Last week, brothers and sisters, we talked a bit about John the Baptist,
the witness, herald, and forerunner of Jesus.
I noted that John disappears into his testimony,
just as a priest disappears into the mass,
just as each one of us disappears into his or her own unique vocation from God.
Today, on this fourth and final Sunday of Advent, we see the same thing happening with Mary.
Her whole being is taken up into her “Yes” to God.
She gives herself over to her vocation as the God-bearer.
Full of grace, she allows the Word to become flesh.
It’s no wonder Francis of Assisi called her the Virgin-made-Church.
The story begins in obscurity.
Mary is a young peasant girl, in a backwater province of Rome.
Her people have long been subject to this or that Empire:
Babylon, Persia, and Egypt, to name a few.
The Romans are only the latest in a long, long line of conquerors.
And yet, for all their poverty and subjugation, the Jews remember a proud history.
After all, they are the children of Israel and the People of God.
They are redeemed slaves, chosen for freedom.
To them belongs the covenant.
To them belongs the dangerous memory of a liberator God.
To them, God sent his servants the prophets.
Mary is the humble daughter of a royal priesthood,
and she is waiting for the sure and certain promises of God.
At the end of a long famine of prophecy, she is starving for the Word.
And then one day, finally, the angel Gabriel appears to her.
But how?
How does this happen?
Does it happen in a flash with a voice of thunder?
Does it happen, perhaps, in radiant beauty that dazzles her mind?
Or does it happen instead in the still, small voice within?
We don’t know and never will. The Scriptures are silent. All they tell us is that he came.
Greetings, highly favored one, he says, and Mary is perplexed and afraid.
Fear not, he says, yet his glad tidings only deepen her fears.
Fear not? she asks. Really?
Pregnant? she asks. Me?
How can this be, since I know not a man?
And then comes Gabriel’s answer:
The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the
child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God.
And Mary responds with the Yes that defines her whole being.
She consents to be the Mother of God—and of every living thing.
Here I am. Let it be unto me according to thy Word.
Deep within her womb, hidden from view, Mary knows the coming of Christ.
In the grace of her Son, she embraces the promises of God for the whole human family.
Here I am, she says, Let it be.
The lynchpin of the Annunciation story is the mystery of grace and freedom.
The two come together in Mary.
For, in the power of the Spirit, she is at once an overflowing vessel of divine grace and her very own self.
She is given herself in receiving the Word.
She becomes herself by giving him flesh.
She shows that when we depend on God, we lose nothing and gain everything.
That, by losing our life, we find it.
By accepting her calling from God, Mary makes possible the very life of Christ.
She offers him up, like a priest at the altar, for the life of the world.
God makes the Kingdom hang by the thread of her choice--
her free choice to say yes to grace, yes to Jesus, yes to God.
For, when grace and freedom meet in Mary, the Word becomes flesh,
and Mother Church sings joyful songs of revolution.
The Spirit falls on Mary, and her tongue is set loose for prophecy.
In the power of the Spirit of love and justice,
the very same Spirit that rests on her Son,
Mary speaks of God and God’s Kingdom.
For God is present here,
in the fruit of her womb, Jesus.
And, where God is present,
the proud are scattered,
the mighty cast down,
and the lowly lifted up.
Where God is present,
the hungry are fed,
and the rich are sent empty away.
And this Gospel has spread from the backstreets to the great cities and capitals of Empire.
It has been proclaimed to all people, everywhere.
It has been preached from one end of the earth to the other.
It is Good News for our inner cities.
It is Good News for our burned out, post-industrial towns.
It is Good News for our rural places--
For our abused, forgotten, exploited places
For the mined, drilled, and scorched land of Appalachia
And the people who call this land our home.
It is Good News wherever people are lonely, or desperate, or grieving, or hurting, or afraid.
For the Mighty God has come to us.
He has shown us the strength of his arm
In this humble peasant girl, and her subversive song of freedom.
For God is with us
in this girl who gives herself over to a word of hope--
That God has remembered his promise of mercy,
That his arm is strong, and his Name is holy.
And so, with Mary, and all the saints, we lay claim to this promise.
We remember, we sing out, and we rejoice.
We give ourselves over to God’s purpose, God’s will, God’s Kingdom
And we say, Yes!
Yes, Lord, Yes!
Let it be!
0 comments:
Post a Comment