I’ll never forget that first ultrasound—such
an amazing experience, seeing that shape inside my wife’s body of our daughter
to come. But being a musically oriented person, even less forgettable to me is
the first sound of her heartbeat. I had a newfangled digital recorder in those
days, so I asked for silence in the room and made a one-minute recording: swoosh, swoosh, swoosh, swoosh. Of
course, I still have that mp3 stored on my computer: a sound that would
otherwise go unnoticed, magnified. A vision that nobody on the outside could see,
magnified.
“My soul magnifies the Lord.” What does it
mean for Mary’s soul to magnify the Lord? The Greek word can mean simply to
praise or to honor. But it can also mean to enlarge. Mary helps us see God
close up—like a magnifying glass. Mary’s obvious pregnancy is a sign of what we
can’t yet see. Mary’s youth, humility, and vulnerability are where God chooses
to set up camp.
Today the psalmist gives us words we can use
to ask for help: “Restore us, O God of hosts!” We ask for God to arrive and
rescue us. The prophet Micah points us to Bethlehem specifically. And then we
hear a story of how we can expect God to arrive: in the most unexpected way.
It’s not like we didn’t have hints before. Our
spiritual ancestors found God on mountaintops where there was no one else around,
and in the wilderness during their worst hunger pangs. They found God in stories,
and they found God in dreams—in the strangers seeking welcome, and in a
surprise overnight wrestling match. Elijah found God not in wind, earthquake, or
fire, but only in the sheer silence that followed.
Sure, there were also times when our
ancestors found God in the spectacular and undeniable: in a worldwide flood, in
deathly plagues, in the parting of the sea, in the tumbling of city walls, and
in the grandest of temples. But they also found God in the midwife resistance
of Egypt, in a talking donkey, in the healing of foreign generals, in the
feeding of foreign widows, and in a valley of dry bones.
Jeremiah heard God telling him to bury his
dirty underwear, to dig it up after a month, and then to tell the people that
they were like it. Hosea heard God telling him to marry a prostitute and to give
their children insulting names, and then to tell the people that they were like
that. When God is around, you cannot expect to be flattered or coddled. But you
can definitely expect to be surprised and challenged, and nevertheless to find
comfort inside the challenge!
Did all of this run through Mary’s mind that
day when the angel showed up? Surely she already knew of God’s penchant for
enabling unexpected pregnancies. But those usually happened on the other side
of 40, or even 90. And they never happened to girls who weren’t even trying to get pregnant!
When Mary finally got to Elizabeth’s house to
share the news with her elderly cousin, she could have just sung a song about
how good God had been to her personally. Her song begins: “My soul magnifies
the Lord.” But it doesn’t stay there. Mary’s song is a song of apocalypse and
justice. Mary’s song pits God against the proud, the rich, and the powerful. Mary
recognizes that God has stuck by her people all along, and that even when it
doesn’t look like God is with them, faith tells her that God is just around the
corner—hiding in a place you’d never suspect. If rich people are still oppressing
the poor, if tyrants are still scoring victories, if money still talks and
crime still pays, then the story isn’t over yet!
And Mary has the proof—right there in her
young body. She can feel God growing inside her, little reptilian-esque buds
turning to human fingers and toes, a tiny heartbeat quickening with a life that
resists the deadly world around it. Cradled in Mary’s uterus is the creator of
creation, the one who stands on the side of those who live against the odds. How
many fetuses make it to birth? How many babies make it to adolescence? How
small is the chance that this unborn child will become an adult, someone of
will and influence? All the uncertainty of pregnancy in the ancient world
belongs to Mary. Yet so does a messenger’s incredible reassurance: “Greetings,
favored one! The Lord is with you.”
And so one body has become two. Mary has put
her body on the line for God with the words, “Here am I, the servant of the
Lord.” And now God offers his very own body to Mary and to the world—a
sacrifice to us. If God knows all and
sees all, then God sacrifices these things to be among us—an offering to us. Love is nothing if not self-giving.
“Here,” says God. “I literally give you myself, in the flesh. Yes, I have always
given myself to you in so many ways, and many have seen and recognized me. I
have made daily visitations to all of you. But I don’t want just to visit. I
want to move in with you. Here: I pour myself out to you.”
Jesus is offered in the womb long before he offers
himself on the cross. His is a life unasked for—the ultimate unwanted
pregnancy. He just shows up: “Greetings and salutations!” Nothing we do can
keep him from arriving in our world.
Later in the story, we will ask him to leave, not just
impolitely, but violently. All the worst impulses of humankind will fall on
him, to beat him, to mock him, and finally to kill him. But even that won’t
keep him away. He’ll just show up again: “Greetings and salutations!”
It seems we can’t prevent God using even the
most stringent form of birth control. And it seems we can’t make God stay away,
either. If Jesus is God in the flesh, then God is indeed making the divine home
here among mortals—and plans to stay awhile. Forever if necessary. Until we all come to the knowledge and love of
the One who created us!
So the Creator of the Universe will keep showing
up wherever we least expect, and so
inconveniently! She’ll show up on Pentecost, in flames of fire that speak and
understand all the languages we can devise. He’ll show up to strengthen the
martyrs as they suffer torture and death in the Roman arenas. She’ll appear to
mystics like Hildegard and Julian in a cloud of unknowing. He’ll appear to St.
Francis in the birds and in the beggars. She’ll serve as muse for the great
writers and musicians. He’ll drive the abolitionists to expand the definition
of freedom. She’ll guide the suffragettes to seek equality, and he’ll march
alongside Martin. She’ll take every opportunity to call bishops and kings up
short. He’ll appear in tents in the woods and question our priorities. They’ll
appear in our churches and in our families and question our categories and our
pronouns.
God will just keep showing up—whether we’re
ready or not. Wherever you see that the small are doing mighty things, that the
sidelined are standing up to those who would exploit them, that the humble are exerting
a quiet influence that the pompous cannot match … that’s where God is. The home
of God is truly among mortals!
And you can also count on God showing up here
today as we come to the table. God came into a human body, and now we will
welcome God into our bodies as well, to strengthen and nourish us, to give us
eyes to see and ears to hear.
Join us here again tomorrow night to welcome
Christmas. Welcome Christ into the world with all your heart. Just don’t expect
it to happen in a neat and tidy way, but in a way that challenges us all to
grow and also provides comfort in the challenge … as if we ourselves are
pregnant with all the possibilities of Love. Amen.
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