Advent 4 (December 20, 2009)
Only five more days until Christmas! Are you tired of Christmas carols yet? I'm getting there, and it isn't even the Christmas season yet, according to the church calendar. But the secular world is in full voice. I was in a store just the other day listening to a rather surreal version of Hark the herald angels sing interpreted by a cheerful gang of men in a country-western style "Christ, by highest Heav'n adored; Christ the everlasting Lord; Late in time, behold Him come, Offspring of a virgin's womb. Veiled in flesh the Godhead see; Hail th'incarnate Deity..." etc, etc. I guess what gave me pause while listening to that song was the combination of a way of singing that I usually associate with a down-to-earth good ol' time, and music I associate with the holy mystery of the Incarnation. But that started me thinking of exactly what we mean by the holy mystery of the Incarnation, and how that plays itself out in our modern world.
The Gospel reading for today is a little snippet from Luke's narrative of Jesus' birth. Luke is the Evangelist who was the most concerned with the actual birth of Jesus; Matthew barely mentions it, and when he does, it's more from the perspective of Joseph. John and Mark don't mention Jesus' birth at all.
The Gospels all deal with the actual presence of Jesus in the world and with his death and resurrection. That's the main message, the real manifestation of the incarnation, if you will. The birth narrative says something important, something profound, but it's been overshadowed a bit by popular culture. Our popular imagination has run with the story of Jesus' birth –a magic story about a king born in a stable, rich gifts given, angels singing glory to God. At this time of year, we have in our minds a vision of a beautiful young girl on a donkey, gentle beasts, warm hay, sleepy doves, adoring shepherds, a drummer boy. All the Christmas Specials that we've seen over the years, all the sentimental songs that ring in our ears at this time of year give us the framework of this lovely, familiar scene, complete with a magical star. It is a pretty scene, but sometimes it feels more like a story out of a children's book than the birth of the incarnate God. It almost seems like it's of a piece with other Christmas Stories: Santa Claus, the Grinch that stole Christmas, Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer.
I have some atheist friends who see the story of the birth of Jesus in just those terms: a pretty story, suitable for children, but to be put aside when you grow up, along with believing in Santa or the Tooth Fairy. It seems to me that in many ways, our society has traded in the mystery of the incarnation, the aweful reality of God in human form, for a comforting story about baby and a stable long long ago and far far away. It's almost like if we can make the story trivial, we don't have to worry about what it really means to have God with us. We don't have any responsibility toward our incarnate God. But the mystery of the incarnation remains, as part of the fabric of the universe. What do we do with that mystery? There are other ways of dealing with it without making it small and cute. Two thousand years of profound Christian thought has been turned to the question of what it means to say that God has become human, born in the womb of a human woman. Many a weighty volume has been devoted to the theology of the incarnation. Thousands of years of dedicated thought –all focused on what it means that God is with us. Seminarians and other lovers of theology spend years reading and thinking about this mystery. But in the end, is that any better than that pretty story about the baby and the stable? Can thinking about it, analyzing it, bring us closer to the true meaning of the incarnation? Is that what we're meant to do with this aspect of the Gospel?
We believe that God is with us, now, here. Emmanuel. There must be a way to experience that reality in a way that engages us completely, not just as a long ago tale, or as an intellectual exercise. How can we find our way into the heart of the incarnation?
One thing we can do is look at the Gospel account. Let us start by looking at those few verses from today's Lectionary reading. Luke's version draws us in. He puts in many small details –details which connect us in an intimate way with the story of a young woman, pregnant and unmarried. A woman who in a very real way was in danger because of her condition. This was a society with harsh penalties for a woman who is seen as unchaste. Her husband-to-be was ready to put her away quietly. Of her parents, we hear nothing at all. This unforeseen pregnancy could have been the beginning of a very different story, a story which was doubtless the beginning of the end for many a woman of her time. But Mary has trust in God –in a God who can do wonders, who can make what seems like the worst of situations holy. Mary heard the voice of an angel and believed. But even for Mary it must have been a costly belief. Her society was skeptical. Even her own betrothed was skeptical. No wonder the first thing she did was to go with haste –I love that phrase "with haste" to her kinswoman in Judea. Elizabeth was the living proof of God's power and favour. We know the story of Elizabeth and Zechariah –the parents of John the Baptizer. It was thought that Elizabeth was too old to have children, but look! when her cousin Mary came to see her, she was already six months pregnant with her son. How reassuring that must have been for Mary! And how reassuring Elizabeth's words: blessed are you among women! Here was a case where against all logic, God's work was seen in what might have been a terrible situation, and the one who obeyed and trusted in God was praised and supported.
The conception of our Lord was not a simple, pretty story. It was not without a great deal of potential danger and uncertainty. Mary did not have the perspective of two thousand years of Christian theology behind her to give her support. She was a young woman in a tight place, with an unfailing love and trust in God. And she had help from her friends –her cousin, and ultimately her husband. But above all, she knew that her God was a God who could redeem everything and make it holy.
Some of you may know that I do Bible study at the Tanguay prison for women. We meet every other Saturday –usually there are between 6 and 10 of us. The women come from all kinds of religious backgrounds. Some were brought up with a strong church connection, others are estranged from their church, some are just curious about the Bible. But they are all conscious of having a need to be closer to God. We pray, we sing a little Taize, and we talk about the stories concerning women in the New Testament. One of the first stories we discussed was the story of Mary, and Jesus' conception and birth. We talked about it from the perspective of Mary being an unwed mother, a situation all too familiar to some of the women in the prison. These women knew all about being marginalized, being sneered at. And we talked about God's transformative power, and about trust and redemption. These are not trivial subjects for these women. They are subjects they have to deal with over and over again in their journey towards a healthy lifestyle and a holy relationship with God. How can it be, they wonder, that God can come into their broken lives and make a dwelling there? Isn't there a place so wrong and so ugly that God will refuse to go? Aren't they ruined beyond redemption? And then we talk of the incarnation, and we talk about God in the world –the world which can be so filled with hate and wrong and ugliness. But also a world that, because of Emmanuel, has a capacity for a holiness so strong that it can shake its foundations. The story of Mary and Elizabeth speaks to them of standing firm in the face of suspicion and scorn. It reminds them of hope and love, support and trust.
We all discover something of the incarnation learn trust from each other in that prison common room on Saturday afternoons, and we learn to see the hand of God in each other's lives. We encourage each other, like Elizabeth did Mary, and say to each other: Blessed is she who believed there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.
The incarnation speaks of the life of God in our own flesh and in the reality of God within God's creation. God will achieve God's purpose in our lives, of this we can be sure, just as it happened in Mary's life, and Elizabeth's life. Those of us that do not live on the margins or in prisons have something to learn from the experience of people who do. It is these people who learn the hard way what the Incarnation means, and just how much God's love can transform a sinful world. But we all have those places in our lives where we need to hear about God abiding in us, we all have times when we need that kind of reassurance.
On this last Sunday of Advent, let us take some time to imagine our sister Mary, brave and terrified in the arms of her cousin on the Judean hillside, and let us remember also those who are in danger and fear in our own communities. We who are in need of the comfort of God don't need a pretty story, or an intellectual exercise, but the sure knowledge that God present and living within us. May we think on the incarnation and may that give us strength to offer the voice of hope and reassuring love to each other as we wait in anticipation for the coming of our Lord. Amen.
