Penelope Bridges
Last Sunday of Advent
Our King and Savior now draws near. Come let us adore him.
Today’s Collect calls on us to prepare our hearts to be a mansion for Jesus. How do you do that? Have you found a moment in all the busyness of the season to rest quietly in the presence of God and reflect on the kind of welcome you want to give the baby Jesus on Wednesday?
We all have our own ways of preparing. Some people listen to Handel’s Messiah every December. Some people bake certain cookies and treats to share with family and friends. Some make preparations to travel long distances or to welcome house guests as families come together. I was privileged to take two days of silent retreat a couple of weeks ago. Some folks find it a painful time as they re-experience the sharpness of grief for loved ones who won’t be there this Christmas.
In our frantic and over-committed lives, Advent can fly right by us without us ever drawing a breath to think about what it means. But here we are, spending an hour or so together in church, with the blessed opportunity to be still and soak up God’s love in this holy place.
Are you ready for Christmas? How much have you spent? Will you go into debt for Christmas? Many do. Do you make a special donation to non-profits in lieu of gifts? Why or why not?
The average American spends $975 on Christmas gifts, food, decorations, and travel. I rate about average on that score.
Do you remember the United Nations Millennium Development Goals from the beginning of this century? In the year 2000 the UN estimated that it would cost $42 billion to provide clean water for every human being on earth. The percentage of people worldwide without clean water fell from 24% to 9% by end of the decade of MDGs; that exceeded the goal but still leaves an awful lot of people without a safe water supply.
As a nation we spent over $94 billion on Christmas stuff last year. Think for a moment about all the people who could have clean water, all the other good things that could be done with $94 billion. If we were to change our spending habits as a nation, what sort of mansion might we build for the coming Messiah?
The prophet Micah draws our attention to the little town of Bethlehem: it’s starting to come into focus, as Advent comes to an end. We are not surprised by this: all our spiritual attention this week is on the manger in the Bethlehem stable; the star leading wise men to the holy child; the shepherds running down the hill to see the wondrous thing that has come to pass. But if we only read this short passage from Micah we miss the drama of the prophecy. Earlier in his writing, Micah has sharply criticized the injustice and oppression suffered by the poor among his people. The gap between rich and poor has widened; landlords are squeezing their tenants and employees; the world is not in a good place. Micah lifts up his voice on behalf of those who have no voice as he predicts a dramatic reversal: one is coming who will rule, not with violence and swords, but with compassion; this new leader will come not from Jerusalem, the city of the kings, but from Bethlehem, an obscure backwater. The world will be turned upside down, as swords are turned into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks. God’s peace will reign on earth as it does in heaven. This is the hope that Christmas carries. We are still waiting for this vision to become reality, but we are still hopeful.
In our Gospel story today we heard how Mary, unmarried and scandalously pregnant, traveled to Israel’s hill country to stay with her older cousin Elizabeth. Who could blame her for taking time away from the gossip and snide comments that must have filled the air back home in Nazareth? Elizabeth was also pregnant, six months along, what our doctors today would call an elderly primigravidur, an older woman expecting her first child. This child was destined to be John the Baptist, who would serve as a prophet, calling Israel to repentance and heralding the arrival of the Messiah.
You have to wonder what Elizabeth’s initial feelings would be when she saw Mary at the door. Elizabeth had been long married, lived a righteous life before the Law, as a clergy spouse no less; and now finally, after many years of hope and heartache, she was blooming with a child she had almost given up on ever seeing. And here’s her teenage relative, unmarried, claiming to be a virgin, who had somehow fallen off a log and inadvertently become pregnant. One couldn’t blame Elizabeth for having mixed feelings. And Mary must have been apprehensive: what if her respectable relatives barred the door to her in their embarrassment at her predicament?
But here is the wonderful grace of the Visitation story: as soon as the unborn child in Elizabeth’s womb heard Mary’s voice, Elizabeth felt her baby kick, maybe for the first time, and the moment of tension was transformed into a moment of overflowing joy. Elizabeth was granted the inner vision to recognize Mary’s child as the Lord, the Messiah long expected by God’s people; and she offered this spontaneous blessing for the girl as they embraced: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb.”
Luke goes on to share the Magnificat, the famous song of Mary: her outburst of relief, joy and defiance, as she acknowledged that she had found a safe haven, at least for the time being. And Mary stayed with Elizabeth for three months, presumably witnessing and learning from John’s birth, before returning home to Nazareth and preparing for the government-mandated trek with Joseph to Bethlehem.
We read/heard Mary’s song this morning in place of the Psalm: the Magnificat is a familiar text, especially for those who say Evening Prayer or attend Evensong. It is a manifesto for a revolution, in its call to God to scatter the proud, cast down the mighty, and send the rich away empty. The God Mary praised, the God we know, is the God who favors the meek, the humble, those who have been overlooked, despised, and deprived of an abundant life. God calls unlikely people to do great things. God interrupts comfortable lives with challenges to service, to witness, to act for change. God surprises us with moments of beauty, grace, and insight.
Last week I received a letter from an old friend, a former parishioner whom I have known and loved for over 20 years. She reminded me that once upon a time, long ago, I invited her to take a leadership position in the parish, a position for which she felt utterly unqualified. She responded with a long list of the reasons why she couldn’t do this job. My answer to her, and some of you have heard me say this, was, “God doesn’t call those who are ready: God makes ready those who are called.” She ended up taking the position and going from there to diocesan and ultimately to national leadership in that ministry.
Our epistle reading this morning, from the letter to the Hebrews, puts a verse from the Psalms in the mouth of Jesus:
“Sacrifices and offerings you have not desired,
but a body you have prepared for me.”
What is this body that God has prepared for Jesus? Is it the mystical body of Christ that the holy bread of Communion represents? Is it all of us, the church, the body of Christ on earth, called to continue the ministry that he began? Or is it the body of the baby in the manger, the miraculous thing that is a whole human being contained in a tiny, helpless scrap of flesh? Going back to the language of the Collect, what kind of mansion is God asking us to prepare; what kind of body shall we embrace and cherish? Sacrament, community, Savior: all three seek a home in our hearts.
Mary wasn’t ready to be the mother of Jesus, the bearer of God, the first person to exercise the sacramental function of a Christian priest, sharing the body and blood of Jesus with the world. But God called her to that unique ministry, as unready as she was, and with the support and encouragement of Elizabeth she embraced that call, with earth-shaking consequences.
If teenage Mary could embrace that call, with all the condemnation, uncertainty, fear, and heartbreak that came with it, perhaps we, who are so much better resourced in every way, can prepare within our hearts a mansion worthy to receive the holy child. And maybe we can take a leaf out of Mary’s book and find ways to bear witness in our own words and our own world to God’s mercy, power, and all-encompassing love.
Our King and Savior now draws near. Come let us adore him.
