Here We Are
Luke 1:26-38
In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. And he came to her and said, ‘Greetings, favoured one! The Lord is with you.’ But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. The angel said to her, ‘Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob for ever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.’ Mary said to the angel, ‘How can this be, since I am a virgin?’ The angel said to her, ‘The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God. And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.’ Then Mary said, ‘Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.’ Then the angel departed from her.
This story is miraculous. It’s the story of the announcement of the conception of Jesus, a story of fear, amazement, hope, and light! It’s a story many of us probably know by heart, a story we’ve pictured throughout our lives—an angel descending from heaven to a young, frightened, and ultimately courageous young woman letting her know that the baby she is carrying will change the world. But church, for this sermon, I want to focus on the little things. Because the Bible is full of unbelievable things happening in our world. The Bible is full of miracles happening in the natural world. The Bible is full of the extraordinary in the midst of the ordinary. The Bible is full of nobodies, living quiet but ideal lives, full of the poorest, the meekest being elevated to the most favored, elevated to those who will inherit the earth.
This part of the story is in town in Galilee called Nazareth. For centuries, Nazareth has been a household name. Jesus is Jesus of Nazareth, after all. But Nazareth wasn’t some kind of metropolis. It wasn’t any kind of important trading hub, it probably didn’t add a whole lot to the economy of Galilee. In fact, recent scholarship estimates that at the time of Jesus’ birth, it probably had a maximum population of around 500. And Mary was simply a young woman living in this tiny seemingly inconsequential village.
Now in both Matthew and Luke, they make a point to note that the lineage of Jesus can be traced back to David. But, the issue here is, after a certain point, Jesus’ family trees are completely different in Matthew and Luke, with literally no overlap. Now there are a lot of contradictions and inconsistencies in the Bible, and naturally, there are thousands of thinkers and scholars who have differing of opinions of the reasons for each different issue. But one theory that I buy is the belief that, especially because of how different each of these family trees are, that it’s likely that the lineage was simply made up in order to keep in line with the Jewish Messianic belief system of the time. It gave a little extra credence, a little extra validity to the idea that Jesus was the Son of God. And the reason I buy this line of thought, that much of this lineage was essentially made up, is that, as I see it, the idea of Jesus being a “nobody” is consistent with the rest of the story of Jesus’ birth. Jesus’ conception was extraordinary, sure—but his birth was unremarkable, modest, quiet, secretive. Mary was betrothed, but not yet married, and she was with child. She and Joseph were living in an occupied territory, they didn’t have a lot of money or any power. Jesus would soon be born in secret among animals and poor shepherds.
That the fallible hands that wrote down the Bible took pains, inconsistently at that, to show that Jesus had this royal, noble lineage makes me believe even more that he did not. Because who would ever believe the son of God was born to a poor young woman and a carpenter? But Mary was chosen for a reason. Jesus was born to a young woman who had a quiet courage that we can all aspire to.
How can this be? Mary asks when she is given this unbelievable news. Now there are a lot of different ways we can read this. I think often, Mary is portrayed as frightened, surprised, shocked. In many translations, it’s written that when Gabriel first comes to her she is “troubled.” In this translation, it’s written, “She was much perplexed.” Either… or rather, both of these are totally valid reactions. When Gabriel gives her the details, she says “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” It’s important to note here that this is not, in fact, a sign of doubt on Mary’s part. In fact, it’s in direct contrast to the story before, in which Gabriel comes to Zechariah to let him know that his wife Elizabeth, despite both their old age, will give birth to John the Baptist. Zechariah responds somewhat similar to Mary—“How will I know that this is so? For I am and old man, and my wife is getting on in years,” he says. Gabriel’s response to this? As punishment for Zechariah’s doubt, Gabriel turns him mute until the birth of his son. A little harsh, in my opinion. But I think knowing this really puts Mary’s reaction and question into perspective. With all this in mind, I’m imagining Mary naturally a little taken aback by an angel appearing to her, but I imagine her question to Gabriel, calm, logical, and matter-of-fact. She the listens to Gabriel’s explanation, which ends with “For nothing is impossible with God.” “Here I am, the servant of the Lord…” she replies. Here I am. This harkens back to the male prophets of the old testament—this is the correct answer when you are called by God: Here I am.
Now, I think these verses chosen for the lectionary this week need even more context than usual to really give the right perspectives. I just let you know what comes before it—Gabriel’s announcement of John the Baptist’s conception to Zechariah—and what comes after verse 38 is the meeting of Mary and Elizabeth. It’s written “When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb!” Mary then recites her song of praise of God, in which she proclaims, in foreshadowing of the things her son will soon do, “He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and send the rich away empty.” And it’s then written that Mary stays with Elizabeth for three months—presumably to support her and ultimately witness the birth of John the Baptist, who will grow into the man who will proclaim the Good News about Mary’s son.
This is the story of two ordinary women in extraordinary circumstances. This is the story of two women, sharing in an unbelievable experience together. Alone, these two women would have felt so isolated and scared—Elizabeth pregnant and frail in her old age, and Mary so young and impossibly pregnant—but they came together to support each other and rejoice together, knowing that their children would change the world—knowing that their children would usher in a new age of love.
But so much of this story does not have to be extraordinary, church. We should be coming together, young and old, to help to usher in a new age of hope, of peace, of joy, of love. If only we could all be so open to the what Christ calls us to. If only more of this world could be so open to loving our enemies, to toppling thrones, to lift up the lowly.
If only more of us had the warm, maternal joy and hope of Elizabeth; if only more of us had the calm, confident courage of Mary. If only more of us answer the absurd, the seemingly impossible, the risky commands from God with Here I am. But it’s hard living up to Biblical standards. I know I wouldn’t have reacted as Mary did—perplexed, troubled, confused, sure! But calm and collected, and so willing? I doubt it. But church, Advent is full of these moments if we’re open to it. Advent is for contemplation. Advent is for being open to the love of God and letting it in. With this in mind, I want to read you this short poem, The Moon in Advent by Luci Shaw:
Midnight.
The brilliant disk of a full moon
dodges the sharp edge
of a shifting cloud, stoops,
slides a finger through
the glass skylight,
hard as ice, silted with frost.
Reaches into my room.
No feathers. No sudden fright.
I am not Mary, but this is
a visitation.
In the bedroom, under
the sheet, I lie, printed with
the fresh promise of light.
Church, Advent should be full of these quiet, contemplative moments. These moments in which we can have this almost other-worldly experience. We are not Mary. But we can be like Mary, and we can have a visitation. Mary was a young woman living a normal, modest life in the middle of nowhere. God did not pick Mary by accident. God did not choose the rural, sleepy town of Nazareth at random. God picks towns like Nazareth, people like Mary to show that it can be any of us, and that we are all loved and chosen and important.
If we are open, we can have a visitation from God in the form of the moon bright on a cold winter night. If we are open, we can see the coming of Christ in the dark, in the midst of this trying and difficult time. If we are open to the love of God, we can be open the love of one another. We can support each other and give each other light in impossibly dark times. I’m thinking again, of a quote I brought up a few weeks back, from the book Via Negativa by Daniel Hornsby: “If we want to see God in the world, all we have to do is see the world. If we want to see God in human form, look at people.”
Church, let me tell you—driving around Hartland on Friday with Paul, delivering Christmas Project packages, gift cards, youth group goodie bags I saw God’s work. I heard the good news and proclamations from angels. I saw exactly the love that Mary’s and Elizabeth’s miraculous children were ushering in, all in the midst of a pandemic, in this small town in Vermont.
Because it’s these times, these unexpected times, in these unexpected places when God is really present—this time of bare trees and brown fields covered in ice and feet of snow—this time when we do what God asks of us with joy and love—this is the time when we must do what Elizabeth and Mary did for each other. They rejoiced and supported each other in this time of waiting for great change. Church, let us continue to strive to be like Mary and Elizabeth. Let us continue working to say Here I am to one another and support each other during this challenging time. We are isolated and snowed in, yes, but we can and are supporting each other and we can hope and rejoice, and know that sooner than later, the world will be changed for the better.
God picks unassuming, kind, loving, humble people to show us that we are all capable—to show us that we can be like Mary… that we can be like Elizabeth… that with God, we can work to accomplish the impossible, and support and build each other up along the way.
Yes, this is a miraculous story, but these are not miraculous people. Nazareth was not a miraculous place.
Church, let us continue to be open to the fact that miracles are happening around us all the time. Let us continue to be open to one another and continue to build each other up in the face of oppression and isolation. Let us be open to God’s radical love that is on display this week, that should be on display always. Let us say Here we are and mean it.
