"Blessed is She" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday December 15 – 3^rd Sunday in Advent
Scripture:  Luke 1:39-45

This is the third week of a 4-week (plus Christmas Eve) story-telling series. Two weeks ago, Mary told us how the beginning of Jesus’s story ended; last week she spoke about the beginning of the beginning of his story; her story continues this week

 

Two weeks ago, I told you about my boy Jesus, and how the beginning of his story  ended on a cross on a hill outside of Jerusalem.  Then last week I told you about the beginning of the beginning of his story, about how an angel, a messenger from God-Whose-Name-is-Holy appeared to me and told me that I had been chosen to carry the son of God within my body, then birth him and raise him as my own.

 

I said “yes” to the angel, even though I didn’t know what my future would hold as a result of that “yes.”  But I trusted that God-Whose-Name-is-Holy was with me.

 

And I felt the Holy Presence surrounding me as I told my parents what had happened.  They were upset, as you can well understand.  The punishment for a woman caught in adultery is stoning, and my father told me that even if they believed my story, and it was a big “if,” even if they believed my story, there was no way that they would be able to convince all of the neighbours once it became known that I was expecting a child.  My mother took to her room, ashamed to look at me, and ashamed to be seen by the neighbours.

 

But the Holy Presence gave me courage and filled my heart with peace.  Even if nobody else believed my story, I knew what had happened out there on the hillside.  I treasured the words of the angel in my heart.

 

Now, at this point in my story, I need to tell you about my kinswoman Elizabeth.  She lives a 4-day walk from here with her husband Zechariah, not too far from the holy city of Jerusalem where Zechariah is a priest in the temple of God-Whose-Name-is-Holy.  Elizabeth and Zechariah never had any children, and they were both old – even older than my parents – though not as old as I am now, standing here telling you my story.  But a strange story had reached our ears that Elizabeth was now carrying a child, and Zechariah was no longer able to speak.

 

I was curious to know what had happened.  Elizabeth had always been kind to me when we stayed with them on our way to or from the temple.  It was almost like she was a bonus mother to me, and I was the child that she had never been able to have.

 

I told my parents that I wanted to visit them, and they were still upset and angry with me, and they said to me, “Go!  And if misfortune falls on you on the road, so be it.”  I wasn’t worried – I knew that I was smart and strong and capable of keeping myself safe.  And so I went.

 

I knew that they were going to be speaking to the family of Joseph, my betrothed, while I was gone.  Joseph and his family, they weren’t going to be happy, and the engagement was surely going to be called off.  Maybe it would be better for me to stay away for a couple of months to let the emotions settle down.

 

I was safe on the road, as I knew that I would be.  It was easy walking – I was fortunate not to encounter any rain, but the heat and dust of full summer hadn’t arrived yet.  The weather was starting to warm up, at least in the daytime, and I was able to stay safely with family members each night on the road.  And oh, the flowers.  April is always the loveliest season of the year if you like flowers.  My favourites are the almond tree blossoms, but they had already finished for the year, but the fields that I passed were fully of poppies, and chrysanthemums, and lupines, and wild mustard.

 

When I arrived at Elizabeth’s house, she came running out to greet me. She would have had no way to know that I was coming, but I was welcomed in with literally open arms.  And with one glance at her belly, I knew that the rumours that had reached us were true.

 

There we were, two women, one too old and too barren, the other too young and too unmarried, yet both of us were carrying babies within our bodies.  We were both of us laughing, and yet with tears streaming down our faces, as we embraced each other in front of her house.  For we were both carrying babies made possible by God-whose-name-is-Holy.

 

Elizabeth told me her story as we made our way into their home and sipped at the glasses of wine that were brought to us.  Her husband, Zechariah, had been serving in the temple and was in the Holy of Holies right at the heart of the temple, as close as it is possible to get to God-Whose-Name-Is-Holy.  And when he was there, an angel, a messenger from God-Whose-Name-is-Holy, appeared and told him that they were finally going to have their longed-for child.  But when Zechariah didn’t believe the angel because Elizabeth was too old for this to be possible, the angel took his voice, and he hasn’t said a word since.  He has been moving about the house like a silent ghost ever since.

 

But don’t worry – Elizabeth and I more than made up for Zechariah’s silence!  After she shared her story with me, I shared my story with her, another story about an angel, and we puzzled about what new thing God-Whose-Name-is-Holy might be doing in the world with all of these angels and miracles.  Why, it almost felt like the earth itself was pregnant, and something new was waiting to be born into it.

 

And as we sat there in the courtyard, watching the sun slowly setting, all of a sudden Elizabeth gave a cry that sounded somewhere between terror and delight.  She had told me that she had started to feel her baby moving a few weeks earlier a little bit like the feeling of you get after a good meal; but now she grabbed my arm and placed my hand on my belly.  Underneath my hand, I felt her baby dancing – I swear, I could almost make out tiny hands and feet.

 

And with my hand on her belly, Elizabeth began to sing.  She sang:

Blessed are you among women!

Blessed is the fruit of your womb!

And why has this happened to me,

         that the mother of my Lord comes to me?

Even my child in my womb leaps for joy!

And blessed is she who trusted in the Lord.

 

We had so much to ponder, Elizabeth and I, as we sat together in her courtyard and as the darkness gathered and the night embraced us – the words of the angels, the words of her song, the miracles unfolding around us.  But there is still more to tell, and her song wasn’t the last song to be sung that day.  I had a song inside of me to sing, and I want to tell you about that song. My story isn’t over yet!

 

 

“Visitation”

Church of St. Elizabeth, El Sitio, El Salvador

Used with permission