Along Comes Mary

Luke 1:39-55

 

        A long time ago, in a culture far, far away, a mighty empire ruled all the known world. No one was safe. The roads and cities were overrun with legal thieves and local rogues who robbed the population blind. It was a time of great darkness. The people cried out to their God, “Give us your ear, O Shepherd of Israel. Restore us, O God of Jacob. Let your face shine through the darkness that we might be saved.” After years of pleading and centuries of being ignored, you won’t believe God’s Holy solution.     Mary.

        Roman Catholics have celebrated Mary ever since the Vatican declared itself the center of the religious universe. We Protestants have been a bit slow to get excited about her. Initially we believed Catholics worshiped Mary more than Jesus. This hampered our understanding of her. Then once we accepted Mary into our theological homes, we couldn’t help but treat her like a porcelain doll. This originated from a poor understanding of Luke’s gospel.

Mary lived in a culture where women had no status. Their primary role was to have babies and hope those babies were boys. Somebody forgot to remind Luke this was the way the universe was run. His gospel begins with an ancient barren woman and a soon to be pregnant virgin. Hard to imagine this was God’s plan to save the world.

Too often when we read the gospel of Luke we start with chapter two. We all know the story of a man and his pregnant wife traveling 60 miles by foot to pay taxes. Only a man could make this story up. They arrive in Bethlehem only to discover no rooms anywhere.  The child ends up being born in a barn. That sounds awful, except we have sanitized the story to the point it seems like a most natural occurrence. No birth pains, a shepherd as the attending physician, and swaddling clothes gently wrapped around the new born. Our story concludes with Mary quietly sipping a scotch on the rocks thinking about the experience. No pain, no mess, and no cleaning up afterwards. Then to top it off the next day Joseph claimed Jesus as a tax deduction.

Let me invite you back into Luke’s original story. It begins with Elizabeth, a woman who had been trying to get pregnant her entire life. She had reached the age where most women were spoiling their grandchildren. Then out of the blue her husband Zechariah gets a visit from a celestial party with a heavenly proclamation. Immediately the couple started turning the sewing room into a nursery. Before you could say rabbit, Elizabeth was with child and could not contain her joy. Zechariah was literally speechless.  After months of a one-sided conversation, Elizabeth was thrilled to receive a visit from her younger cousin and share the miraculous news. Here is where things really get weird.

“Elizabeth, I heard the good news.”

“Yes Mary. Who can explain the wonders of God?”

“You can say that again. Elizabeth you are not the only who has been blessed. I am also expecting.”

“God be praised! Who is the father?”

Mary smiled, “Who can explain the wonders of God?”

Two pregnant women, both believing they were touched by God, sat down to share a meal. To the rational or the faithless, this most assuredly was a feast of fools. And then things went completely out of control.  In an explosion of gratefulness, Mary began to sing.

My soul magnifies the Lord.

God has blessed this lowly servant.

        Generations from now people will call me blessed.

        If Mary had stopped right there, things would have been just fine. How could anyone argue with her joy? She was about to have a son and the son was a gift from God. But this was not an ordinary baby shower. This was a feast of fools and this fool refused to be quiet. Mary continued.

                God will scatter the proud.

                        God will bring down the powerful.

                                God will lift up the lowly.

                        God will fill the hungry.

                God will send the rich away empty.

        What on earth got into this girl? Mary sounds like Bernie Sanders railing against Wall Street. This isn’t the way Christmas was meant to be celebrated, or was it. The gospel of Luke was written to folks who had lost all hope. They were a collection of slaves and women who had been stripped of their dreams by an Empire that viewed them as less than human. They foolishly yearned to be impregnated by the grace and mercy of God.

        I am not sure we react well to Christmas Day as a feast for fools. But what better way to celebrate the vision of Mary and the grace of God then by acting just a little bit foolish on the one day of the year when we are allowed to be bold enough to remember that at the wrong place, under the most precarious circumstance, Jesus was born.

        A few years ago Deb and I drove to Columbia to be with Martina as she delivered our first granddaughter. Since Deb is wonderful with the boys and I do equally well with solitude, it was mutually decided she would entertain Andy and Austin while I waited outside the delivery room. When the glorious moment arrived, Zach rushed out to tell me Siddalee was fine but Martina was having an emergency procedure to stop some excess bleeding. Right on cue the nurse came through the door with my granddaughter. The nurse placed this delicate life into my hands I nodded to Zach to go to Martina. I would take care of the child.

Jesus, like all of us, was born powerless and dependent on the loving hands that held him. Jesus, like all of us, was born into a world where most folks were powerless and dependent on the hands that rejected them. Jesus was not among the powerful and was not born in germ free hospital. Jesus was born reliant on the whims of an exhausted teenager and a confused husband, Thanks be to God nothing in the world mattered to them except this child.

        The absurdity of Christ’s birth, the absurdity of any birth, reflects the contradiction of our lives. We imagine we are so powerful, but compared to what. We imagine ourselves to be in complete charge of the universe, but we know better. Jesus, born in obscurity, knows the fears, knows the confusion, knows the insecurities of our world because Jesus was born into confusion, lived amidst insecurity, and died because he dared to care for the weak, and the wounded, and the broken, and the refugee.

Mary,

Sweet Mary,

Dangerous Mary,

        Perhaps even Proud Mary still sings:

God will scatter the proud.

        God will bring down the powerful.

                God will lift up the lowly.

        God will fill the hungry.

God will send the rich away empty.

       

Wow, that is a lot to swallow during this glorious season.

It’s Christmas, the day when God’s memory came alive.

It’s Christmas, the day when we celebrate a feast of fools. It’s Christmas, the day when the main item on the menu is the mercy and grace of God.   

Thanks be to God.  Amen.

 

Matthew's Joseph

 

Matthew 1:18-23

 

        Christmas time is upon us. The air is filled with the sounds and smells of the holidays. I was reading a list of the top 75 Christmas songs in America.  Silent Night, the highest “religious” song listed, did not make the top 15. I found this a bit disturbing. Then the more I thought, the more sense it made. The meaning of Christmas has been forgotten and we are pretty much responsible. This transformation began when we homogenized the Christmas story.

        Of the four Gospels, Mark was the earliest. Influenced by the Apostle Paul, Mark proclaimed Jesus to be the Messiah, the one ordained to usher in the Kingdom of God. The gospel is filled with urgency yet short on specifics. Matthew and Luke were written to fill in the missing years.

Filling in these gaps became a bit problematic when it came to the birth and resurrection of Jesus. Both Matthew and Luke agree Jesus was born; both agree Jesus was resurrected; yet neither find much commonality in the details. We are given two distinctively different Christmas stories.  Matthew, the church builder, portrays Jesus as the new Moses. Luke, the protector of the poor, identifies Jesus as the new David. As these two remarkable stories are told and retold, stars and angels, sheep and camel, wise men and shepherd are conveniently crowded into a stable crafting a standardized story neither Matthew or Luke would have recognized. We have softened the narrative into a gentle tale which has become the prelude to our winter solstice celebrations. This was never the intention of either author. Each story uniquely rang out against the darkness declaring God is doing a new thing.

        This week I want us to look at Matthew’s portrayal of Joseph.    What we have is a successful business man in the town of Bethlehem. He is highly regarded among his peers and an active participant in the local synagogue. He can trace his genealogy through David all the way back to Abraham. He has a nice home and was courting a wonderful young girl who would make any mother proud. And then it happened. Mary became pregnant.  

        The first chapter of Matthew centers on this development. This book was written for a Jewish audience who were now Christian. They knew Mosaic Law. If a woman becomes pregnant outside of marriage she could be banned from the community or in extreme cases, stoned. The fate of Mary rested in the hands of Joseph. In order to stay betrothed to her, Joseph would have to break from the wisdom of the Law of Moses. 

        I can imagine Joseph saying to himself,

I always wanted a son,

Someone to carry on the family tradition,

Someone who loves wood as much as I,

Someone with the imagination to see and create.

        Someone with whom I could work side by side.

But now, what am I to do?

I always wanted him a son, but I wanted him to be mine.

I hoped for a family but I wanted it to be my family.

I am told he is God’s son.

I am told this will be good for God’s family.

And I am supposed to understand all of this!

I’ve  always hoped for the Messiah,

        Almost as much as I’ve hoped for a son of my own.

(Stop)

        Matthew’s gospel appears to ask the impossible. Remember those wonderful scenes in “Fiddler on the Roof” where Tevye sings about tradition. Everything he knows to be right and honorable is being turned upside down. Likewise, if Joseph takes Mary as his bride he risks losing his community. If he takes Jesus as his son, will it be an act of faith or delusion? All Joseph has is his tradition. All Joseph loves is found in Bethlehem. All he worships is discovered in the Torah. Listening to a vision, believing in Mary, would mean giving everything up.

        That’s the Christmas story we find in Matthew. The people who first read this story understood it. Before turning to Christ, like Joseph they had been respectable members of a community. They went to the synagogue faithfully. But overwhelmed by a story, a promise, a vision of the grace of God, they rejected their past traditions. They longed for a new law, a new covenant, a new heaven here on earth. Becoming Christian was a choice that meant hardship. It was a choice that meant persecution. But it was a choice that meant “L’Chaim” ….. Life.

        Imagine Joseph sitting in his shop, looking at a piece of wood as if that object held all the answers. 

Do I love her? With all my heart!

        Do I believe her? With all my soul!

                But my mind is still confused.

I am a simple man and this is no simple matter.

If I choose her, then will God also choose me?

I am not worthy,

        I work with my hands,

                I take what is broken and make it whole.

                        Why choose me?

Do I love her? With all of my being!

        Do I love God?

                Well, I fear God.

                        I worship God.

                                Sometimes I avoid God.

                                        But do I love God……. 

I honestly don’t know.

I can love Mary’s child,

        But can I love God’s child?

All I can do is show him how to take something broken….

                                        And make it whole.

       

What does one do when confronted by God?

Do we walk away pretending not to hear?

Do we weigh what we thought we heard against the wisdom of more rational voices?

Do we talk it out with others hoping they will bring us to our senses?

Do we remember Joseph?

In the midst of doubt and suspicion, Joseph silently made a leap of faith.

In a world with too little laughter, Joseph silently performed an act of joy.

In a community filled with fear and distrust, Joseph silently believed.

In a time when hate snuffed out all light, Joseph silently lit a candle.

This Christmas let the light of Christ expose your traditions, you fears, your inhibitions, your yesterdays.

Let the light of Christ shine through you, exposing the doubt and dismay that troubles any wounded heart.

Let this Christmas be your transformation toward a new heaven and earth.                       L’Chaim!        Amen.  

 

 

Righteousness and Peace will Kiss

Isaiah 40:1-5; Psalm 85:10-13

 

                    I am an unrepentant lover of folk music.  My dad was a big fan of The Kingston Trio. I became a bigger fan of Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger, and Doc Watson. Today my taste ranges from Terry Allen to Townes Van Zandt. Folk music is based on real human stories.  When you listen to folk music it is OK to have a little dirt under your finger nails. Folk music portrays the dreams and occasional nightmares of the human experience.  Perhaps it is all rolled up in how you might interpret Slaid Cleves line, “I’ve been chasing grace and grace ain’t so easily found”.

          The beauty of folk music is the search for grace continues even when the journey seems to have come to a dead-end.  Folk music is based on hope.  It is based on the possibility that one day righteousness and peace will kiss.  It is based on the dream that one day our valleys will be lifted up and our roads made straight.

          This week marks the 12^th anniversary of the death of Odetta. I suspect many of you have never heard of her. Maya Angelou once said, “If only one could be sure that every 50 years a voice and soul like Odetta’s would come along, the centuries would pass so quickly and painlessly we would hardly recognize time.” At the age 7 Odetta was a soloist in her church choir. By 15 she was being trained to sing opera. As you might image in 1945 there was not much demand for Afro-American opera singers. She moved to New York, found her way into the folk scene, and was “discovered” by Harry Belafonte.  By 1963 she was singing for Dr. King in the churches of Alabama and before thousands at Carnegie Hall.  Rosa Parks was once asked, “What is your favorite song”?  She responded, “Anything sung by Odetta.”

          Her voice was a remarkable instrument, complete with both soft-spun timbres and a powerful cutting edge. For some her voice may not be as sweet as one would like, but the more you listen to Odetta, the more you are transformed by the way she phrased each word she was singing.

          I once heard Odetta sing “Every Valley”, the song the choir sang this morning. I will never be able sing that song without having her powerful voice fill my mind and soul. She understood the incredible possibilities that erupt when valleys are exalted and mountains made low. She sang as one transformed by the joy and relief that one feels when God touches our hand and tenderly says, “Comfort ye, comfort ye my people. Your imprisonment is over; you are free to live in the glory of the Lord.” 

          It was Odetta, and people like her, who helped me understand that much of the writings of Isaiah and many of the Psalms are just folk music. They were written to deal specifically with the pains and joys of human life. Passages like Isaiah 40 and Psalm 85 are the music of the people. They tell a story within the context of one’s life, a story passed from generation to generation, giving hope to people who claim the words as their own. You don’t have to know anything about the Babylonian Captivity to receive inspiration from the phrase, “Comfort ye, Comfort ye, my people.” Likewise, it is not necessary to know anything about the person who wrote the 85^th Psalm to be captured by the promise, “Steadfast love and fidelity will meet.  Righteousness and peace will kiss each other and faithfulness will spring up from the ground.”  

          All of us can remember the anger and confusion that broke our hearts on the morning of September 11, 2001. Voices called for vengeance.  Singers like Toby Keith urged us to arms. But it was the folk singers who remained the voice of courage and hope. Just weeks after his city had been devastated Springsteen sang these words,

          There’s a blood red circle on the cold dark ground,

          And the rain is falling down.

          The church door’s thrown open,

          I can hear the organs song but the congregation’s gone.

          My city’s in ruins. My city’s in ruins.

          Sweet bells of mercy drift through every tree,

          Young men stand scattered like leaves.

          The boarded up windows front the empty streets,

          All my brothers down on their knees.

          My city’s in ruins. My city’s in ruins.

          Rise up!  Rise up!

          With these hands, I pray for strength Lord; Rise Up!

          With these hands, I pray for faith Lord; Rise Up!

          With these hands, I pray for your love Lord. Rise Up!

          My city in ruins,

rise up!

                             Rise Up!

RISE UP!                    

          Psalmist of any generation, those people who sing “folk songs”, live in the season of advent. They are very much aware of what is happening in the moment and yet they somehow are able to glimpse into tomorrow and find hope. For myself, Advent is not complete without the voices of an Odetta or Springsteen.  I know each of you has a poet, a singer, that lifts your hearts even when our nation is in ruins. In this season of Advent, I encourage you to take the time to recall that voice. Allow the voice to remind you that in the darkest moments, God comforts us.  Allow those voices to take you back to a time when you had given up hope, but hope had not given up on you.  Allow the voice to comfort your soul with visions of the deepest valleys being lifted up and the highest mountains no longer remaining an obstacle.

In that voice lies the vision of Advent.

          Close your eyes and listen.

In the darkness there will be a great light.

                   The wolf and the lamb will lie down together.

                             A child shall lead us,

                                      And his name will be called Emanuel.

On that day God will be with us,

          On that day God will heal our broken hearts,

                   On that day God will sooth our raging spirits,

                             On that day God will touch our wounded soul.

But until that day,

          Keep singing about a hammer of justice;

                   Keep singing about cities rising out of ruins;

                             Keep singing, “Comfort ye, Comfort ye”;

Keep singing that folk music,

          That Godly music,

                   To people in a barren land.

                                                                   Amen.