The Reverend Elizabeth C. Knowlton
Cathedral of St. Philip
December 24, 2006
11:15 Advent 4 C
Luke 1:39-55
Well, Merry 4 th Sunday of Advent. I couldn’t resist saying that of course, since every one of us has already said, or at least been tempted to wish one another a Merry Christmas. Possibly we even did as we walked through the hallways towards this service. Much of the finery for this wondrous evening is already in place, and hopefully most of our presents are already wrapped. My son Matthew has been eagerly opening doors on his Advent Calendar this past month and the opening of door 24, signals a certainty that Christmas Eve is here as far as he is concerned.
I’m a little sad when I think of the fourth candle on my Advent wreath that really isn’t going to get much play this year. It will end up being pretty much in a dead heat with the white center Christmas candle, unless I decide to experiment with some disproportionate burning schedules. But my desire to extend our observance of Advent is not only a matter of establishing a nicely tiered arrangement of blue candles. No, there is a big part of me that thinks we really need this fourth week.
We do a pretty good job of acknowledging our need for Advent. We realize the value of its counter-cultural message in a world where the trees and tinsel have been assaulting us since the jack o’lanterns went away. We grab Advent where and when we can and are perhaps unhappy that it’s been shortened this year. But, it’s not just a need for more days. Because to only look at the readings from the first three weeks of this season, is not the complete story of preparation we need.
Those who have, understandably, opted for a Sunday morning sleep-in today will miss a precious part of our story this year. Because, frankly without this morning, we’ve had a pretty heavy dose apocalyptic visions and calls for repentance this lectionary cycle.
But, I have to admit I’m a little weary of John the Baptist this year. Between the wild clothes and name calling I feel a little under attack. Probably with good reason, I’m sure there is a continual need for purification and repentance. Certainly we are called upon to make the kingdom of God present here and now. But there was a time before he became the wild-eyed grown up, name calling man we’ve seen featured the past few weeks.
Before we have to absorb the necessity of a prophetic awareness, there is another critical piece. I would venture to say it is foundational for our hearing of the rest. It is the part of the story that reminds us that one piece of our faith is joy. Joy welling up and flooding us. Flooding us to the point we have to share it beyond ourselves.
I remember one of the gifts of being with my children when they were very young, was their capacity to be struck with joy over the simplest of things. A stray flower on their pathway could be cause for a lengthy delay in getting in the car. The box an expensive toy came packaged in could yield longer hours of delight than the actual gift. And they seemed to know that their joy would be amplified and extended if they brought me into the circle. There was no sense that their joy should be doled out, rationed, guarded, or kept private. It flowed naturally out of them and thus became available to anyone willing to listen.
In the beginning of the Gospel of Luke, Mary has consented to the mystery of bearing God. I am in fact so fond of the story of the annunciation that I had never really thought much about the time after that angel visits and her arrival in the manger to give birth.
What I love about our passage today is that we see another side of Mary. We often think of her obedience, humility, purity, or strength. Historically she has even been mischaracterized as overly passive and meek. Some more modern renditions have at least reminded us of her youth. But the part of her youth we usually think of is related to lack of preparation for what she is going to encounter.
But one gift of her youth is the likelihood of her impulsive willingness to encounter her own joy. Yes, she is mystified by the invitation of the angel. And she proclaims her confidence in God’s being able to do the impossible. But I’m not sure we often think about her being flooded with joy to the point of having to run with exuberance to meet her cousin Elizabeth. Her haste to share her wonder, the same way a child calls us to attention at the beauty around them.
Why does she go? Is she looking for someone who might begin to apprehend the magnitude of her consent? Is she drawn to rejoice with her cousin who was considered too old and barren to give life? Or is she simply flooded with the overwhelming mystery of the nature of her joy and expectation?
Whatever the reason, it is clear she seeks relationship. And that seeking yields not only a connection between her and Elizabeth, but extends to the two babies who are being carried in their wombs. John the Baptist does not foreshadow his later prophetic crabbiness and impatience, but “leaps for joy.”
This joy, it seems is as much a sign of the Holy Spirit as prophesies that Mary and Elizabeth exchange. It is their mutual joy and recognition that transcends their individual circumstances and broadens the circle to start to encompass the very nature of God.
Mary’s hymn of response to Elizabeth at first can seem disparate. She proclaims the greatness of what she has experienced in her own situation. She then appears to switch to a radical present tense characterization of God. God is merciful, strong, and powerful. And he will attend to those who are lowly and hungry. What started as a conversation between two pregnant women has yielded a startling image of God’s grace and the advent of a new kingdom.
Some scholars would have us only look at the radical nature of this vision and miss its very particular context. I wonder if we are almost too jarred by the notion that anything so ordinary as two women in conversation could yield such a startling picture of the character of God.
And yet, anyone of us who have seen the miracle of new life are drawn to the wonder that can be evoked from those tiniest of newborn fingers. Isn’t that the real mystery of incarnation? The word made flesh? That God came to know us in the very heart of our own experience. We may shy away from it, since we cannot fully comprehend a God that is so expansive and yet so intimately present. But, it seems that God is ever inviting us to look at those ordinary moments of joy and use them to visualize something beyond ourselves.
If we only look at the particular and miss the global, we have not captured the fullness of God. Likewise if we only seek the global and forget the wonder available in each moment, we have denied ourselves something that God would have us know.
And our capacity to appreciate either, can be born and cultivated in our joy. When we sing joy to the world this evening, I hope we remember the joy of Mary and Elizabeth as they awaited the arrival of their precious sons. Both of them will suffer great loss in their bearing of these children. Their faith will call them into much more difficult terrain then they could have possibly imagined in that first exchange. They will move beyond that initial joy. But I have to believe that their deep joy and confidence in God gives them the foundation to endure the rest. Our faith requires our obedience, our steadfastness, and our grit. But if we truly want to experience the expanse of God, we need to exercise our joy as well.
Amen
Comments? Contact Beth Knowlton at: BKnowlton@stphilipscathedral.org