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Sermon, by Pastor Joel
Fourth Sunday in Advent
December 22nd, 2024
Micah 5:2-5a
Luke 1:46b-55
Hebrews 10:5-10
Luke 1:39-45 [46-55]
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This morning in our gospel, we learn of what will be the first of several journeys for Mary, the mother of Jesus. We find her at home in Nazareth, already pregnant with Jesus. So we know that she has already been visited by the angel, and is no doubt wrestling with the meaning of that news. But she learns that her cousin, Elizabeth, nearly 150 km to the south of Nazareth in the hill country of Judea, is pregnant as well. And Mary decides to go to be with her. To be present, with her.
Right away, we learn something important about Mary and her priorities. According to our gospel story, she has just been told -- by the sudden, shocking appearance of an angel -- that she is carrying the Son of God. She is betrothed to a carpenter named Joseph, who has already found out – or is soon to learn -- that his future wife is pregnant even before they are married and that he is not the father . We can’t be sure if Joseph has already had the dream where he receives his epiphany from God, but since scripture suggests he married Mary quickly afterwards, we might assume he has not.
But Mary, carrying all the stress, along with the very real risks that came from being pregnant in her time, is determined to be with Elizabeth, who is older and unexpectedly pregnant with a son who will become John the Baptist. But the road from Nazareth to Judah is long and dangerous, with bandits along the way. In that time, walking and riding on a lumbering wagon, it would have taken days. It was certainly not the place for Mary, who had her own baby to worry about.
But this Advent, the gospel further informs our conversation about presence. Two weeks ago, we heard about Andrew, a passerby who stepped up to rescue a gravely injured stranger and stayed with her until the ambulance came. Stepping up in these kinds of dramatic circumstances can make, as in this case, a life- and-death difference. It reveals our responsibility to respond to one another when the unexpected emergency happens. But in many ways, the instructions are clear: soothe the injured person until professional help comes. Andrew then slipped away into the background, his work finished.
But is our work ever finished?
In her book, The Amen Effect: Ancient Wisdom to Mend Our Broken Hearts and World, Rabbi Brous shares the story of a situation similar to our gospel this morning, A parishioner named Jackie has learned that her fetus has a fatal condition and that extending the pregnancy will put her own health at risk. She and her husband decide to terminate their much-wanted pregnancy. Jackie is devastated. She calls her Rabbi and asks her to come.
But Rabbi Brous is also pregnant. And she worries, as she writes in the book, that her presence will be painful to Jackie, a reminder of what she is losing, and debates whether she should go. “I was terrified that if I showed up in this sensitive moment, they’d see my body as a kind of betrayal,” she writes. “I could hardly bear it.” She debates faking the flu or a flat tire. Finally, she calls to explain, and Jackie insists she come. At the hospital, when Jackie comes out of surgery, Rabbi Brous goes to her side and prays with her, and weeps with her. And before she leaves, Jackie and her husband say a prayer for her own baby, that she will have a healthy pregnancy – an act of blessing and hope from one family to another. A moment that Rabbi Brous would have missed had she not committed her presence to the moment.
But in her book, she explores the role of presence from Jackie’s perspective. Through her own pain, she recognized her need for support – and that a compassionate presence mattered most of all. But Jackie also transformed her pain into something deeply special: in return, she gave the gift of her healing presence. Perhaps, her own deep sense of loss made the need and the importance to give another person hope all the more powerful. In her weakness, her presence was, in fact, the strongest thing she could offer; enough that Rabbi Brous would remember it and write about it many years later. One woman showed up for another, despite her misgivings. One woman showed up for another, despite her grief. And perhaps, they both were able to show up more honestly because of those things. As Rabbi Brous concludes: “When we allow ourselves to be held, when we embrace our own vulnerability, we can be revitalized, not only with greater humility, but also with deeper compassion – for ourselves and for those with whom we share our love.”
Is this not the very example that Mary also demonstrates for us – travelling a dangerous decision to be present for her cousin? We hear that Elizabeth’s baby moves in the womb upon her arrival, as if John is greeting Jesus. But the focus remains on the two women. What do you hear in Mary’s prayer? God’s message for Jesus, yes. But I also hear a mother’s hopes for her child. A wish for things to go well. And worry. Mary’s words are faithful and eloquent, but they are also vulnerable. They remind us how small one person is against a much larger world that requires a forgiving God, one who shows strength and challenges the powerful. They remind us of the world that Mary is up against. And yet, in this intimate moment, two women with acts of love and trust are showing up for each other. And by being vulnerable together, they become stronger. That is the power of presence.
There is one last person we might think about for a moment. Mary travelled a long journey, braving bandits and other hazards, but did she go alone? No word of Joseph is mentioned, but many scholars believe that he must have accompanied Mary, to keep her safe and ensure she arrived. If that is the case, then Joseph, while still dealing with all his doubts, also offered his presence as a gift for Mary, enabling her to travel safely to Elizabeth. And so we learn that our presence is layered and connected: one person showing up leads to another showing up, and so on. We do not act as individuals when we reach out to connect; we become community.
We are fast approaching the manger now, and all those that await us there. But let us stay with Mary and Elizabeth this week, pondering our own times of vulnerability when we needed others and perhaps gave back. Let us stay with Joseph who left his business and set aside his doubts to accompany his soon-to-be-wife and ponder choices when we might shelve our own needs and complaints, to be fully present for another. For it is not just the manger that calls for our presence. We are called every step on the way. Amen.
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