God Wants Into Your Life!

 

An Icon of the Angel Gabriel visiting Mary

2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16

Canticle 15

Romans 16:25-27

Luke 1:26-38

©The Rev. Seth Olson 2023

It is tempting to overlook the Fourth Sunday of Advent and this story of Gabriel visiting Mary. In the case of this Gospel lesson, perhaps that is because we hear this story so often, or maybe it’s because we are already focused on Jesus’ birth, or it could even be that we are distracted by the many things clamoring for our attention on Christmas day.

It’s also tempting to ponder some odd things about Mary—thinking too highly of her—that she is a god herself—or too lowly of her—that she was only acting under God’s control. 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. It might be that we don’t believe in the supernatural at all—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 this was the type of event that only happened far away and 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 ancient human history—centuries back, half a world away. This isn’t illogical.

When we look around at our world, we can easily think that God no longer meddles 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: deadly wars, political gridlock, abuse scandals, environmental crises, and the threat of existential annihilation. This does not even touch on personal challenges such as crumbling relationships, debilitating diagnoses, financial hardship, substance abuse, or mental illness. When reading today’s Gospel lesson through the lens of our corporate and individual lives, no one would blame us for believing that God entered human history long ago and left the chat around the year 33 such that we humans have created the mess in which we currently persist.

And, so we may rightly wonder: Why did you leave us, God? Where are you in all this? Won’t you help us to make this world more like your dream and less like the nightmare it often is?

As you ponder these questions, I invite us into trying something different. Let’s step back from this familiar story, and use our imaginations to hear this story of God and Gabriel and Mary with new ears, so that we might hear something new, which leads us not into ancient story, but into something happening right now. If we delete the search history in our minds about this story, maybe we will hear it speaking to us directly.

Listen to the following and notice if it sounds at all familiar: a crumbling world, a people yearning for something more, and a lowly individual. All this checks out, right? It sounds like my life. Add in one final piece—God who is so in love with the created universe that instead of sitting on the sidelines the Divine enters into the story, not to control it, but to have compassion—that is to suffer with us. Friends, 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 an unusual 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—The People of Israel AND the People of Palestine, Jews and Gentiles, all 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—at least not in one’s lifetime. Not only this, but during Mary’s day Israel struggled through a difficult, if not unfamiliar, predicament.

Once again, another nation ruled over Israel. 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 a great hope, the infinite becoming finite was completely unexpected. This is not just history though—it’s the current reality.

Now, in this uncanny year when the Fourth Sunday of Advent is also Christmas Eve, it would have been easy for us to overlook all of this, in favor of prematurely moving to the manger. But, 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 Jesus during Holy Week. Yes, we are going to time travel a bit and go through nine months of Mary’s pregnancy by the 11 o’clock service. And yet, in this moment we are still walking through the Advent Season, as we anticipate, wait for, and even expect the Coming of Christ. In Advent we remember Christ fulfilling the law and the prophets through Jesus, we look ahead to Christ fulfilling all things at the end of days, but with all this looking around we might just miss what Christ fulfills right now.

Mary’s story provides us the key to unlocking a glimpse of God entering into our reality in this moment—even if things seem so dire or bleak. Mary trusted that a Messiah would come. She understood that God would make all things whole. Her song the Magnificat gives us a glimpse into her heart and her hopes. She yearned for those things for which God yearns, the lowly becoming exalted and the exalted becoming lowly—the hungry fed and the full sent away empty. And yet, she believed all of this against the backdrop of war, destruction, oppression, inequality, and 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 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 binge-worthy show, and so we run around with our fingers plugging up our ears, yelling, “Lalalalalalala!” Except, this is not a Hollywood 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. This is not simply about Mary having a baby—it was about her bearing Christ into this world, something all of us are called to embody.

At a time when everything 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 on the move. 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 your life to bring 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 crash throughout our lives too. Will we notice God coming into our lives? Will we hear God’s message saying, “Greetings favored one! The Lord is with you.”? Will we say with Mary, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord: let it be with me according to your word.” God yearns to dwell with us, to heal this hurting world, and to make this life more like the dream it can be instead of the nightmare that it often is.

Even if the following is hard to believe, may this be the last and perhaps most important thing I have ever said from this pulpit: nothing will be impossible with God!

Who Are You?

 

John the Baptizer/Baptist/Son of Elizabeth and Zechariah/Witness dunking Jesus!

 

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11

1 Thessalonians 5:16-24

John 1:6-8,19-28

Psalm 126

©The Rev. Seth Olson 2023

Holy God, the Word made flesh, the light in the darkness, let my words be your words and when my words are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

There’s a meme that has been circling around my social media feeds for the last week. Jesus is coming up out of the baptismal waters of the River Jordan. John the Baptist is holding the soaked Jesus who is clad in an all-white vestment. Above the two are Jesus’ words: “You could have just poured some water over my head without trying to drown me!” To which, John replied: “Sorry, man, but I’m John the Baptist. You must have been looking for John the Episcopalian.”

This is funny, right? And, not only because it pokes fun at our own religious sensibilities—even if we at All Saints utilized a baptismal pool at the Easter Vigil earlier this year. This joke also makes me chuckle because it points towards how John is portrayed in Holy Scripture and beyond. More on that in a moment, but first I have a question.

Who are you? It’s one of the most important questions we ever ponder throughout our lives. If I were to ask you to answer this now, how would you reply?

Often when I respond to this question about my identity, I end up talking about the roles I fulfill in life, instead of who I am. It’s easy to do, our roles are important. Yes, I am a child, a sibling, a spouse, a parent, a friend, a clergy person, a neighbor, etc., but these roles are not all I am.

John the Episcopalian… I mean Baptist knew this—even though we can’t even talk about him without saying what his role was. Still, if we look closer at John, his portrayal in the Gospel accounts, and how he responded to this important question of “who are you?”, we will discover something of crucial importance about our true identities.

Now, a few weeks ago, I mentioned my New Testament professor, the Very Rev. Dr. Cynthia Kittredge, and that she warned my seminary class about making Gospel Stew—when we mix together the four canonical accounts of Christ Jesus’ earthly ministry. Professor Kittredge was wise for instructing soon-to-be clergy to stay away from crossing the Gospel streams to form one, unified version. I believe this because when faithfully reading these different accounts, we discover they are so drastically different, which we can clearly see when examining the character of John who appears in all four Gospel accounts.

In Mark, John was the Baptizer. He dunked Jesus in the mysterious, bap-tismal waters, he was arrested, he intrigued Herod, but was later beheaded by the political leader before his disciples buried him.

In Matthew, John was the Baptist. His message was of fiery repentance. He was confrontational to the religious leaders of the day. Matthew depicted John as one who was curious about Jesus’ mission and the former gave way to the latter upon hearing about the fruits of his work. Again, Herod took John’s life.

In Luke, John was not described as baptizer or the Baptist, but instead was situated within his family—he was the Son of the Temple Priest Zechariah. He leapt in his mother Elizabeth’s womb when the pregnant Mary came to visit her relative. As an adult, John went into the wilderness to proclaim a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. Like the other synoptic Gospels (Matthew and Mark), Luke employed a flashback sequence to explain how Herod, under political pressure, beheaded the prophet John.

In John’s Gospel account though, John “the Baptist” does no baptizing, at least not to Jesus. Instead, John here has a different role. He is John the witness. As you may recall, the Gospel according to John begins with a cosmic hymn about the Christ. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” Christ was the Word through whom all things came into being—Christ was the light, which no darkness could extinguish.

Strangely in the middle of this beautiful hymn about Christ there’s a mention of a man name John. The cosmic song delineates that John was not God, nor the word, nor the light. We heard this as the beginning of today’s Gospel lesson: “There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” We can see John’s role as witness here. As one scholar put it, “The principal vocation of John in this Gospel then is to bear witness, a verb that occurs thirty-three times in the Fourth Gospel and only twice in the entirety of the Synoptic Gospels.”[1] John not the baptizer, nor the Baptist, nor the son of Elizabeth and Zechariah, but John the Witness. This was his role, but what about the deeper question of his identity? Let’s see how John answered the question, “Who are you?”

John was asked by the religious leaders of his day this question. It’s remarkable that John’s movement of baptism and repentance was raising enough of a fuss that those in power came to wonder what was going on out in the wilderness. However, when asked, “Who are you?” John avoided one of the greatest temptations all of us face. Instead of hogging undue credit or speaking more highly than was warranted, John knew exactly who he was and who he wasn’t. He was not the Messiah, he was not Elijah, nor was he a prophet. So, the religious authorities as well as the band the Who really want to know… “Who are you?” (who who, who who!)

The reply to this question about identity points back to words from Isaiah, and as Cindy pointed out last week, the prophet we describe as Second Isaiah. John utilized the prophetic words, “I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the Lord.’” When pushed to talk about if he was just this voice out in the wilderness, then why was he baptizing, John revealed that his identity was not merely attached to his role, either as witness or baptizer. At his core the most important thing to John was his relationship with the one to come.

John’s identity grew from his connection to God and to the Christ. He knew at the core of who he was that his whole life was to point to the one who was before him and was coming after him—paradoxical, right? Who John was could not simply be answered with a role like witness or Baptist, but instead his essence emanated from his relationship with God. This truth is not unique to John. Next Sunday, we will hear something very similar in the witness of Mary the Godbearer. And, this is true of our own lives.

When asked about who we are, we might start with the roles we play, the work we do, or the principles we adhere to in this life; however, what is of more importance are the relationships we form—and primarily the relationships we have with God, neighbor, and self. The Ubuntu theology, which emerges out of Africa, puts this very succinctly—I am because we are. Who I am cannot be untangled from who we are. Despite the best efforts of our society to make everything about the individual, what matters most is how God unites us all one to another.

Speaking of being united one to another, I have been gifted with the past five years of ministry here at All Saints. For this time, I will forever be grateful. And while I have served in a role as your priest, as the Associate Rector, the role is only part of the larger truth. I am because we are. Despite my ever-nearing departure from this role, what gives me hope, strength, and solace, is that no matter how far away we might be geographically (and I am only going to Hoover, friends), we are all forever united in Christ.

That’s the truth! Somehow mystically, we will be forever one. In the mystery of Holy Baptism, we are grafted into the Body of Christ, adopted as God’s children, and marked as Christ’s own forever. When we share in the Body and Blood at God’s altar table, we are again united, as we live into the saying: you are what you eat—we eat and become the Body of Christ. Thus through these sacraments, we can never be separated. And, we will always be united in our truest identity: God’s beloveds.

So, as we move through this next week towards the wonder of Christ’s Incarnation in Jesus of Nazareth, as we spend the seven days ahead holding onto the truth of Advent—that God is coming to us, as we prepare ourselves to receive the Christ child, may we remember who we truly are—God’s beloveds. As one of my mentors, the Rev. Annwn Myers, is fond of saying—Remember who you are and whose you are. You are God’s beloved and for you I say, “Thanks be to God.” Amen.

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[1] Gary W. Charles, “John 1:6-8, 19-28 Exegetical Perspective Commentary” in Feasting On The Word, eds. David L. Barnett and Barbara Brown Taylor. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2008).