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Sermon - December 21st, 2008
Elizabeth's Story
Rev. Gwen Drake
Scripture: Luke 1: 39-55
Did you know that I was the first one who knew? Mary told me first. Maybe it was because I was going to have a miracle baby, too. Maybe it was because she knew I would listen and believe.
She came up to our place in the hill country obviously a wreck. Who wouldn’t have been? I knew as soon as I saw her, before she said a word, and not just because that baby inside me gave me a swift kick, either. It was written all over her young and innocent face. I knew our pregnancies were not an accident, or an illusion, or a freak of nature. What was inside us was a gift from God. Because of the babies we were carrying we were connected more than by our common ancestors.
Before Mary could say anything I exclaimed, “Blessed are you, Mary, and blessed is the child you are carrying!” Then I was ready to settle down and compare notes about what foods still tasted good and was she having mood swings. And oh, my back and my feet—aching and swollen!
But Mary couldn’t contain herself any longer. She burst into song right then and there on the front porch. “My soul magnifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God!” The words poured out of her about the Mighty One who had done great things for her. About the angel who told her. About the proud and powerful who were relieved of their swelled heads, about the hungry who were filled with good things, about the rich who were sent away empty so that they would have room in them for MORE than what money could buy. Her song was sung for every son and daughter of Israel who thought that God had forgotten the promise to be with them forever, love them forever, and give them fresh and endless life.
I wondered where those familiar words were coming from? Mary was no politician. She certainly wasn’t a revolutionary? These were prophetic words, reminiscent of Hannah’s song—radical words, astonishing words about the last being first and the first being last. I can’t be sure, but I think for a few moments she was singing about the world as God sees it.
I was speechless…for awhile…like my dear Zecharia, only it was Mary’s song, not an angel, that silenced me. The song came out of the heart of a frightened girl who had the good sense to believe what an angel told her in what seemed like a dream. The song came from a girl becoming a woman with faith enough to move mountains. She was not like me. She was special. Yet, she was like me-- me, too old to have children, yet I was about to give birth. Mary was too young to have children, yet she too was carrying a child.
Oh, what a day we had! The house was filled with women’s talk that day. My dear Zecharia would not have been able to get a word in edgewise, even if he had been able to speak. I laughed when Mary shared what she said to the angel who told her. My dear Zecharia didn’t get off that easy. The angel zipped up his lips when he doubted the angel’s news. Maybe the angel thought a priest, he should know better! Anyway, I told Mary, it was too quiet around here. I don’t recommend living with a priest who has been muted by an angel.
Then I asked Mary, “What about Joseph?” and she burst into tears. She hadn’t told him yet. What was she going to do? What was she going to say? What would Joseph do? What would people say when she started to get large with this mysterious child? Who in the world would believe that God had chosen her, an unwed teenage girl to have God’s baby?
She was scared, terrified. That’s why she came to see me. She had no one else she could talk to. No one she knew would listen. She came to me because I had never patted her on the head and expressed shallow platitudes. I had never spoken down to her even when she was a child. No, I always treated Mary like a full-fledged person, like a friend. A friend was what she needed that day.
She cried, “Aren’t you at all troubled about this?” And I took Mary’s hands in mine, looked into her eyes, and told her again that she was blessed and the child she was carrying was special and that I loved her no matter what happened. I also told her that God was with her and that it would be okay. I wasn’t sure how I knew that—but when the words came out, I knew they were true. I knew that Joseph would marry her rather than have her cast out. I knew that this special child would come into the world healthy and loved by two parents. After that? Well, only God knew. I am pretty sure, though, that Mary went home more at peace and ready to share the news with Joseph.
As for me, I had a baby who was restless to get out into the world. I don’t think he slept much at all. He came out of my womb screaming hellfire and brimstone and from that day on, he had a message to tell. Oh, and dear old Zecharia, he got his voice back. And that’s a good thing! Most of the time!
Our son grew up fast and soon he was off to the wilderness to get ready for something, to find that message he just had to tell the world. He had to find it on his own; he stopped listening to his father and me. Bless dear old Zecharia, it about broke his heart to see him go.
The day came when he found that message that he had been living with since his conception. The day came when he burst out of the wilderness a new man. I hardly recognized him. He looked like a wild man. His message was harsh. He spoke of axes and pitchforks and unquenchable fires. He called people names and told them, ready or not, God was coming. I thought he should have toned it down a notch or two or three! But he was a grown man now, and hadn’t been taking his mother’s advice for a long time.
I was right about Mary. She and Joseph got married quickly and quietly. You know the rest of the story, about Bethlehem, the shepherds, the magi. You know her story much better than my story. That story has been told over and over again. But let me give you a little advice, if you’ll listen, and don’t mind an old woman’s advice. Don’t take Mary’s story for granted. And for God’s sake, don’t think of it as a fairy tale. It’s not like the pictures you see on your Christmas cards either. It was NOT a silent, peace filled night. It was holy and sacred though. Mary’s child changed the world forever. When he was all grown up, he, too had a message, like my son. He taught revolutionary ideas, he taught the way of his mother’s song, about turning the world upside-down. He reached out to non-religious, the stranger, the outcast and spoke to them. Some say he was the messiah. Some say he was God incarnate. If you don’t know what that means, well, it just means that Mary gave birth to God. God lived as one of us. God taught us through Jesus how to live with one another.
One more thing and then I’ll be quiet…. for awhile. Something special can happen to you too. In fact, it already has. Be careful if you doubt it, my dear Zecharia would tell you. I just say, wake up to what is already special inside of you. God is in you. God’s message is already written on your heart. Search for it, find it, and get ready for the day you are ready to live the message that is born in you.
Amen.