Fourth Sunday of Advent, 4B, December 21, 2014; The Rev. Pamela L. Werntz
O God of impossible possibilities, may we have the wisdom, the strength, and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth – come when it may and cost what it will.
Many of you know that I grew up in a household where wrestling with Holy Scripture was one of the things we did as a family for exercise. I didn’t know that some families went on ski vacations until I was well into college! I will confess that that discovery made me feel a little jealous, but over the years my gratitude for my dad’s insistence on Biblical engagement has grown and grown. Our Gospel story this morning has been calling people to wrestle – with paint, with poetry and prose, with music, with drama since the beginning. In fact, so many have wrestled with this text before us that we might not think we have to – we might think that we must either accept or dismiss the truth of the annunciation or accept or dismiss the truth of the virgin birth. Did this happen or not? (I think the answer is yes — sometimes.)
The town of Nazareth, in the Galilee is built on a hillside in the southern Lebanon Mountains. It’s a bustling Palestinian city now with a population of about 65,000. In the mid-nineteenth century, a French order of nuns built a convent in Nazareth. The Sisters of Nazareth have exercised their ministry there ever since. When I visited in 2007, they told a story of calling a plumber to repair a leak, who, in the course of his work, fell through the floor of the convent into a well-preserved first century courtyard house where there is evidence of 1st century Jewish occupants; there is also an animal feeding trough (a manger made of stone, not wood); and a burial chamber with a huge stone disk that can be rolled to cover the opening. That and other archeological evidence indicates that in the first century, Nazareth had a population of about three hundred people – two to three clans – living in 35 cave dwellings. It was an agricultural village in an area of about sixty acres. In other words, it was small. It’s not mentioned in extra-biblical written accounts of the area that list towns and villages. It seems that Nazareth was so insignificant in the early part of the first century that it didn’t warrant mention in government records or maps or stories outside of Luke or Matthew. Only the Gospel of Luke tells the story of a messenger from God named Gabriel visiting the young Mary. Only one other Gospel, Matthew, addresses Jesus’ birth at all and Matthew’s version is very different. The Gospel of Luke’s telling is one of the most fantastic, the most glorious, and the most unbelievable stories. And it’s this unbelievable part that really hooks some people. However, despite what you may have heard, I don’t think the story of Christmas is primarily about what any of us believes. Maybe we don’t love God or believe in Jesus as much as we were taught that we should – or as much as we think other people want us to – or even as much as we wish we did. Perhaps we don’t buy any of it. Maybe we just don’t believe in angels. We probably don’t believe in virgin births. What I want to tell you again and again, is that this celebration coming up is not about what any of us believes about angels or virgins. Luke’s Christmas story is one about God believing in people – in us. This is a story about God believing in people so much that God would risk a surprise pregnancy, an impossible pregnancy, indeed an illegal pregnancy punishable by death. By this account, God would risk being born into King David’s tattered line (there wasn’t much left of it by the time Jesus came around). The shocking part of this story in the first century was not that a virgin could be delivering a child – it was that an impoverished and unmarried woman could be the one delivering a Savior. This is a story about God who would risk childbirth under dreadfully difficult, grossly under-resourced circumstances. This is a story where a hugely pregnant Mary travels from Nazareth to Bethlehem, an over-crowded, oppressed, volatile village outside of Jerusalem, occupied by a foreign army, and delivers a baby in a smelly stable with the livestock. In other words, the odds for simply surviving were not good at all! Think of the promise of the “house” of David that we heard in the reading from 2 Samuel being fulfilled by someone not even born in a house and who was without a home or children for his entire ministry. This is a very different and surprising kind of fulfillment. It’s not the kind of fulfillment or satisfaction I would hope for! For the early Christians, this is a story that claims that Jesus is everything that Caesar Augustus claimed to be and more – miraculous birth, both human and divine – those were the attributes claimed by the Emperor of Rome. Titles of the Roman emperor Caesar Augustus included Son of God, God from God, Lord, Redeemer, Liberator, and Savior of the World. Marcus Borg says “To use any of the[se titles for]… the newborn Jesus [who can’t even roll over unassisted] would be either low lampoon or high treason.” [1] The story is risky on so many levels. This is a story about how much God believes in people – and the amazing risks that God takes to be in relationship. When you consider the universe – and the conditions required to create and sustain life – it’s a wonder that any of us is here. When you look at the history of the world – and all the horrendous things that people have done and continue to do to one another (sadly, often in the name of God), it’s a wonder that we still exist. It’s not reasonable. In fact, it’s totally unreasonable. It’s unbelievable. Perhaps it’s accidental, but I believe it’s love. It’s the mystery of love. This is a love story about the lengths to which God will go – a celebration of the risks that God will take to have our companionship and the risks that God will take for us to be companions with one another along the way. It’s an extraordinary story. And I want to suggest to you that it’s a story of God showing up against formidable odds. To me, it’s not unlike the odds against any one of us showing up this morning in this place, given all of the other places we might have been instead. Each of you, this morning, by your presence has said, like Mary, “Here am I, use me.” That is also the mystery of love. The story is that God believes in you. So whether you cannot wait to see what’s under the tree or you already know that disappointment, sadness, or fear will eclipse whatever is wrapped in bright paper. Whether you can hardly sit still anticipating the delight that a gift you are giving this year will bring, or you have been unable to secure the gifts that you know will satisfy the ones you love – take a moment as we draw near to Christmas to join in the celebration of God believing in you. Take a moment right now to celebrate the fantastic, glorious, unbelievably big gift of showing up. Let’s prepare to celebrate with as much of our hearts as we can manage to make available and then stretch to make a little more room – in our occupied, overcrowded, volatile and less than pure hearts. Let’s invite the mystery of love and the miracle of God believing in us to find a safe place to stay. Perhaps you know this poetry from the 13th century, Meister Eckhart, prophet, mystic and declared heretic, wrote:
What good is it to me if this eternal birth of the divine Son takes place unceasingly but does not take place within myself? And, what good is it to me if Mary is full of grace and if I am not also full of grace? What good is it to me for the Creator to give birth to [a] Son if I do not also give birth to him in my time and in my culture? This, then, is the fullness of time: When the Son of God is begotten in us.[2]
It seems to me that that God is calling on you, on me, on Emmanuel, to give birth to something entirely new in an impossible situation. None of us is alone. God is believing in us. And everything is waiting for us to say yes.