Knowledge Puffs Up, But Love Builds Up

How do we cure an unclean spirit? Hint: not Tide Pods!

I had a great big smile on my face on Thursday afternoon. You see, I finished my last session on the Diocesan Council. Essentially this body functions as the vestry of the diocese. I loved being on it, but unlike our vestry—which is on retreat this weekend—and then only meets for an hour once a month, the Council meets for six hours each month. This doesn’t include the prep time or the drive down to Birmingham or the drive back to Decatur. Council did teach me so much and I am grateful for my time on it. Perhaps the best bit each month was our Bible study.

In this Bible Study we look at the Gospel lesson for the coming Sunday. So on Thursday we looked at this passage from Mark’s Gospel account. I always hear several astute points and it’s great fun reading Scripture with the bishop, clergy, and lay leaders from all over the state. Someone I greatly admire pointed out that this morning’s passage is all about Jesus’ authority and his authentic identity—who he is as the Son of God. “Yes!” I thought, but then the person continued, that it’s best to leave the demon off to the side… Wait, what? How can we ignore this critical part of the story?

What do you think of demons? Do they exist? This is the Episcopal Church. We often hold up the image of a three-legged stool based upon Richard Hooker’s theology. The crucial tenants are Scripture, Tradition, and REASON. REASONable persons cannot believe in demons can they? What are demons anyway? Are they mental illness? That seems too simplistic. Are they creatures with horns and pointy ears? That seems too hokey. So what are they? Some describe them as forces of evil that oppose the will of God. Evil forces that oppose the will of God does not sound all that far-fetched.

If we look more closely at today’s lesson though we do not see any demons, we merely see a man with an unclean spirit. This begs several questions, “What is an unclean spirit?” “Is it like a demon?” “How does one spirit get unclean?” “Or, how might the evil force make someone unclean?” Perhaps more importantly we may wonder if one’s spirit is unclean how does one make it clean again? We cannot drop off our souls at the dry cleaners and return in three days to find it fresh and new. Maybe an unclean spirit is why all these crazy people on YouTube have been eating Tide detergent Pods. All joking aside, how does one clean one’s unclean spirit? This story helps us to understand that it is through Jesus’ authentic authority that this man with the unclean spirit was made well.

Authority can be a tricky thing. Have you ever had a bad boss? Now listen, I have a great boss. If you leave here saying one thing please say (to Evan) Seth says he has a great boss! But, in the past I have had a few tough bosses. Mostly what I notice as I look back at them is that I couldn’t take serious their authority. It felt like it was not real. They might point to the rules or the trappings of the office, but they did not have it within them. This story has some of those types of bosses too.

In the synagogue—the gathered body of the faithful people—there were some scribes who did not live with true authority. They were good folk, but they did not have authority. They pointed to the law, they used an extrinsic force to prove people right or wrong, clean or unclean, but they lacked internal power and did not bring the law to life and fulfillment like Jesus. When the man with the unclean spirit came in their midst they probably pointed out why he was unclean, instead of seeking to find healing for him. Jesus though lived differently.

The difference between the scribes and Jesus was obvious to those in the synagogue. They exclaimed that Jesus taught with authority, but his authority was not simply smoke and mirrors. The section from Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians sums this up well, “Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up.” Jesus could have used knowledge to run circles around others familiar with the Law, and yet he yearned not for winning arguments but for winning hearts. He had compassion on the man who was suffering and through love brought him to healing. This is how the unclean becomes clean through love.

So, do you believe in demons? Do they exist? If they are not creepy characters and are truly forces of evil that oppose the will of God, then I have to tell you they are real! We do not have to look far afield to find them either. Thumbing through the news this week we find evil all over: a gymnastics trainer who abused over 150 girls, terrorist organizations racking up higher and higher death tolls, and environmental degradation leading to catastrophic water shortages just to name three. What are we to do in the face of these evil forces?

While knowledge is crucial for us to bring about positive change in this world, we must not rely upon it alone to oppose the forces of evil. Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up. Instead of trying to win fights by using more knowledge to prove others wrong, when we see those evil forces all around us we are called to fight evil with love. This is the way that we will destroy these forces that oppose God—not by winning enough debates, but by loving those with whom we disagree. Jesus brought healing through his authentic authority as the Son of God. He did this through love. Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up, and for that thanks be to God.

Authority

Jesus healing the man with the unclean spirit in the synagogue at Capernaum.

Often the theme of a Gospel lesson will so jump off the page that a preacher need only to politely step out of the way, so that the power of Jesus’ words and actions may fully impact the congregation. Like a two foot putt for birdie, a point-blank shot on a goalie-less goal, or a simple one-yard touchdown pass this opportunity may seem too easy to mess up. However, let me assure you that I can (and often do) mess up this simplest of tasks. With this warning in mind, let us take a look at this coming Sunday’s Gospel lesson.

The theme that leaps eagerly off the page in Mark 1:21-28 is Jesus’ authority. In particular Jesus compels listeners and even unclean spirits with merely his words. Jesus’ preaching and exorcism points to the power vested within him. As the synagogue-goers put it, “What is this? A new teaching—with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him” (1:27). The gimme sermon here would outline how Jesus’ authority differs from others, and even now how his power, healing, and dominion still compel all realms of existence. Of course, sometimes preachers (like me) miss the easy sermon going in search of something much more complicated. So what other sermons might flow from this passage?

Early evidence – The first two-thirds of Mark’s Gospel provide an adrenaline rush for the reader. One event bleeds immediately into the next. Not only this, but also one story may in fact be commentary on another. Jesus’ Baptism leads quickly to his temptation in the wilderness, then Jesus inaugurates his public ministry with a message of repentance, which quickly turns into his calling of Simon, Andrew, James, and John as his first disciples. Through God's calling Jesus overcomes temptation and he begins his own ministry by calling others to take part in what he has undergone! The disciple's first taste of Jesus’ leadership comes in the synagogue teaching and encounter with the unclean spirit. For those who had just left the safety and security of home and work this authoritative action in the synagogue would be early evidence of what the reader knows from the very beginning of Mark’s telling of the Good News: Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God. A preacher could build the case with this early evidence that Jesus truly is the Son of God.

Unclean spirit(s)? – The narrator describes the man in the synagogue as having an unclean spirit, but the way the spirit talks points to something different. As Jesus approached the man, the spirit cried out, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God” (1:24 italics added for emphasis). Is more than one spirit present? Perhaps. Another way of seeing this might provide for a fruitful sermon. The unclean spirit and the man have become so interwoven that the spirit speaks in the personal plural form for it and the man. Does Jesus have the power to cast out the spirit without the man being harmed? Yes! How are the unhealthy parts of ourselves called to be cast out? What part of us does Jesus yearn to heal? These are worthwhile questions to pursue if a sermon on healing attracts the preacher.

The healing power of silence – One could also focus on how Jesus rebukes the spirit. Was it by force? Speaking in tongues? Angels with the weapons of heaven? Nope! Through his words Jesus invokes the power of silence. Jesus commands the spirit to be silent and come out of the man. Sure, the spirit causes the man to cry out in a loud voice; however, the healing happens. Plus, the result of the crowds could have very well been a stunned silence in the synagogue before everyone began losing their minds over what Jesus did. A sermon on the profundity of silence could arise from the way through which Jesus healed this man.

Authority 2.0 – Although perhaps the most obvious path to approach Jesus’ healing in the synagogue hones in on the two mentions of his authority (in comparison with the scribes and as a result of his healing of the man with the unclean spirit), but a more robust sermon might engage asking the question, "From where does this authority really emerge?" How do we see people in positions of authority today—especially thinking that the world is becoming more and more wary of traditional seats of authority (government, religion, and other institutions)? How does Jesus’ authority speak for itself? In what ways does Jesus claim authority in our lives? These are just a few questions that I am pondering this week as I feel drawn into exploring how God’s authority resists coercion and instead compels us through healing and transformation.

While this week’s text (like many in Mark) appears straightforward, the preacher has multiple opportunities to walk faithfully on a path that illuminates this early example of Jesus’ authority as the Son of God.

Think Inside The Box

Sometimes it is thinking inside the box that changes the world!

On Sunday morning in our articles class we read a piece from The New York Times written by David Brooks entitled, “How Would Jesus Drive?” Pope Francis’ New Year’s Eve address inspired the column. While I found the piece humorous, what sticks with me stems from Brooks’ channeling of the papal invitation to be “artisans of the good,” who look for ways every day to enact small actions of kindness. Sometimes though, when we gather here on Tuesdays or Wednesdays to celebrate Holy Communion we may miss this invitation.

Our midweek Eucharistic feasts so often center around the lives of those holy ones who have reflected the light of Christ within their own day. Even though we do our best to remember that these folks are just like you and me, we just as readily put “saints” up on a pedestal. In all honesty, many of the people we remember have done remarkable—nearly impossible—things that I could never do on my own. Each holy woman and each holy man we recall though would—most likely—point (quickly) away from their own lives and towards the life of Christ. Still, I find that on the whole we do a miserable job of truly believing that the people in The Great Cloud of Witnesses and Lesser Feasts and Fasts do not walk a few feet off the ground. Today’s Gospel lesson and the person whom the Church celebrates help me to demystify the aura of sainthood, such that I might see how powerful small acts can be.

Julia Chester Emery served as National Secretary of the Women's Auxiliary of the Board of Missions for forty years in the late 1800s and early 1900s. This notable office took her to every Episcopal Diocese and many parts of the Anglican world abroad. While we might think this lengthy tenure raises her stature to some overly lofty level, I find that what stands out about Emery’s life comes in that she was not lording her position over others. Instead, Emery used that office as an opportunity to serve. She modeled her own ministry after that of a humble servant not worthy to stoop down and untie the strap of another’s sandal. But, even more than her faithful service was a small profound gift that she gave the Church that we still celebrate to this day.

Often in the world we tell people who want to do something grand to think outside the box, but Julia Chester Emery thought inside the box, so that she might change the way women in the Church affect Jesus’ mission and ministry in this world. Emery creatively envisioned the United Thank Offering (UTO). As you may know twice a year we celebrate an UTO ingathering in which we collect little cardboard boxes. At first Emery gave this out to the Episcopal Church Women as a way to create more funds for mission, but even more than that as a way to practice gratitude on a daily basis.

Emery gifted us through the UTO ingathering an opportunity to practice gratitude on a daily basis. She encouraged her members in the Auxiliary to put a few coins into their cardboard boxes anytime they felt thankful for something. I would extend this small gesture a little further. In this practice we are invited on a daily basis to pause—maybe at the dinner table or when we are getting ready for bed—to take a moment to count our blessings. One of my mentors, the Rev. Annwn Myers put it this way, “As we remember our own blessings, those blessings turn into someone else’s blessings!” God’s reign works in this way, doesn’t it?

The way that Jesus showed through his life leads us into an abundance that overwhelms us. As we begin by counting our blessings and practicing gratitude what we find may be truly life-changing. Julia Chester Emery models for us that we do not need to be Jesus, resurrect the dead, turn water into wine, feed the masses from nothing, or perform miracles. No, as Pope Francis reminded the Christian world at the end of last year, we are called to be artisans of the good who find small ways to be kind. In this season after Epiphany when we receive the light of Christ God calls us to perform small acts of bearing the light with others. We may do this in countless ways: being a good driver, going out of our way to serve someone else, treating an irritating person with kindness, seeing in another the shining beam of Christ’s love, or taking time out to count our blessings, so that they may overflow into other’s lives.

On the Edge

What a joy to welcome John Theodore Olson as a new member in Christ's Body!

The Readings which inspired this sermon were:

• Genesis 1:1-5
• Acts 19:1-7
• Mark 1:4-11
• Psalm 29

If one does not proceed with caution during this time of year, one might develop a severe case of John the Baptist fatigue. Since the start of December we have heard almost every Sunday morning about this unique forerunner to Jesus. What he wore and what he ate stick in our minds like an article from People magazine detailing a celebrity party. The baptizer donned a custom camel’s hair suit fitted with a vintage leather belt. He noshed on a minimalist paleo diet of free range locusts and organic wild honey.  When we hear the story so often we tune out what is going on and just as importantly we tune out where it is happening.

John the Baptizer appeared in the wilderness. The specific location of that wilderness matters immensely. John baptized those from town and country at the River Jordan. Now, this seemingly mundane detail about the location of John’s baptizing could appear too common to be noteworthy, but in Mark—the briefest of the Gospel accounts—nothing is superfluous data.

Meaning overflows from the Jordan. In particular, this was the border between the barren wilderness and the rich land of milk and honey, promised of old to God’s People. As we remember this story today, we stand on the edge of these same waters, the edge of this border, and the edge between what was promised and what will be fulfilled. We do not stand alone—no, we are here with John and Jesus and all those who came and still come in search of something that cannot be found in the established religion of the day. That is why so many went out to John, isn’t it? To search for something new and fresh and real. What is it precisely though that we are doing here at the edge of these baptismal waters?

We who may love our church and our traditions, what are we doing? The lessons from today lead us toward an answer. Genesis describes the Spirit’s moving over the waters ever since the beginning of Creation. Our Psalm for today celebrates God’s voice upon the waters. The portion we heard from the Acts of the Apostles depicts some followers of John receiving the Spirit in the waters of baptism when Paul ministered in Ephesus. In each of these we find something earthly linked with something that lies beyond the worldly—the sacred mingling with the secular, the divine in the everyday. Of course, the Gospel lesson from Mark most fully exemplifies this: “And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him.” Is this why we’re here? To catch a glimpse of God through a thin place? What was really happening with Jesus in that river?

For a long time the Church has argued about whether Jesus “needed” to be baptized by John. Mark’s telling of the story runs somewhat at odds with the others. Matthew tells it as though John would not baptize the one coming after him. Luke does the same. The Fourth Gospel account (the Evangelist John) supposes that Jesus’ baptism happened, but does not describe the event. Here in Mark’s narrative though things appear simpler. After John proclaims his message as the forerunner of the Messiah, Jesus appears to be baptized. Did he need it? Was he with sin before? Was he trying to fit in with the rest of humanity? As frustrating as it is, the text remains silent on these issues. More importantly though, we find something transformative happening as we watch from the edge of the River Jordan.

When Jesus emerged from the murky river a voice declared from heaven, “You are my Son, the beloved; with you I am well pleased.” The holy cut into a simple ritual out on the edge between the civilized and the uncivilized, between what was promised and what will be fulfilled, between what had been and what was to come. God entered into the lives of human beings as they grasped at a new way of approaching their lives. For regardless of what we make of Jesus’ decision to be baptized, the others out in the wilderness around the Jordan were searching for an amendment of life. The message John preached that attracted so many focused upon turning back to God—repenting or refocusing upon the Holy One. This too brings us to the holy waters over which the Spirit still moves.

This morning, John Theodore Olson will be baptized—yes, we related. For many of us raised in the South, this moment collapses upon only one faucet, the aforementioned forgiveness of sins. While I am partial to my son Teddy, I know that he will not be immune to iniquity. He is after all a preacher’s kid—and all of us at some point go astray. But, if one merely believes that baptism is about eternal fire insurance—that is not going to hell—then one has sorely missed what is at the heart of these lessons and what is at heart of God’s love for us.

When Teddy, or anyone else, undergoes the holy gift, the holy sacrament that is Holy Baptism the baptized are forgiven their sins, but something else happens too. When through Christ we celebrate baptism we hear God’s voice adopting the baptized as a beloved child. Yes, there is a turning that presupposes the voice; however, God does not utter from heaven, “Your sins are forgiven.” No, God says, “This is my beloved, in you I am well pleased.” The lesson from the Acts of the Apostles illuminates this truth in a specific manner.

Those in Ephesus got the baptism of repentance from John the Baptizer, but somehow they missed the crucial second step in the process. They had not been baptized with the Holy Spirit. They were ones who had been baptized by the water, but they had avoided somehow the Spirit and the spiritual fire that accompany baptism through Christ. In other words, they had only been focusing on the forgiveness of sins, but they did not hear their rightful calling through Christ. They had not heard the words that God speaks to all of God’s Children, “You are my beloved, with you I am well pleased.”

Some of us too might have missed the Holy Spirit. Like those in Ephesus we might have solely aimed at amending our lives that we did not get the full power of baptism. The gift of initiating and engrafting a new member into the Body of Christ shines both in the freedom that comes with forgiveness and also in the transforming fire from the Spirit. The Holy Spirit gifted those disciples in Ephesus long ago with the abilities of tongues and prophesy—Teddy already has the gift of tongues, as his morning babbling has exemplified. What gifts will the Holy Spirit impart on Teddy in this moment? How will Christ’s Spirit transform us as we welcome this new member? In what ways does the Spirit gift us?

For us to focus only on the forgiveness of sins in this moment of Holy Baptism is to miss half of the Spirit’s powerful gifting. In Baptism the Holy Spirit brings profound, marvelous, world-transforming abilities—how will we receive them? How will you be transformed as you hear God saying to you, “You are my beloved, with you I am well pleased.”?

The Good News Is A Party

Tuesdays at Seminary of the Southwest meant two very important things. One, it was soup day in the dining hall—a huge plus! And two, right before we had lunch together we shared in the Lord’s Supper together in the Chapel using a Spanish language service. For all its gifts, the Episcopal Church has not provided a very good Spanish language Prayer Book. But, there is one line that always stood out as authentic and profound when we said the Eucharist together.

After the priest says the Eucharistic Prayer and breaks the bread at what is called the Fraction, often some words follow the moment of silence. In English the celebrant will sometimes say:
“Alleluia! Christ our Passover, has been sacrificed for us.”
The people reply, “Therefore let us keep the feast. Alleluia!” To me these words sound particularly formal in English, like we are attending a frigid banquet for a king or queen; however the bit that I most clearly recall from the Spanish-speaking Eucharist indicates something quite different.

Celebrant: [¡Aleluya!] Cristo, nuestra Pascua, se ha sacrificado por
nosotros.
People: ¡Celebremos la fiesta! [¡Aleluya!]

These words carry a more festive feel, as though they are saying: “Let’s get this party going!” God has given us a great gift through Jesus showing us that life conquers death, why wouldn’t we celebrate? Of all the Gospel accounts, John’s words most clearly take on this same belief: in the coming of Christ the world—all of Creation celebrates!

Right off the bat in John’s telling of the Good News, Jesus partakes in celebrating. His first sign—pointing to God’s glory—came at a wedding party in Cana. While the story always makes me laugh because his mother has to coax him into acting, Jesus eventually turns a lot of water into a lot of wine—like way more wine than could be consumed at even a huge wedding. This indicates to us that God’s reign, as expressed in Christ coming to earth, is not just an everyday affair. God coming to dwell with us deserves a party of abundance that is a fete, a fiesta, a raging party for the ages!

John does not stop here. Throughout the entire Gospel there are stories of abundance: Jesus healing a royal official in Cana, curing a paralyzed person at Bethsaida, feeding the five thousand in the wilderness, and raising Lazarus from the dead at Bethany are just a few examples of the abundant, joyful celebration that is life in Christ. While other Gospel accounts tell of the Last Supper being a Passover meal, John instead tells this story from the perspective that Jesus himself is the bread on which the world will feast. He is the one who provides the sustenance, the fuel for the party to continue.

Often Episcopal clergy people will lament one aspect of the way John tells this festive tale of Jesus coming to set God’s people free. Throughout the summer months for five straight weeks we are stuck in Jesus’ Bread of Life description. He has come as the bread on which the world will feast and be freed, and yet for several weeks in a row clergy people must rehash this same theme over and over again. What I can happily say now—even though we will get those text in just a few short months—is that this overly descriptive part of John’s Gospel account gives us a glimpse into even the overabundance in describing how Jesus feeds us through his loving presence in this world.

Life in Christ is not a frigid affair. In this season of Nativity when we recall the light of Christ coming into the darkness and drear of this time of year, may we be enlivened by John’s sharing of the Good News. We celebrate the apostle and evangelist today—as part of our Christmas festivities. May the exciting, uplifting, and festive way that John shared the Good News dwell in our hearts at this time of year and always. May we celebrate life in Christ as a party of unequaled proportions!

Uncover Your Ears

Are we reliving the story of Stephen every time we don't listen to the prophets of our own day?

When people ask me what is the best part of my work week many moments rush to mind. Sunday services, Christian Formation, Centering Prayer, Staff Meeting (yes, I said Staff Meeting), and Wednesday Night Series all stand out as marvelous, but one other very informal gathering also sits near the top of this list. Theology on Tap (TonT)—which happens most Thursdays at 5:15, although not this next one—provides  a space for fellowship and fun to be had amongst our Christian community.

As the clergy often remind those who show up at the Brick Deli on Thursday nights, no one comes for the question. Each week though, Evan or I ask something that hopefully sparks at least a small conversation about God, religion, spirituality, faith, theology, or life. Usually everyone talks for a moment about it and then returns to whatever it was they were discussing previously. Sometimes though the question sticks with you. Like a few months ago when something was asked that I am still pondering.

Evan enquired, “Who are the prophets of our own day?” After he asked this, instead of turning back to what we had talked about earlier, most people discussed this query for some time. One said, “Poor people who share what life is like below the poverty line.” Another stated, “Religious leaders who advocate for unity across religious boundaries.” My response was environmental scientists who tell us that our carelessness has consequences. Still others pointed to women, people of color, or others who have historically and even now still struggle to gain equality. I am still wondering, “Who are the prophets of our own day?” Especially on this St. Stephen’s Day we would do well not only to figure out who they are, but also to listen to what the Spirit is saying through them to the Church.

We remember on the day after Christmas the deacon and martyr St. Stephen. He is the protomartyr in the Church—the first one to give up his life in witness to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. We heard the retelling of this story in today’s lesson from the Acts of the Apostles. What stands out today for me from this event relates less with Stephen’s actions and more with the response of the people around him.

God’s Spirit clearly shined in the works of Stephen who the Church charged with caring for the poor. When he came to the synagogue of the Freedmen those there did not have ears to hear Stephen’s challenging message. Like Jesus before him, Stephen challenged the status quo. He was a prophetic messenger of change—pointing to God’s grace instead of the law of man. When the elders heard what he said, they were livid. Stephen though did not back down, instead calling to mind the prophetic voices of the past.

Stephen pointed to the work of the Spirit, which has always been moving over God’s children. He also signified that those in this synagogue had their ears stopped up, such that they could not hear God speaking something new in their lives. Even as Stephen’s appearance was transfigured, like that of Jesus during the Transfiguration, the angry people around him could not see the Truth. When Stephen saw a vision of heaven opening up that was the last straw for his persecutors. Their response was to cover their ears, yelling, as they attacked the innocent deacon.

As I turn back to thinking of Evan’s TonT question, I wonder whose voice—whose prophetic voice—am I not hearing? Ones pointing to environmental crises? Transgender people who are persecuted for using the restroom? Female colleagues who say even the hiring processes in the Church are rigged against them? People of color who still cry out about police brutality? The elderly who have no one to advocate for them? Who is it? Who are the prophets of our age? How will we uncover our ears? Will we hear their voices or will we choose to stone them not with stones or violence, but with our silence and inaction?

God Wants Into Our Lives

Fra Angelico's depiction of God entering Mary's life at the "Annunciation"

It’s tempting isn’t it? To overlook this story of Gabriel visiting the Virgin Mary because we hear it so often at this time of year. Christmas pageants and Christmas carols make it so ubiquitous that we write it off. “Been there, done that. Let me tune out, so I can think of all those outstanding items on my Christmas to-do list.”

It’s tempting also to ponder some odd things about Mary. We think too highly of her—that she is a god herself—or too lowly of her—that she was a puppet that God controlled. These temptations might lead us down some difficult paths: idol worship in the former case or viewing God as a coercive puppet master in the latter case.

Or, maybe we just don’t believe in the supernatural at all—Ghosts? Zombies? Angels? Virgin births? Come on! But, even if we hurdle these temptations—boredom, idol worship, vilifying God, and believing in the unbelievable—there is one more temptation surrounding this story.

As we listen to this all-too-familiar tale, if we are to hear it, believe it, and take it seriously, we may still relegate its power by thinking that it was the type of event that only happened long ago. While all of these temptations teeter on the edge of danger, this last belief may very well cause us the most damage: God merely intervened in human history long ago in a place far away.

When we look around at our world though, we can easily think that God no longer mettles in human affairs. At this time of year news outlets publish their most noteworthy stories of the last twelve months. One does not have to scroll through many to see some devastating trends: political gridlock, religious terrorism, sexual abuse scandals, environmental crises, and the threat of nuclear annihilation. This does not even touch on personal struggles such as crumbling relationships, debilitating diagnoses, financial hardship, substance abuse, and mental illness. When reading today’s Gospel lesson through the lens of our corporate and individual lives, no one would blame us for believing whole-heartedly that God entered human history long ago leaving us abandoned to create the hellscape in which we currently persist.

And, so we may very well wonder: Why God? Why do you let this happen? Where is God in all this mess? Can God really heal or turn around our problems?

If somehow though, I close my eyes for a moment. Maybe, if I take a step back for a second. Perhaps, if I pause long enough to engage this story of God and Gabriel and Mary with new eyes, I catch a glimpse of something shining and shimmering —something that leads me and leads us not into ancient tradition, but into something happening right now. If we wipe away the way that we have always heard this story, we can hear it speaking directly to us. A crumbling world, a people yearning for something more, a lowly individual, and a God so in love with the created universe—this is not the story of long ago, this is the story of right now. God intervening in the life of Mary points to God coming into the lives of all humans throughout time. This is so much more than just a funny tale we tell at this time of year.

Back long ago the hope of the People of Israel had been clearly articulated for not just centuries but millennia: a Messiah who would come to set all people free through God’s Chosen People. However, if one waits long enough for something without it happening one may very well start to believe that even though something was promised it will never happen in one’s lifetime. Not only this, but during Mary’s day the People of Israel found themselves in a difficult, if not unfamiliar, predicament. Once again another nation ruled over them. Like during Assyrian and Babylonian captivities before, the anticipation of salvation via a Messiah may have been a stated hope, but it certainly did not appear a likely scenario. And yet, under Roman occupation God chose to intervene in human history—even in a moment when it was the great hope of God’s people, the infinite becoming finite was completely unexpected. This is not just history though.
This week your clergy have taken to their blogs to chide our colleagues who have overlooked the Fourth Sunday of Advent in favor of celebrating Christmas Eve prematurely this morning. Yes, we’re childish! But, seemingly our biggest frustration lay not in the rule breaking, but rather in the missed opportunity to celebrate this occasion and to hear the story of the Annunciation. How can we celebrate God entering into this world at Bethlehem without the story of Nazareth? It would be like viewing the empty tomb without the last supper, the betrayal, and the crucifixion of Christ during Holy Week. This season of Advent that we are still walking through gives us this gift of anticipating, waiting, and even expecting the Coming of Christ. We may get caught up in remembering Christ fulfilling the law and the prophets through Jesus, we may even get caught looking ahead for the ultimate fulfillment of all things through Christ at the end of days, and with all this looking around we might just miss what is happening now.

Mary’s story gives us the key to unlocking something big. We see through her a glimpse of God entering into our reality in this moment—even when things are dire and difficult. Mary trusted that a Messiah would come. She understood that God would make all things whole. Her song the Magnificat shows us her heart and her hopes. She yearned for those things for which God yearns, the lowly becoming exalted and the exalted becoming lowly. And yet, she believed all of this against the backdrop of violence, destruction, oppression, inequality, and mental illness around her. Does this sound familiar?

One of those most basic calls that we hear during this season of Advent is something Mary models for us: Slow down, be quiet, and listen for God. God promises to come back to us. God tells us that Christ will come again. God bids us to keep awake. Still, somehow we have manage to create in our lives more and more opportunities not to listen. It’s like we are people who do not want to hear any spoilers from the newest mega-Movie, and so we run around with our fingers plugging up our ears, yelling, “Lalalalalalala!” Except, this is not a movie plot we are missing—it is GOD!

Mary gifts us with a template for unstopping our ears, removing the scales from our eyes, and experiencing God intervening in human history right now! Before you think that you are not like Mary—think again. Mary was a female in an age that saw women as property, she was lowly. Mary was related to a temple priest and betrothed to a man from the royal line of David, she was powerful. She was faithful and yet she questioned the messenger of God. Mary was a human being—complex and complicated—just like you and me. When God sent Gabriel to her though, she had a choice. God did not coerce her into being a hapless vessel of His bidding. Even through perplexity and questions God invited Mary to bear the Divine into humanity. God’s omnipotence became particular in Mary. God’s almightiness became vulnerable in the womb of Mary. God’s infinite love became enfleshed within Mary.

At a time when everything around the Chosen People of God appeared dark and lost God chose Mary to bear the Savior of all things into this world. We know through the Gospel that Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection rerouted existence forever; however, God did not stop moving then. As soon as God chose Mary and Mary chose God all of humanity began to shift. We have not fully realized this transformation yet, but even now God is moving. In Mary’s yes God inaugurated a reign that sanctified even the most lowly and mundane of human occurrences. The life of Jesus, which made all things holy began with a woman saying, “Let it be with me according to your word.”

God wants into our lives to bring us healing and health, salvation and sanctification, mercy and grace, transformation and reconciliation, peace and love. Like a momentous earthquake God shook Mary’s existence, but those shockwaves can crash throughout our lives too. Will we notice God coming into our lives? Will we hear God saying, “Bear me into the world!”? Will we say, like Mary, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord: let it be with me according to your word.” God yearns to dwell with us and to heal this hurting world. How will we receive him?