Dec. 20, 2009
Luke 1:39-56
These past few weeks of Advent in our Gospel readings we have faced the formidable figure of St. John the Baptist. There he has been, on the far side of the Jordan, where the Children of Israel paused before they crossed over into the Promised Land, telling us that we too should step into the baptismal waters of the Jordan and emerge as children of God. But this morning, the tone changes.
Today, we encounter Mary (and John, once again, but now only the womb of his mother Elizabeth). And any encounter with Mary is always a special one.
Now, I know as I say this that some of you of more Protestant bent stiffen a bit when I start going off about Mary. And I do it quite often. But, I have a deep and abiding devotion to Mary. I always have. And I am not ashamed to admit that love for her. Mary is very important to our understanding of who Jesus is.
Today we encounter, after these last weeks of hearing John shouting in the wilderness, the beautiful voice of Mary, singing her Magnificat.
“My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord…”
You have and you will hear me preach often about Mary, because I think she is so important. And I also think that so many non-Roman Catholics have made such an effort to ignore her. Scot McNight, in his wonderful The Jesus Creed, wonderfully puts it this way:
“Most Bible readers fail to connect Jesus with Mary when they think of the teachings of Jesus. This failure fulfills what I think should be the (tongue-in-cheek) correct translation of Luke 1.48: ‘From now on all generations (except Protestants!) will call me blessed!’”
This morning, as we celebrate our last Sunday of Advent, as draw agonizingly close to the Birth of Jesus, it is only right that we encounter Mary at this point. Here she is, on this Sunday doing what she has always done—pointing toward Jesus. And as we approach Christmas, no doubt most of us are feeling two emotions—the two emotions Christmas is all about—hope and joy.
Hope—in our belief that what is coming to us—Christ—God-made-flesh—is almost here among us And Joy—at the realization of that reality.
In our Gospel reading for today, we also catch a glimpse of the hope and joy Mary and Elizabeth felt at the ways in which God was working their lives. Mary, carrying within her flesh God made flesh in the person of Jesus, and Elizabeth, carrying within her flesh John, who would later be the Baptists calling to us from the Jordan River, meet and there is a spark of energy that fires up between them. Or more importantly, there is a spark of energy that comes up between the babies they are carrying within them. What I have always loved about this story from scripture is that neither Mary nor Elizabeth probably fully understand what is going on within them. They both know that something strange and wonderful has happened. Mary, the young virgin, has conceived under mysterious and certainly scandalous circumstances and is about to give birth. And Elizabeth, the barren elderly woman, also is about to give birth. These sort of things don’t happen in ordinary life. Certainly nothing even remotely like this happened in the lives of these two simple Jewish women. But now, here they were, greeting each other, both of them pregnant with children that came to them by miraculous means. And, although they might not fully understand why or how, they feel real hope and joy at what has happened to them. The full expression of this hope and joy finds it voice in the words of Mary’s song—
“My soul glorifies the LORD
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.”
In a sense, when we find ourselves relating to any of the people we meet in this Gospel reading, we may find ourselves relating more to Elizabeth. As Mary and the baby she carries draws near, there is a sense of joy and hope that comes not from some external place for Elizabeth, but from a place deep within her. It is a joy and hope that leaps up from her very womb—from the very center and core of her body and soul.
And so it should be with us also. As we come forward today, like Elizabeth, to meet with joy and hope this mystery that we are about to remember and commemorate and make ours this evening, we too should find ourselves feeling these emotions at our very core. But we can also find ourselves relating to Mary. Like Mary, we are called to carry within us Jesus. Wherever we go, we should bear Jesus within us. And like Mary, we should be able to rejoice as well, at this fact that Jesus dwells within us. We too should sing, in joy and hope:
“My soul glorifies the LORD
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.”
Like both Mary and Elizabeth, this hope and joy we are experiencing this morning should be coming up from our very centers. This is really how we should approach the miracle that we commemorate this evening. Like Mary and Elizabeth, we will never fully understand how or why Jesus—God made flesh—has come to us as this little child in a dark stable in the Middle East, but it has happened and, because it happened, we are a different people. Our lives are different because of what happened that evening. This baby has taken away, by his very life and eventual death, everything we feared and dreaded.
When we look at it from that perspective, suddenly we find our emotions heightened. We find that our joy is a joy like few other joys we’ve had. We find that our hope is more tangible—more real—that anything we have ever hoped in before. And that is what we are facing this morning.
Our true hope and joy is not in brightly colored lights and a pile of presents until a decorated tree. Our true hope and joy is not found in the malls or the stores. Our true hope and joy does not come to us with things that will, a week from now, be a fading memory. Our hope and joy is in that Baby who, as he draws near, causes us to leap up with joy at his very presence. Our hope and joy is in that almighty and incredible God who would come to us, not on some celestial cloud with a sword in his hand and armies of angels flying about him. Our hope and joy is in a God who comes to us in this innocent child, born to a humble teenager in a dusty third world land. Our hope and joy is in a God who comes with a face like our face and flesh like our flesh—a God who is born, like we are born—of a human mother-and who dies like we all must die. But who, by that very birth, makes all births unique and holy and who, by that death, takes away the fear of death for all of us.
This is the real reason why we are joyful and hopeful on this beautiful morning. This is why we are feeling within us a strange leaping. This is why we rushing toward our Savior who has come to visit us in what we once thought was our barrenness.
Let the hope you feel today as Jesus our Savior draws close to us stay with you now and always. Let the joy you feel today as Jesus our Friend comes to us in love be the motivating force in how you live your lives throughout this coming year.
Jesus is so near our very bodies and souls are rejoicing. Greet him with all that you have within you and welcome him into the shelter of your hearts. And sing to him with all your hearts,
“My soul glorifies in you, O Lord,
and my spirit truly rejoices in you, O God, my Savior.”
Amen.
Luke 1:39-56
These past few weeks of Advent in our Gospel readings we have faced the formidable figure of St. John the Baptist. There he has been, on the far side of the Jordan, where the Children of Israel paused before they crossed over into the Promised Land, telling us that we too should step into the baptismal waters of the Jordan and emerge as children of God. But this morning, the tone changes.
Today, we encounter Mary (and John, once again, but now only the womb of his mother Elizabeth). And any encounter with Mary is always a special one.
Now, I know as I say this that some of you of more Protestant bent stiffen a bit when I start going off about Mary. And I do it quite often. But, I have a deep and abiding devotion to Mary. I always have. And I am not ashamed to admit that love for her. Mary is very important to our understanding of who Jesus is.
Today we encounter, after these last weeks of hearing John shouting in the wilderness, the beautiful voice of Mary, singing her Magnificat.
“My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord…”
You have and you will hear me preach often about Mary, because I think she is so important. And I also think that so many non-Roman Catholics have made such an effort to ignore her. Scot McNight, in his wonderful The Jesus Creed, wonderfully puts it this way:
“Most Bible readers fail to connect Jesus with Mary when they think of the teachings of Jesus. This failure fulfills what I think should be the (tongue-in-cheek) correct translation of Luke 1.48: ‘From now on all generations (except Protestants!) will call me blessed!’”
This morning, as we celebrate our last Sunday of Advent, as draw agonizingly close to the Birth of Jesus, it is only right that we encounter Mary at this point. Here she is, on this Sunday doing what she has always done—pointing toward Jesus. And as we approach Christmas, no doubt most of us are feeling two emotions—the two emotions Christmas is all about—hope and joy.
Hope—in our belief that what is coming to us—Christ—God-made-flesh—is almost here among us And Joy—at the realization of that reality.
In our Gospel reading for today, we also catch a glimpse of the hope and joy Mary and Elizabeth felt at the ways in which God was working their lives. Mary, carrying within her flesh God made flesh in the person of Jesus, and Elizabeth, carrying within her flesh John, who would later be the Baptists calling to us from the Jordan River, meet and there is a spark of energy that fires up between them. Or more importantly, there is a spark of energy that comes up between the babies they are carrying within them. What I have always loved about this story from scripture is that neither Mary nor Elizabeth probably fully understand what is going on within them. They both know that something strange and wonderful has happened. Mary, the young virgin, has conceived under mysterious and certainly scandalous circumstances and is about to give birth. And Elizabeth, the barren elderly woman, also is about to give birth. These sort of things don’t happen in ordinary life. Certainly nothing even remotely like this happened in the lives of these two simple Jewish women. But now, here they were, greeting each other, both of them pregnant with children that came to them by miraculous means. And, although they might not fully understand why or how, they feel real hope and joy at what has happened to them. The full expression of this hope and joy finds it voice in the words of Mary’s song—
“My soul glorifies the LORD
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.”
In a sense, when we find ourselves relating to any of the people we meet in this Gospel reading, we may find ourselves relating more to Elizabeth. As Mary and the baby she carries draws near, there is a sense of joy and hope that comes not from some external place for Elizabeth, but from a place deep within her. It is a joy and hope that leaps up from her very womb—from the very center and core of her body and soul.
And so it should be with us also. As we come forward today, like Elizabeth, to meet with joy and hope this mystery that we are about to remember and commemorate and make ours this evening, we too should find ourselves feeling these emotions at our very core. But we can also find ourselves relating to Mary. Like Mary, we are called to carry within us Jesus. Wherever we go, we should bear Jesus within us. And like Mary, we should be able to rejoice as well, at this fact that Jesus dwells within us. We too should sing, in joy and hope:
“My soul glorifies the LORD
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.”
Like both Mary and Elizabeth, this hope and joy we are experiencing this morning should be coming up from our very centers. This is really how we should approach the miracle that we commemorate this evening. Like Mary and Elizabeth, we will never fully understand how or why Jesus—God made flesh—has come to us as this little child in a dark stable in the Middle East, but it has happened and, because it happened, we are a different people. Our lives are different because of what happened that evening. This baby has taken away, by his very life and eventual death, everything we feared and dreaded.
When we look at it from that perspective, suddenly we find our emotions heightened. We find that our joy is a joy like few other joys we’ve had. We find that our hope is more tangible—more real—that anything we have ever hoped in before. And that is what we are facing this morning.
Our true hope and joy is not in brightly colored lights and a pile of presents until a decorated tree. Our true hope and joy is not found in the malls or the stores. Our true hope and joy does not come to us with things that will, a week from now, be a fading memory. Our hope and joy is in that Baby who, as he draws near, causes us to leap up with joy at his very presence. Our hope and joy is in that almighty and incredible God who would come to us, not on some celestial cloud with a sword in his hand and armies of angels flying about him. Our hope and joy is in a God who comes to us in this innocent child, born to a humble teenager in a dusty third world land. Our hope and joy is in a God who comes with a face like our face and flesh like our flesh—a God who is born, like we are born—of a human mother-and who dies like we all must die. But who, by that very birth, makes all births unique and holy and who, by that death, takes away the fear of death for all of us.
This is the real reason why we are joyful and hopeful on this beautiful morning. This is why we are feeling within us a strange leaping. This is why we rushing toward our Savior who has come to visit us in what we once thought was our barrenness.
Let the hope you feel today as Jesus our Savior draws close to us stay with you now and always. Let the joy you feel today as Jesus our Friend comes to us in love be the motivating force in how you live your lives throughout this coming year.
Jesus is so near our very bodies and souls are rejoicing. Greet him with all that you have within you and welcome him into the shelter of your hearts. And sing to him with all your hearts,
“My soul glorifies in you, O Lord,
and my spirit truly rejoices in you, O God, my Savior.”
Amen.
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