4th Sunday of Advent & Christmas Eve Homilies
Fourth Sunday of Advent:
“My soul magnifies the Lord,” Mary sings right there in Elizabeth’s living room, “and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.” Elizabeth and Zechariah are the first to hear her song, but it is not just for them. It is also for Mary and for the Mighty One who has done great things for her. It is for Gabriel, who first gave her the good news, and for all who benefit from it—for the proud and powerful who will be relieved of their swelled heads, for the hungry who will be filled with good things, for the rich who will be sent away empty so that they have room in them for more than money can buy. Her song is for Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob—for Sarah, Rebecca, Leah, and Rachel—for every son and daughter of Israel who thought God had forgotten the promise to be with them forever, to love them forever, to give them fresh and endless life.
It was all happening inside Mary, and she was so sure of it that she was singing about it ahead of time—not in the future tense but in the past, as if the promise had already come true. Prophets almost never get their verb tenses straight, because part of their gift is being able to see the world as God sees it—not divided into things that are already over and things that have not happened yet, but as an eternally unfolding mystery that surprises everyone.
This morning, as the fourth candle on our Advent Wreath is lit, we are invited to sing with Mary.
In this divine dance we are all dancing. God may lead but it is entirely up to us whether we will follow. Just because God sends an angelto invite one girl onto the dance floor is no guarantee she will say yes. Just because God sends a prophet to tell us how life on earth can be more like life in heaven does not mean any of us will quit our day jobs to make it so. God acts. Then it’s our turn. God responds to us. Then it’s our turn again.
The only thing that is absolutely sure in this scenario is that we have a Partner who is with us and for us and who wants us to have life. Mary’s trust in that fact is really all she has. What she does not have is a sonogram, or a husband, or an affidavit from the Holy Spirit that says, “The child really is mine. Now leave the poor girl alone.” All she has is her unreasonable willingness to believe that the God who has chosen her will be part of what ever happens next—and that, apparently, is enough to make her burst into song. She does not wait to see how things will turn out first.
She sings ahead of time, and all the angels with her.
Christmas Eve:
It’s Christmas Eve; we all travel to Bethlehem. On Christmas Eve, we join Mary and Joseph as they study the face of their new son. As the final candle on our Advent Wreath--the Christ candle--is lit, we relive this story together.
It is a story you know it by heart—how the whole town was clogged with travelers, none of whom was there by choice. The emperor wanted them all counted and taxed and he could have cared less where they slept. That was their problem, not his.
Joseph and Mary got a stall instead of a room, which was not as bad as we sometimes make it out to be, but still, not an ideal situation. With luck, they also got a pitchfork and a wheelbarrow. We know they got a feed trough, because that was where they laid their treasure, and that is when the picture was taken—right then, while the star was still overhead and the angels were still singing in the rafters.
But twenty minutes later, what? The hole in the heavens had closed up and the only music came from the bar at the inn. One of the cows stepped on a chicken and the resulting racket made the baby cry. As she leaned over to pick him up, Mary started crying too. When Joseph tried to comfort her she told him she wanted her mother.
They both hurt all over and there was nothing to eat and it was cold as the dickens, but you know what? God was still there, right in the middle of the picture. Peace was there, and joy, and love—not only in the best of times, but also and especially in the worst of times—because during those times there could be no mistake about who was responsible.
It was God-With-Us. Not the God-Up-There somewhere who answers our prayers by lifting us out of our lives, but the God who comes to us in the midst of them—however far from home we are, however less than ideal our circumstances, however much or little our lives reflect the Christmas cards we send. That is where God is born, just there, in any cradle we will offer him, on any pile of straw we will pat together with our hands.
Any of us who have prayed to be transported into God’s presence this Christmas will get our wish—only not, perhaps, in the way we had thought. None of heaven’s escalators are going uptonight. Everybody up there is coming down tonight, right here, right into our own Bethlehem, bringing usthe God who has decided to make his home in our arms.
You are cordially invited to a special Christmas Day blog post tomorrow!
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