare for the birth of Christ and just as I mentioned, my Advent experience has never once actually felt like this for me. I have an inkling that I’m not alone in this feeling, even if your life doesn’t revolve around the school year and I wonder if today or during this season you too are struggling to connect with this Advent peacefulness we hear so much of.

Perhaps this time of the year has been difficult for you too? Maybe the weight of the world feels heavier, everytime you turn on the news or scroll through Facebook, you find it difficult to see the light, or the coming joy of Christmas simply doesn't feel as joyful as it once did. Maybe your traditions have been altered by career transitions, loss to divorce, the grieving of a loved one, or conflict with your family members? Maybe you find yourself identifying with one of these emotions, not feeling as great as you wish, or just feeling a bit “off” during this season? I first want say that you are not alone. There are so many of us that are finding ourselves echoing the words of Mary asking, “How can this be?” And second, I ask you to bring all of yourself, all of these complicated and sometimes messy feelings to our Gospel reading from Luke today.

If you’re bringing a mix of emotions, or a disconnectedness from Advent, your feelings seem to not simply be mirrored in the Gospel reading from today, but are even mirrored within the church calendar itself. Though it’s December 24th, traditionally Christmas Eve even our church calendar is a bit confused and complicated this morning as we continue to wait and celebrate the Fourth Sunday of Advent on Christmas Eve. These complicated emotions are every bit a part of this church as those joyful, fun, happy, smooth, type of advent seasons are.

In Luke, we hear the telling of the pre-birth story of Mary, where we have an opportunity to hear Mary’s anxiety, her unsettled heart, and her struggle to celebrate the birth of her baby boy as she confronts her own mix of emotions. Mary here is so, so, human. ll She is already the concerned mother, unsure of her worthiness, of her abilities, and terrified of how the birth of this child will change the world as she knows it. Mary experiences something that every parent already knows--- that any parent that has given birth, fostered, or adopted, knows: you are preparing for the largest, most dramatic, interruption of your life. A child is all of these things, joyous and hard, exciting and scary, hopeful yet unsettling. Most importantly though, this child interrupts your life and everything you thought you knew about life and love. Mary is in on the brink of that experience as she prepares for the birth of her child, Jesus.

In Mary’s story, we are privileged to see the the humanness that this interruption brings in her life. She expresses some of those same emotions we just named; anxiety, fear, loss, grief, and transition. She too, is experiencing all of this. This experience seems most important to name this year. Mary reminds us that the kingdom of God not only holds our joyous celebrations and thanksgivings, but also holds our fears and anxieties. The Kingdom of Heaven is big enough to hold every part of us.

It is here, that we see a glimpse into our God. As Mary asks questions, we don’t hear of a God that chastises her for her questions, but instead we see a Kingdom where questions are not only welcome, but encouraged. Here, we see how this moment of preparation is sacred and these emotions are every bit apart of this holy moment too. All of her, even her messy emotions, without exception are holy and yours are too.

Though we see Mary in all of her humanness, we must also see her as a person wrapped in relationships and systems of power and authority. ll And though it feels like politics already takes up so much space and airtime in our lives today, we must not forget how utterly political this Gospel story is. We can’t turn away from this: Mary is not the person that we or her peers would imagine to bring the human embodiment of God into the world. She is preparing for marriage as a virgin, yet pregnant out of wedlock. She doesn't exactly look like the mother of God. She is on the margins, vulnerable, a refugee, homeless, and a teen mother. She is everything that society and media and systems and institutions tell us to turn away from. Her very existence is political. Yet, the Good News, the Gospel, the powerful proclamation of incredibly her political body is that God is quite literally in her and of her.

For us to grasp how truly powerful this proclamation is, we also need to begin to understand how the community interacts with her during this time of preparation. Our reading for today starts in Luke Chapter 1 with the story of the angel Gabriel, foretelling Mary of her virgin birth and ends with Gabriels departure from Mary. However, I would argue that it ends much too early--- we need the rest of Chapter 1 to really understand who Mary is. After Mary proclaims, “Here am I!” and the angel Gabriel leaves her. What we miss though and what we don’t get to see in this reading, is that directly following Gabriel’s departure, Mary swiftly sets out to the Judean countryside to be with her relative Elizabeth. ll I imagine her sprinting to her relatives house, breaking in with flaring arms, screaming and speaking too quickly for anyone to understand, crazily making claims about the news that the angel shared with her --- What a scene, a young 12 to 15 year old busting through the door claiming that she is a virgin, yet she is very much pregnant, and not only that, but it is the Son of God! Would we believe her, or would we cast more marginalized labels onto her? Is she the mother of Christ, or the irresponsible, possibly mentally ill, unemployed, teen mother? Elizabeth casts such labels aside, she sees through them and she believes.

Elizabeth, I think understandably, just as we can imagine, is likely skeptical. Yet, in this story, Elizabeth who also happens to be pregnant via a blessing from God, hears this seemingly unbelievable news from Mary and upon hearing this, she feels her baby kick and move in her womb. The text actually says that, “the child lept in her womb,” and she is immediately filled with the Holy Spirit and believes. Elizabeth, who was once barren and was recently blessed by a child from God, is led by God to believe Mary. She gives Mary validity and reassurance in this narrative. Elizabeth becomes Mary’s support system and community. She says to Mary, “For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leapt for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” Where would Mary of gone if Elizabeth turned her away?

If we recall some of those complicated feelings about the Advent season that we identified this morning, some of those same emotions that Mary may have been feeling, we can begin to see the value of Elizabeth’s reassuring words. Elizabeth deserves space in the Advent story and as a church, we can not continue to cut her out of it. Elizabeth is Mary’s human embodiment of empowerment. She models this community and foreshadows the community of Christ. We too, need Elizabeths in our lives. We need people to empower us during our times of doubts, to believe us when we write #metoo, to love us when we are vulnerable and marginalized, and to leap with joy in our thanksgivings. Mary is not the Mary we know without Elizabeth.

In a few moments, when we share in the body of Christ at the table of communion and enter into Christmas embracing the birth of Christ, we are reminded that we aren't simply rejoicing in the birth and life of Jesus, but we are actively acknowledging the pain of Mary and the role of Elizabeth’s empowerment and reassurance. At the table, we celebrate all of the story.

The story of Jesus’ birth is so powerful because of the voices of women and therefore this morning, during the Fourth Sunday of Advent --- though we are already looking forward to the dawn, in which our world as we know is interrupted by the birth of Christ --- we must also remember that it’s okay to take time to sit with Mary. ll With Mary, we see the power of community rooted in her interactions with Elizabeth. When we sit with Mary, we grasp how powerful Christ’s interruption really is. With Mary, we see how perfectly imperfect the Kingdom of Heaven is. With Mary, we see God’s welcoming of our authentic selves: all of our questions and anxieties.

If you find yourself sitting with the questioning, anxious, Mary this morning, my prayer for you is that you find a community of Elizabeth’s in your life. More importantly, I pray that you remember that this community here, in all of its transitions, is an Elizabeth for you too. As we continue traveling towards Christmas, I leave you with an Advent poem that I hope you will carry with you into the Night. It is titled, “A Blessing for the Longest Night,” from Jan Richardson:

All throughout these months

as the shadows

have lengthened,

this blessing has been

gathering itself,

making ready,

preparing for

this night.

It has practiced

walking in the dark,

traveling with

its eyes closed,

feeling its way

by memory

by touch

by the pull of the moon

even as it wanes.

So believe me

when I tell you

this blessing will

reach you

even if you

have not light enough

to read it;

it will find you

even though you cannot

see it coming.

You will know

the moment of its

arriving

by your release

of the breath

you have held

so long;

a loosening

of the clenching

in your hands,

of the clutch

around your heart;

a thinning

of the darkness

that had drawn itself

around you.

This blessing

does not mean

to take the night away

but it knows

its hidden roads,

knows the resting spots

along the path,

knows what it means

to travel

in the company

of a friend.

So when

this blessing comes,

take its hand.

Get up.

Set out on the road

you cannot see.

This is the night

when you can trust

that any direction

you go,

you will be walking

toward the dawn.

Amen.

© Jan Richardson. janrichardson.com