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Birthing a Promise
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21 December 2008 If I’m telling the story of how John and I met, I begin with a short reference to Whitworth College. If I’m telling the story of an immediate sense of God’s sustaining presence, I may tell of the time I was backpacking in the Cascades. Or if I’m telling the story of how I ended up here in this pulpit, the story of my call, I may still begin with a short reference to Whitworth, but most certainly would focus on the dearth of teaching jobs in the Bay Area in the early 1970's, the clear lack of “fit” as an administrative secretary for Kaiser Permanente, and John’s suggestion that I consider the ministry. Each of these stories is, in some way, a story of God’s presence in my life, a story of the birth of a promise, a story of my response to God’s presence has changed my life and taken it directions I would never have dreamed of. The same is true with the stories of the Bible, every one of them a story about God, and in the Christian scriptures, every one of them a story about God made known to us in the life of Jesus of Nazareth. For Paul, the first Christian to leave any writings about Jesus, the story begins with Jesus’ resurrection. For Mark, the gospel we will mostly be reading this year, the Jesus story begins with the ministry of John the Baptizer, and Jesus’ own baptism. Matthew couldn’t stand a story about a man like Jesus that didn’t connect with his roots, his biological and spiritual lineage, so the story begins with a walk through Jesus’ ancestral graveyard. Not Luke. Luke’s Jesus story begins with an intervention. Two interventions, actually. Only ‘intervention’ language is something we usually associate with a group of family and friends who challenge an individual’s self-destructive behavior. In church-ese, the language we use is THE ANNUNCIATION, with all sorts of gilding and fancy script. Or more correctly, the annunciations, plural. Luke tells us that the angel Gabriel already has been a very busy messenger. The first annunciation is to a priest. Gabriel lets Zechariah know that even though Elizabeth is post-menopausal, he and Elizabeth are about to be parents for the first time. Maybe Zechariah has been through false-positives before, but he’s not exactly jumping for joy. And Luke has a great time with the irony–here’s Zechariah in the sanctuary, in the holy of holies, talking with an angel, but instead of making a connection with the holy, Zechariah is downright skeptical. Luke affirms that the Holy One can and does break into the patterns of our lives even in church. But this isn’t where Luke spends a lot of story time. In short order, there’s a second annunciation to a young unmarried woman. We don’t know what Mary is doing, but Luke doesn’t place her in the church. Whatever it is though, the Holy One breaks in upon Mary and in one of the most touching strokes of the story, greets Mary with favor. It’s a scene that has captured the imagination of artists for centuries...Fra Angelico paints the angel Gabriel with wings that are green and red and gold and white; other artists show the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove, traveling a beam of light aimed straight for Mary’s stomach. Still others show a peasant woman bathed in light from above. And as lovely as some of these paintings are–my favorite is a Fra Angelico–they try to convey in graphic form something that for me is highly symbolic. Especially in the Middle Ages, artists tended to take the story itself very literally, which is fine if that works for you. However, many of us twist ourselves into mental pretzels trying to fit the concept of a virgin birth into 21st century experience. Usually we end up quoting from Gabriel, and affirm that nothing is impossible for God. This is true, but I don’t think it’s the point. I tend to agree with the Borgs and Crossans that politically, Luke sets up his story to match his sovereign, Jesus, against the best that Rome can produce: Caesar...who has stories about his divine origins as well. The Jesus story is supported by the story about John. It’s Luke’s way of telling us that John does serve as a forerunner, not only by birth, but also laying the foundations of the relationship of John’s ministry to Jesus’ ministry. Secondly, Luke tells us that God is present to us and for us both inside and outside of the sanctuary. This may not seem like earth-shattering news, but remember–the sanctuary, the Temple Jesus had known in Jerusalem, is destroyed by the time Luke writes. Yes, God’s presence is to be found in the sanctuary, but thanks be to God, it is not limited to the sanctuary. Thirdly, Luke tells us that the Jesus story brings earth and heaven, corporal and spiritual worlds together in one body. Jesus of Nazareth, Mary’s son, is touched by the Spirit. None of us would remember these theological affirmations for long–I certainly don’t; but we do remember stories. Luke gifts us with a jewel of a story. An angel. Two annunciations. Two unplanned pregnancies. Two interventions from God into human affairs, all by way of saying that Jesus’ life and ministry, death and resurrection has such a profound impact on our lives that there is no choice: the story must be told. We may respond like Zechariah with a ‘show me’ attitude; or we may respond like Mary, with an attitude of service, but Luke makes it clear that a response is in order. So as we approach our final days of preparation for the birth of God’s promise, this is something for each of us to ponder: how are we telling the Jesus story? How are we sharing the good news that God’s love is being birthed, and that the signs of that love are beyond counting. As you ponder those questions, I invite you to close your eyes, and listen to a poem that initially is designed as a call to worship:
*** [1]Unfortunately, I don’t know the source of this Call to Worship–it was tucked in one of my old files of Advent material, and it seemed especially fitting in relation to this sermon. It may have come from Seasons of the Spirit at some point. ~CLR |