Sacred Invitation

Henry Ossawa Tanner, Annunciation.

If you have issues with virgin birth, I’m with you.  We don’t need to take these stories as factual history to use them as invitations to encounter the sacred ourselves.  We can reflect on these sacred stories, and wonder: how they might intersect our own lives.

Let’s begin by eavesdropping on a curious little meeting that happened earlier in this first chapter of Luke’s gospel: God personally sent the angel Gabriel to tell Mary she was chosen to be pregnant, and not in the normal way.  Can you see her face?  Such an expression.  Confused. Worried.  But then at some point, acceptance, a yes that reverberates through time and space.  And just like that, the angel is gone.  But not forgotten.  

I wonder. Has it ever happened to you that a situation was dropped into your lap and you didn’t think you were up to?  You were confused, worried.  And then, maybe not right away, you came to accept that thing that radically changed your plans and maybe even your identity, you grew in ways you never expected.  We have our narrow view of the world and our role in it, but the possibilities are so much bigger than we realize.  Not what we were expecting, but maybe what was needed.  Not what we thought ourselves capable of doing, until circumstances led us to do the thing we thought was impossible.  I think of single mothers everywhere, and other caregivers.  That was probably not their plan… and yet they pull it off, and sometimes they are greatly blessed.  I wonder. How would the sacred invite you to a task you never expected?  What would your angel look like?  Would you recognize the invitation?  Would you say yes?

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Brea Congregational United Church of Christ

December 23, 2018

Leap of Faith

Luke 1:39    In those days Mary set out and went with haste to a Judean town in the hill country,  40where she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth.  41When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit 42and exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb.  43And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me?  44For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy.  45And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” 

46      And Mary said,  

            “My soul magnifies the Lord, 

47                  and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, 

48      for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. 

                        Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; 

49      for the Mighty One has done great things for me, 

                        and holy is his name. 

50      His mercy is for those who fear him 

                        from generation to generation. 

51      He has shown strength with his arm; 

                        he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. 

52      He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, 

                        and lifted up the lowly;

53      he has filled the hungry with good things, 

                        and sent the rich away empty. 

54      He has helped his servant Israel, 

                        in remembrance of his mercy, 

55      according to the promise he made to our ancestors, 

                        to Abraham and to his descendants forever.”

What shall we do with the Christmas stories?  We can make manger scenes, complete with angels to remind us that something extraordinary happened.  We can ponder the paradox of Jesus being born not in a palace but a barn.  And we can step into the stories as if they happened to us.  

If you have issues with virgin birth, I’m with you.  We don’t need to take these stories as factual history to use them as invitations to encounter the sacred ourselves.  We can reflect on these sacred stories, and wonder: how they might intersect our own lives.

Let’s begin by eavesdropping on a curious little meeting that happened earlier in this first chapter of Luke’s gospel: God personally sent the angel Gabriel to tell Mary she was chosen to be pregnant, and not in the normal way.  Can you see her face?  Such an expression.  Confused. Worried.  But then at some point, acceptance, a yes that reverberates through time and space.  And just like that, the angel is gone.  But not forgotten.  

I wonder. Has it ever happened to you that a situation was dropped into your lap and you didn’t think you were up to?  You were confused, worried.  And then, maybe not right away, you came to accept that thing that radically changed your plans and maybe even your identity, you grew in ways you never expected.  We have our narrow view of the world and our role in it, but the possibilities are so much bigger than we realize.  Not what we were expecting, but maybe what was needed.  Not what we thought ourselves capable of doing, until circumstances led us to do the thing we thought was impossible.  I think of single mothers everywhere, and other caregivers.  That was probably not their plan… and yet they pull it off, and sometimes they are greatly blessed.  I wonder. How would the sacred invite you to a task you never expected?  What would your angel look like?  Would you recognize the invitation?  Would you say yes?

If you’d like to ponder this scene some more, we have reproductions of a number of classical paintings of the Annunciation in our church entry.  The painting on our bulletin is more contemporary.  It captures the mystery of the sacred.  Not only couldn’t Mary prove pregnancy by divine intervention to her parents or to the town gossips…  Maybe she was not certain herself what had happened that day.  Maybe she took a leap of faith.

We too may encounter the sacred, and be given challenging and awesome tasks. If you are skeptical, that’s understandable.  You’ll never prove an encounter with the sacred.  We can only tell our story as we understand it, and maybe take that leap of faith.  

Does anybody remember the story of Elizabeth and Zechariah?  It is also in this busy first chapter of Luke’s gospel.  Elizabeth was John the Baptist’s mother, who got pregnant long after she gave up hope of having a child.  

I wonder. Have you ever given up on a hope because it was too long in coming or too farfetched, and then it happens long after you stopped expecting it, and you are so amazed, and maybe also a little scared?  And all you can do is sing your awe and your wonder and your thanks.  That’s what Elizabeth did.  

Elizabeth’s husband Zechariah won the lottery at the Jerusalem temple.  He got to enter the mysterious Holy of Holies to light the incense.  Little did he know an angel was waiting for him with a surprising announcement. Zechariah did not believe his wife could become pregnant– a perfectly sensible response.  So Zechariah was struck mute.  He was prevented from telling Elizabeth what was not possible.  A good reminder to hold our tongues when we’re about to shut down someone else’s inspiration.  We can assume he did his part in the end, to help make the miracle happen.  He was John’s father.

I wonder. Has it ever happened that you told someone else what they couldn’t do, judged them and found them wanting, placed your limits on them?  How do we even know what is possible for someone else?  Kids get this all the time.  It’s built into our educational system.  Our schools demand academic and motor skills before many children are developmentally ready. So many kids, boys especially, write themselves off as failures very early on.  

Who told you what you couldn’t do?  How long did you believe them? Do you believe them still?  We don’t know what God can co-create with us unless we try. I wonder. Maybe instead of shutting down hopes and dreams, we can encourage each other, inspire each other, believe in the power of the sacred working in all of us.  

In today’s reading, Mary dashes off to compare notes with her cousin Elizabeth.  These two women, pregnant in the most unlikely ways, come together thanking God and speaking in poetry like prophets of old. (Give Luke a little creative license here.)  Elizabeth blesses Mary in words that the Catholic Church still uses as prayer.  

I wonder, when you are stretched by the task you’re carrying, do you seek out companions to share the joys and burdens you hold?  Someone who understands.  Someone has traveled the same road and can empathize with us, and tell us about the potholes they’ve found and the good rest stops.  Someone who will pray with us, or bless us, or just reassure and encourage us. This kind of intimate sharing takes courage– to reveal our fears and worries and to trust that they will be received with care and understanding. Whether it’s pregnancy or parenting, or caring for our elders, or pastoring, or teaching, growing old, wrestling with finances, or running a business, or growing a garden, you name it. Sharing with fellow travelers bring us blessing, and allows us to bless others.  We can take Elizabeth as our model.

Mary’s reply, now that’s something special.  Mary’s song is known as the “Magnificat,” That’s Latin for “magnify,” as Mary sings, “My soul magnifies the Lord.” It’s funny to me to think of God getting magnified. Is God so small that God needs a magnifying lens?  Truth to be told, in our daily lives, in our priorities, sometimes the sacred looks small indeed.  Mary has seen the power of God up close, has experienced it in her own life.  And by witnessing her story and her song, perhaps her magnification will work on us, and the sacred will come into focus, and become a larger part of our lives.

Mary speaks about what God has done for her.  It’s Luke’s agenda.  It’s Jesus’ agenda: the last shall be first and the first shall be last. Mary’s song starts personal, but turns social.  Being a good Jew of her time, she knows that the personal and the social cannot be separated.  So her song is about what God has done for her and for all people.  Let me give you a translation that has the rhyme and grit of the original Greek.

            God threw the rulers down from up high,

                        He promoted the bums.

            He gave the hungry a piece of the pie

                        And left the rich with the crumbs.

This, according to Luke, is Good News.

Here is the most curious thing, to me, about Mary’s Song.  According to the song, this turning upside down of our normal ideas of human value, and of the social order, has already happened.  It is not a promise Mary speaks for the future.God has already done it.  God hasbrought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly.  God hasfilled the hungry with good things.  And Jesus wasn’t even born yet!  There’s a leap of faith. 

Mary’s Magnificat has been prayed and sung by many people.  Often in Latin and in cathedrals, where its point was entirely missed.  But some people got the point. The British rulers of India in the 1900’s deleted the Magnificat from their evensong services– the natives might get ideas.  In the 1970’s, at the height of the liberation theology movements in Central and South America, dictators in Argentina and Brazil banned the public reciting of the Magnificat.  It was illegal in Guatemala in the 1980’s. 

I am told of an occasion in El Salvador that poor peasants seeking their rights were meeting in a church.  During the meeting the church was surrounded by government soldiers.  Those soldiers didn’t need much excuse for a massacre. The peasants left the church singing the Magnificat at the tops of their voices. “God has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly.” The soldiers squirmed. It was straight out of the bible, after all.  

Ordinary people, claiming God’s action in their lives, even in the most difficult of circumstances.  We are invited to imagine it.  We are invited to live it.     

I wonder. When we claim these stories of encounter with the sacred as our own, where will we discover the sacred among us? What task will we be given to challenge us, and make us partners in creating God’s Kin-dom?  

Luke doesn’t want us to look for salvation from on high.  Instead, he invites us to look among the ordinary and the struggling, for our own angel encounters and tasks we never expected, our own tied tongues, our own meetings of shared struggle and celebration.

I wonder if we can take the leap of faith and recognize: it’s all sacred.  From the dance of atoms to the dance of human relationships to the dance of galaxies.  Every one of us is overshadowed by the Holy Spirit, and empowered to do some extraordinary thing or other.  And we don’t know what’s possible until we become willing to say yes.  A leap of faith is required.  Amen.