Well, we are drawing to
the end of one of my favorite liturgical seasons, Advent. And this year, we have traveled through almost
the fewest number of days that Advent can be, the fourth week of Advent is only
two days long, tomorrow is Christmas Eve, the last day of the season. This is a season of anticipation for me, of
preparation, of waiting and watching as the days grow shorter and the nights
grow somehow darker. Liturgically we use the color blue to signify hope, to me
it seems brighter, more anticipatory than the old liturgical color for the
season, purple. I know, I know, how does a color express something like hope?
But it does to me.
If this is the season of
Hope, Where do we see hope in our lives? I n this congregation? Where do we see hope amidst the fear that is
rampant in this day and age? After tragedies like Newtown last week? In today’s
gospel? We hear this reading every year on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, and
during Advent. What does it have to say
to us today? How does this reading,
which is closely associated with Christmas, read differently in Advent? Does it? I hear three Advent messages: “Hail,
O favored one,” “How can this be”, and
“Nothing is impossible for God.” In this short passage Mary traverses the
journey that we all make as we step out in faith to live out God’s love in the
world.
First, Gabriel’s
greeting: “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you” What does it mean to
be favored by God? Is this a good message?
Does it necessarily bring fear? The text simply says that Mary was
perplexed by these words and pondered them.
What would it mean to you to be favored by God, to simply be
favored. In this busy time of preparation,
what does it mean to be singled out?
When all of our thoughts and activities are centered on others, on
buying presents, baking favorite cookies or candies, getting to holiday
concerts, decorating our homes, what does it mean to be favored by God? Do you ever think about that? Seriously? I have to admit that it stopped me cold when
I read this suggestion in one of the weekly text resources that I consult when
preparing to preach. Have I ever thought
of myself as favored by God? Our
Scandinavian heritage tells us to deflect praise and compliments, so how could
we ever stop and think that God favors us, individually? This text tells us of a simple girl, a poor
girl, who is visited by an angel and given that message. There is nothing extravagant said about Mary,
she is simply a young girl. God comes to
each of us, not in the shape of angels as the artists of the ages have pictured
this event, but through messengers, the translation of the word angel, just the
same.
Today is Lille
Juleaften, or little Christmas Eve. I did
not grow up with this idea, even though my heritage is Danish as well as
Swedish. But when I first learned of
this idea, of noting that today, the 23rd of December, is the Eve of
Christmas Eve, I found it enticing. In
our home we have observed this day as a pause, as a time to take note of what is
coming, a bump in the road over which we race towards Christmas, a day to take note and leave the hurriedness
behind.
On this next to last day
of Advent, can we take the time to sit for a moment, and to reflect upon the
things for which we give thanks? Can we
begin to contemplate the ways that God has favored us? Can we believe that God truly has tasks for
us to do, and promises to be with us through the accomplishment of those
tasks? Even if they seem to be
impossible to us? Hail, O favored One! Listen to what God is doing with you.
Gabriel simply tells
Mary what is going to happen. He does not ask her if she would like to do this,
or if this seems like a good plan, Gabriel simply tells Mary what is going to
happen to her. And Mary’s response is
“How can this be?” This is
impossible. A natural response. How many times do we read in scripture of the
response of God’s people to announcements of God’s plans: Sarah laughs, Moses says “Not me, Lord,”
Zachariah is so full of unbelief that God doesn’t let him speak for nine
months. How do we respond when things
just seem to be impossible? What is our first reaction when a request made of
us is just too much, when we can’t see a way to accomplish it? How do we do anything in the face of a world
in pain? When prices keep rising, when health care doesn’t work, when people
are homeless, when the disparity between the rich and the poor just seems to
grow bigger and bigger? God tells Mary that God will be coming to earth,
literally. If we can accept that basic premise,
then how can we say anything is impossible?
Faith draws us to belief, and the basic tenet of our belief is that God
became incarnate and dwelled among us.
This is what we are celebrating Tuesday, the incarnation of God. After that, what is impossible for God?
Nothing, and that is hope!
Mary asked “how can this
be?” and Gabriel responded, the Holy Spirit will be with you, and then told her
that Elizabeth was expecting. Gabriel
said, in effect, God will be with you, and if you need assurance of this, here
is proof….she who had given up hope of ever having a child is already six
months pregnant!” We move from the stage of “this is impossible” to all things
are possible for God, when we hear the stories of God’s work among us.
Last year Bishop Boerger
shared his answer to the question:
“Where do you see hope”? The
answer was “I see hope where it has always been, between faith and love.” This is what is happening in this text. After
experiencing doubts and questioning the probability of the angel’s statement
being true, Mary is given hope, she is told of another miracle of expected
birth. Gabriel reminds her that nothing is impossible with God, and Mary
remembers. She remembers Hannah and the
birth of Samuel, she remembers Sarah and Abraham, she remembers that God took a
man who didn’t speak eloquently and turned Moses into a leader, Mary remembers
the stories of her faith and of her community and Mary feels hope. This hope, this response to faith, enables
her to respond to God’s announcement to her with the prophet’s words: Here I
am, the servant of the Lord, let it be to me according to your word.”
In this season of
preparation for Christmas when it often seems that it is all we can do to get
everything done, when our thoughts and activities seem to be more than we can
possibly complete in the hours and days left, where do we see hope? Where do we
see hope amidst the fear that is rampant in this day and age? Where do we see
hope after reading of malnourished children in Chad whose parents take them to
the local medicine man who pulls their teeth, rather than to the international
aid clinics where doctors and nurses wait to help them? Where do we find hope amidst the overwhelming
stories of funerals in Newtown?
We find hope in the
stories shared around the tables after church in the Augustana Room. We find hope in the stories of our faith, in
the things that we have done, in the promises of God. We find hope as we gather together around
this table and eat this bread and drink this wine. When we do this, when we participate in this
meal, we are in effect becoming like Mary.
Mary held the incarnate God within her body, and she sang a song of
radical transformation, of God’s work in the world. We eat this bread and drink this wine and we
too hold God within our bodies. Can we
embrace this? Can we be as Mary was and
sing of the radical things that God has done?
Can we sing about and believe that God has already turned the world
upside down? Can we live with the
reality that the promise of God’s presence with us has already been fulfilled
and then step out into the world, filled with hope to live that presence into
being? Can we love the world, can we
love those who seem unlovable, can we advocate for those who are left out?
From faith to hope and
out in love, that is the transforming journey to which we are called every day.
God loves each one of us, we are all favored by God, and we are all called to
do seemingly impossible tasks. In the
face of that, we are reminded of Emmanuel, that God is with us; we are reminded
that we are filled with the Holy Spirit; just as Mary was. We are fed at this
table, and then we are sent out, filled with the body and blood of Christ,
transformed by this meal into Christ’s body, to be God’s love in this
world.
In this time of waiting,
in this pause before the glory of Christmas, we remember that God is a God of
action, that God is revealed not only in the still small voice, in the sleeping
baby in a manger, but also in the tempest and the whirlwind, in the earthquake
and in the thunder. God meets us quietly at this table, at that manger, and
then sends us out, enlivened to do God’s work in this world, to shake it up, to
scatter the proud and lift up the lowly, to stir in us love’s restlessness.
With God, nothing is
impossible, let it be to us according to God’s word. Amen.
