Unexpected and Mysterious

Sermon preached Sunday, December 17, 2023, the Fourth Sunday of Advent, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in North Chesterfield, VA. 

What comes to mind when you think of Mary, the mother of Jesus?

Do you imagine a Christmas pageant, with a young woman dressed in a blue and white robe kneeling by a wooden manger? Maybe you imagine her in the Pieta, the famous statue at the Vatican with Mary holding Jesus after he is taken down from the cross. Or maybe you connect with this painting by Henry Tanner of a young woman being faced with the forbidding image of a formless angel.

There are a lot of ways the Church has tried to understand her and her role throughout history. In some traditions, she is thought of so highly she almost becomes a deity herself. She is sometimes referred to as “Theotokos,” or the bearer of God, especially in Orthodox circles.

On the other extreme, we have traditions who largely ignore her role. If you think about the names of protestant churches, Lutheran churches, we have a lot named after various saints like Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, even Stephen, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard of one called “Saint Mary’s.”

The Gospel writers didn’t portray her the same way either. In the Gospel of John, she has no name. She is simply called the “Mother of Jesus.” In Mark, she appears in a story in which she and her other sons comes to take Jesus home, to stop his ministry, because they don’t understand what he is trying to do. It’s largely the same in Matthew, although at least in that gospel she appears at the tomb on Easter morning.

In Luke, however, she is vitally important. She has this conversation with the angel Gabriel in which she is called to this unique task. Her conversation with Gabriel is remarkably similar to the call stories of prophets found other places in the Bible.

There is a greeting: “Greetings favored one! The Lord is with you.” Mary’s frightened or confused reaction. Gabriel then tells her, “Do not be afraid,” and gives her the commission: “…you will conceive in your womb and bear a son..” Mary objects, or at least questions this by pointing out that she is a virgin and Gabriel reassures her and offers her a sign, the knowledge that her relative Elizabeth, even in her old age, is six months pregnant. Finally, Mary is ready, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”

She is presented as an ideal: an ideal mother, woman, and, yes, prophet. So just what is it that makes her this ideal? What makes her the “favored one,” chosen to bear God, out of every other young maiden around her at the time?

Perhaps it’s her willingness to accept what she could not understand—her ability to live with the unknowable and incomprehendable. Mary asks for clarification: “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” Gabriel answers, “The Holy Spirit will overshadow you…” I don’t know about you, but that’s not quite the explanation I’d be looking for. I’d want to have a few more specifics! “Yes, yes, the Holy Spirit, yada yada…but how?!”

But Mary accepts this mystery. She may not know how the Holy Spirit will do its work, but she trusts it will be done.

For the amount of new and rather alarming news Mary receives, she accepts it all and will later sing of how blessed she is that God has chosen her—that God has done great things for her, lifted up the lowly and filled the hungry with good things.

I’ve heard the fourth week of Advent can be thought of as “Summary Sunday.” The readings for this Sunday speak back to the three weeks prior and give a nice wrap-up of this waiting we have been living in.

So if today is meant to “sum up” Advent, what does that mean? Does that mean that Advent is all about preparing ourselves for mystery? For things we cannot know? What would that mean? Is Advent all about waiting for something we can’t understand?

Well, yes! The incarnation, the amazing miracle of God choosing to come and live among us, in the body of one of us is something I cannot explain. I don’t think anyone can. How was it done? What are the real, hard, concrete facts of the process?

Mary’s story calls us to be comfortable with mystery. Are you? I can’t say that I always am. It’s a struggle. I don’t even like the mystery of Christmas presents. I’m always trying to figure out what people have gotten me! So when I’m faced with accepting a truth without knowing all the process or logic behind it, I struggle.

The truth of it is, there is no way to eliminate all mystery from our lives. We try—oh man, do we try!—but we can never succeed. We try to monitor every aspect of our lives. The internet has made it nearly impossible for someone to remain completely anonymous. And science is finding new information every day to help us understand the world around us.

But I’ve also heard scientists say that for every new discovery they make, for every phenomenon they figure out, they are left with new questions. The questions never end, they only change. They may become more concrete or shift in focus, but we will never have answers to all of our questions.

Which brings us back to mystery. It’s best if we can embrace it!

A Carthusian monk wrote this: “Mysteries are not dark shadows, before which we must shut our eyes and be silent. On the contrary, they are dazzling splendours, with which we out to sate our gaze.” (A Carthusian, They Speak in Silences)

Ignoring the mysteries does nothing but frustrate! Looking at them, holding them, speaking about them, gives our lives new depth and nuance.

When we speak about mystery and God, I often use the phrase “Holy Mystery.” Sometimes I use it in jest, when I have no answer to why a table moved or why a box suddenly appeared in the hallway.

But more often and more genuinely, I use it when I refer to the things God has done and continues to do for us which we have no explanation for.

In baptism we use water and I speak God’s promises. I baptize in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, but I  know that I am merely a vessel for those promises God has already made. God is doing all the working, all the acting, and I am representing that.

How does God claim us in baptism? How does our baptism make us a child of God more than, say, splashing around in the lake? Holy Mystery. God has promised to work in baptism and I trust that promise. I don’t need to see charts and formulas.

Same thing in communion. We have bread and wine. I give thanks and say the words of institution, blessing the elements, but I have not made them the body and blood of Christ. God did. How? Holy Mystery.

This might sound like a cop-out: saying “Holy Mystery” to avoid thinking too hard or working to figure it out…but I think that living with mystery is some of the hardest work there is. It’s so difficult for us to let mystery come into our lives and remain with us.

So maybe that’s why this text about Mary’s trust and acceptance of things she can’t understand is so important for us. If the bearer of God can take on that role with little protest, perhaps there’s hope for us yet.

Mystery is how God works. Baptism. Communion. The Incarnation. The Resurrection. Prayer. These are part of our faith not because of concrete evidence, but because we trust that God is present and faithful. God doesn’t abandon us in our inability to understand, but comes again and again to show us that we don’t need to understand to receive grace.

Unexpected and mysterious are the ways of God.

Amen.

Expecting

Sermon preached Sunday, December 23, 2018, the Fourth Sunday of Advent, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA. Audio can be found here.

Expect the unexpected. It’s a cliché frequently used and over used. As Christians, though, it might well be the most apt descriptor of God’s action. Even more, these three words, “expect the unexpected,” are incredibly appropriate when it comes to this last Sunday of Advent, this last week of waiting before celebrating Christ’s coming to dwell among us.

It’s what the prophet Micah proclaims, as his community is overrun and torn apart by Assyrian armies. Micah wrote his words away from the great city of Jerusalem. He wrote away from the seat of great power. He sees the walled and fortified cities crumbling and knows that the salvation of Israel will not come from those places. Instead, he speaks to Bethlehem.

Bethlehem, a little town almost in the middle of nowhere. Bethlehem, part of one of the “little clans of Judah.” Bethlehem, a village that nobody expected much from. And then, Micah’s bold proclamation: “But you, O Bethlehem…from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule in Israel.” (Micah 5:2) In other words, help will come from an unexpected place…even a place like Bethlehem.

In the mist of destruction, Micah is not deterred from his faith in God. Micah points to hope for the future, hope that will not come to fruition in his lifetime, hope that finds its embodiment in the baby borne by Mary.

Mary, herself, is unexpected—as is Elizabeth, her relative. When we look at these women in their ancient context, they are truly remarkable. They are women, first of all, having little to no agency in the world around them. Elizabeth is older, once thought to be barren. Mary is young and could face public disgrace for being an unwed mother if Joseph decides to jilt her. They are not from powerful families. They have no real political or monetary clout. And yet, these two women meet each other and talk about changing the world.

Elizabeth’s husband, Zechariah, he was told his son would be a prophet. In response, he voices his disbelief to the angelic messenger and is made mute. Today, we have that boy’s mother, Elizabeth, offering her own understanding and a prophecy. She recognizes Mary and the baby she carries as her own child leaps in her womb. Elizabeth, in fact, is the first person to say aloud who Jesus is. “And why has this happened to me,” she asks, “that the mother of my Lord comes to me?” (Luke 1:44)

The next thing she says is interesting. Elizabeth could just be talking about Mary, but she could also be talking about herself…and all who believe what God has promised. Elizabeth says, “blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” (Luke 1:45) Blessed be Mary for believing the angel’s announcement to her. Blessed be Elizabeth: even though she was unable to conceive, she believed she would indeed bare the one who would prepare the way.

Mary goes further and sings a song that is both thanksgiving for what God has done and praise for what God will continue to do. This song, called the Magnificat, announces shocking reversals: the proud are scattered, the powerful are brought down from their thrones, the lowly are lifted up, the hungry are filled, the rich are sent away empty. She, Mary, is looked upon with favor by God and knows that because of God’s work, not her own, she will be called blessed throughout history.

These sentiments find their way into Jesus’ ministry. In his first sermon, he declares that the Spirit of the Lord is upon him, “to bring good news to the poor…proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” (Luke 4:18-19) Jesus is quoting the prophet Isaiah, but in the themes are echoes and connections to Mary’s song. Can you imagine Jesus growing up, hearing from his mother the story of how God showed her favor, hearing his mother proclaim God’s goodness? Mary would not have been expected to teach her son the finer points of faith, that’s supposed to come from the rabbis and pharisees and scribes…but I can’t think of a better person for him to learn from.

We are called to expect the unexpected—to expect to find God at work in unexpected places and unexpected people.

The reversals the Magnificat sets forth are expansive and defy our preconceived notions of greatness. The humble are lifted up—people who are not doormats, but rather people who recognize that every other person’s humanity and life is just as important as theirs. The proud, those who insist on being regarded as better than the people around them, these people are brought down low and shown that no one is above another.

The poor, having little or nothing, are given feasts and all they need to live on. They have a deep gratitude for each crumb that passes their lips, knowing how precious it can be. The rich, on the other hand, are sent away from the feast empty. Their money cannot buy them a place in the community and their greed and refusal to care for the people around them has set them outside.

Perhaps the hardest expectation to be rid of for the people of Jesus’ time has to do with how God will assert power. The Roman occupation was violent and oppressive. Many longed for the Messiah to come, raise up an incredible army, and strike down the Roman forces. A military king, they wanted. A soldier ready for war. Someone who would get revenge for all the atrocities visited upon them.

Instead, God comes in the form of an infant. When that infant is grown, he tells his followers, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” “All who take up the sword will die by the sword.” This is the one in whom we trust, the one whom we follow, even if it’s not the one we expected.

God seeks to upset our preconceived notions.

We are at the beginning of the church year, but we know where we are going. We are about to celebrate Christ’s birth, but we know how Christ will die. The unexpected actions of God lead us, inevitably, to the cross. God, who chose to dwell among us and live out a life with us, never does what we might do.

Self-preservation is a strong motivator and, frankly, if I was in the garden like Jesus and saw soldiers coming at me to arrest me, I might tell my disciples to go ahead and get out their swords, instead of putting them away. If I was being interrogated by a Roman governor, I might say anything I could to get off the hook. If I was about to be crucified, I might—okay, I would—use my godly powers to stop it from happening! But God doesn’t do what we would do or what we would expect. God chooses the path that is unexpected and shows that love is the greatest force of all.

The cradle to the cross….but that’s not all! Finally, in perhaps the greatest subversion of our expectations, God goes to the cross for us—not because of our own righteousness, but because of God’s. Not because of how good we are, but because of how good God is. Not because we deserve it, but because God has chosen to give it. Not because we are the wealthiest or most talented or most popular or the most respected…but because God loves us just as we are.

People of God, expect the unexpected. Amen.