Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday December 8, 2024 – Advent 2
Scripture: Luke 1:26-38
This is the second
week of a 4-week (plus Christmas Eve) story-telling series. Last week, Mary
told us how the beginning of Jesus’s story ended; over the next couple of weeks,
she will tell us how his story began.
Last week, I told you about how the beginning of Jesus’s story ended, on a cross on the hillside outside of Jerusalem. This week, I want to tell you how his story began.
I don’t know exactly when the story began. When I was a young girl, I used to love to run on another hillside, this one near my village of Nazareth. I watched the butterflies flitting among the flowers, and then I picked those flowers and brought them home to decorate my mother’s table. I loved to hear the birds calling to each other as they flew overhead. I used to make music there on the hillside, singing, and then dancing to the songs I made. My hair would always slip out of its braid, and I would feel the wind tugging at it, pulling me faster and further up the hillside.
I felt the most myself out there on the hillside, but the other place where I felt comfortable in my own skin was in the synagogue in our village. I used to go there with my parents, and I would watch the rabbis, the teachers, unroll the scrolls and read to us. I would hear the powerful words of the prophets, as they pointed the way back to God-Whose-Name-is-Holy. But I especially loved hearing the stories of our ancestors in faith.
I used to wonder what it would have been like to be Sarah, who baked bread to feed the angels, and then overheard the angels saying that she would have a child even though her years for bearing children were long past. I used to think that her laughter was the correct response, even when the teachers said that she should have been more respectful towards the messengers of God-Whose-Name-is-Holy.
I also used to wonder what it was like for Hagar, Sarah’s slave, who ran away into the desert when she found out that she was pregnant. You know – she encountered God-Whose-Name-is-Holy there in the desert, and she was the first person to ever give a name to the God who can’t be named – El Roi, God Who Sees. She trusted that, even in her distress, she was seen and cared for by the Holy One.
I used to wonder what it was like for Moses, to have spoken directly with God-Whose-Name-is-Holy who appeared in a burning bush. And I used to wonder what it was like for Miriam, Moses’s sister, to have trusted in the protection of God-Whose-Name-is-Holy when she placed her baby brother in a basket of reeds and set him adrift in the river.
I used to imagine that I was Deborah, one of the Judges, leading the army into war, seeing them trust in my leadership even though I was a mere woman.
I used to imagine myself into the sandals of all of my ancestors, wondering what it would be like to trust in God-Whose-Name-is-Holy, even when that trust meant risking everything.
On the day that the angel came to me, I was out on the hillside, rather than in the synagogue. I knew that my days for running with my hair loose were few in number, as my parents had arranged with the parents of Joseph, a family of carpenters, that we were to be married. I wasn’t upset with this arrangement – I had seen Joseph in the synagogue of course, and working around the village. He had kind eyes, and once I had seen him making a walking stick for a child with a lame foot. I knew that ours would be a happy home, but I also knew that once I had a home of my own to tend and children to look after, I wouldn’t have the freedom to sing with the birds on the hillside, or gather flowers for a table bouquet. So I was savouring every moment I could spend out there.
There are stories in our scriptures about angels, or the messengers of God-Whose-Name-is-Holy. Sometimes they are described as looking like ordinary humans, like the three angels who appeared to Abraham and Sarah under the oak trees of Mamre. But sometimes the angels are downright terrifying – the 6-winged serpents flying around the throne of the Holy One that the Prophet Isaiah witnessed, or the wheels and eyes and flames in the vision of the Prophet Ezekiel.
When the angel appeared to me, I knew at once that it was an angel, but I can’t for the life of me describe what it looked like. I know that there was a light so bright that I couldn’t look directly at it. I know that there was movement, but I couldn’t tell you if it moved like a human or like a bird or like a fish. The angel spoke to me, but again I can’t describe its voice – it reminded me of a bell ringing, or the sound of water dancing over stones in a stream, but at the same time I could understand exactly what it was saying.
What I do know for certain is how I was feeling. When I met the angel, I was both terrified of this other-worldly creature, but also filled with a deep sense of love that was coming from it. It felt as though time was standing still, like the world outside of our little bubble was melting away.
The angel must have sensed my terror, because the first words I heard were “Don’t be afraid.” But then the next words only served to heighten my fear. The angel told me that I had been chosen by God-Whose-Name-is-Holy to carry the Son of God within my body, and then to give birth and raise this son as my own.
If this were to come to pass, what would Joseph say? He would surely not want to marry a girl who was carrying a child not his own. What would my parents say? The story I would have to tell them would be beyond belief. What would the neighbours say?
And yet, in that moment, I remembered all of my ancestors in faith, and everything that they had risked because they trusted in God-Whose-Name-is-Holy. I remembered Ruth, leaving her home and her people to make a home in a new land. I remembered Joseph, sold into slavery by his brothers, but who trusted that God-Whose-Name-is-Holy would keep him safe. I remembered the midwives, Shiphrah and Puah, who dared to lie to the Pharoah to keep their people safe.
And so, with all of the strength of my ancestors behind me, I dared to say “yes” to the Holy One. I said to this messenger, “Let it be with me, according to your word.” I didn’t know why I, of all people, had been chosen. I didn’t know what my future would hold. I didn’t even know if I would survive to carry this child to birth – after all, the punishment for adultery is stoning – and I didn’t know if I would survive the birth itself. But I did know that God-Whose-Name-is-Holy was with me, and that no matter what happened in my life, Their plans were greater than anything I could ever imagine.
Have you ever had a similar moment in your life? A time when you’ve had to take a leap of faith into the unknown, not knowing where you would land, but trusting that God-Whose-Name-is-Holy would catch you? It is terrifying and exciting, both in equal measure.
My story isn’t over yet – I’ve got so much more to tell you – but my voice is tired now and I need to rest. I do hope that you will come back another time to listen to more of my story.
Wildflowers in Galilee
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