A sermon by Associate Minister Elsa A. Peters, December 14, 2008
Luke 1:39-56
“Normally speaking, matters having to do with the womb are not talked about in public.” I didn’t need to read a Biblical commentary to know that. Even as all of my friends’ waists are bursting with new life, we don’t talk about it. We don’t talk about their weight gain or how it feels to have something moving inside you. We don’t talk about the cravings or the hormones. We just don’t talk about it. Because normally speaking, you don’t talk about these things in public. Normally speaking, this is the way things are. Except for Mary.
An angel has appeared. An angel told Mary that her cousin is also pregnant. And so, Mary doesn’t waste any time. She hurries to her cousin’s side, which normally speaking wouldn’t have been wise. No woman, especially not a young pregnant woman, should travel alone through hill country. Normally speaking, this isn’t appropriate behavior. Except for Mary. Mary seems to think that her son – the son that has yet to be born – is “clearly capable of warding off evil.”
Normally speaking, I would furrow my brow if any one of my pregnant girlfriend’s made this claim. Your unborn baby can ward off evil? It sounds crazy. It is crazy. Except for Mary. Mary knows that something different is happening here. An angel just appeared to her. Something very different is happening here. Normally speaking, women don’t behave this way. They don’t travel by themselves and they don’t talk about their wombs. It’s just not normal. Now, travel is one thing. Her haste to visit Elizabeth may explain why Mary doesn’t protest when she must journey to Bethlehem by Emperor Augustus’ decree. Luke doesn’t actually say that she traveled on a donkey that whole 70 miles, but perhaps Mary rushed there too.
But, really, it’s the “women’s talk” that’s really different. This is stuff that’s “usually kept carefully within the private circle.” Except for Mary. But not even Luke dismisses Mary. He gives her the stage. And so, she sings without anyone correcting her, as Luke is prone to do when other women speak in this gospel. Mary sings familiar words about her soul and her God until her song speaks of God’s promise, until she sings:
God has shown strength with his arm;
God has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
God has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
and lifted up the lowly;
God has filled the hungry with good things,
and sent the rich away empty.
This is the promise that Mary cherishes in her heart. It is a hope for this world. It is the change that this world – here and now – so desperately needs. This young pregnant girl sings of a world that scatters the proud, brings down the powerful, lifts up the lowly, fills the hungry and sends the rich away empty.
No wonder Elizabeth releases a loud cry when her cousin arrives! It’s not just the hormones. It’s the sound of her greeting. That’s what Elizabeth says. The child in my womb leaps for joy because of that sound. The sound of your greeting. Still, I wonder what that sound was. What sound did Mary make? What is the sound that connects two friends? Is it like hearing the phone ring and knowing who’s on the other end? Or is it the surprise of an old friend’s “Hello” that elicits laughter from somewhere in your gut before you can even manage to reply? What is that sound that so delights Elizabeth?
At the Soup Kitchen last week, I saw a church member that I hadn’t seen in a while. I asked about her family and she asked how things have been for me. It made me pause. You know, when someone asks you how you are and you actually stop to ask yourself, Wait. How am I? How do I answer that? And beach I stopped and actually thought about it, I didn’t offer one of those automatic answers, like “fine” or “good.” I told her things at church are going well, but what’s really great is that I’ve started to feel at home here in Portland. This church member made her own conclusions about this, but I was actually reflecting on the joy of friendship. I have found a circle of girlfriends. This may sound silly. It might sound trivial, but these are amazing women. They give me strength. They laugh with me, and occasionally at me. They are the kinds of friends that call at the end of a long day just to ask how you are, because somehow they know that I had a long day.
In their friendship, I remember why church matters to me. It’s not the committee work or the mission we share that matters. Instead, church is where I first discovered the power of relationship. It was the first place where I didn’t have to pretend that everything was OK after my mother died. It was the first place that I didn’t have to act strong but could ask questions. It was the place where I heard that sound. The sound of your greeting. The sound that Elizabeth heard. Normally speaking, you might not hear the proud being scattered or the lowly being lifted up, but I did. When I went to church as a little girl, I heard it. I heard it in the simple question that someone asked me at coffee hour: How are you?
And I could answer honestly – even though there are certain topics that are usually kept carefully within the private circle. Those things that we keep them to ourselves. Those things that we’re not supposed about to talk about them in public. Except for Mary. She pushes the conversations carefully kept in the private circle into the public. Mary sings about things hoped for, things to fear, and the things that send the rich away empty. She doesn’t answer polite questions with polite answers. She doesn’t omit the complicated details. Mary replies to her cousin’s exclamation with a statement of her faith and so I can only imagine what the first sound may have been.
That’s why I believe Mary rushed to Elizabeth’s side. It doesn’t sound quite so crazy to travel across hill country if your journey takes you to the only person who can hear you. It’s not just women’s talk, but the sound of a greeting – the sound of joy that you hear among good friends, friends that are like a family, friends like you find in church. It’s with those friends that the private conversations can become public. You don’t have to hide. You don’t have to act strong. You can tell the truth and sing the song of your faith just because someone asked: How are you?
It’s a good question to ask in this season when so many of us want Christmas to be meaningful, but somehow we end up at the Maine Mall or with a to-do list that seems longer than Santa’s naughty list. Sometimes we’re glad to just survive this season, or so claims the Advent Conspiracy (http://www.adventconspiracy.org/). It’s a movement with a catchy name that started with four churches that decided to embrace the season by spending less and giving more. Their challenge to Christians across our country is to give your time. Talk. Eat. Sled. Bake. Read. Play. Create. Together. That’s the miracle. That’s our miracle. That’s what we’re waiting for: the sound of your greeting.
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Insights gained by:
Bruce J. Malina and Richard L. Rohrbaugh, Social Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2003).
Jane Schaberg, “Luke” in Women’s Bible Commentary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1998).