Sunday, Dec. 9, 8:30 - 2nd Sunday of Advent
So I’m back at White Rock Lake. It’s been another hard week of sermon writing. Why would God choose me to be a pastor when I have such strong writing anxiety? I’ve been back and forth, in and out of this sermon like a piece of salt water taffy. It’s been terrorizing. And on Tuesday, with only five days left to go, the pressure had built up. I was a faucet of emotion and had to get away. So here I am, sitting on a bench at the lake, staring out over the water, the birthing pangs of writing are subsiding, and I’m just still. And what to my wondering eye do I see but an adventurous dauschund and his owner. Now you have to understand, dauschunds are my very favorite dogs, really like an obsession for me. My parents have two, and my best friend who got me started on this obsession sends me pajamas with dauschhunds, cards with dauschunds, jewelry with dauschhunds. So, I’m like “Okay, God, you’re showing off now. I get it, I get it. You’re here.” The dog owner says to me, “Is this your place of solitude?” “Yes, I reply,” and then she just sort of leaves me be but can tell that I’m getting extreme pleasure watching her dog explore.
The greatest gift in coming to this lake was getting space—clearing my mind, making room. And this woman allowed me to have that space with her own concern and presence. The dauschhund led her far away and then back my way and asked, “Are you having a hard day?” I said, “Yes,” and then she said, “Well, I hope your day gets better.” I said, “It already has.”
Amidst my heavy labor and forthcoming sermon delivery, I encountered a heavenly messenger. Two heavenly messengers.
See, for me, writing a sermon is something akin to the birthing cycle. There’s this long gestation period but unfortunately little activity. I have a hard time turning ideas from inside into words out there. And when it finally does come, there is much pain involved—but there is such a rush of joy after the delivery.
Let me tell you another story, one with greater agony, where being pregnant with the Word was a daily challenge. It’s the story of Mary, the mother of Jesus. Allow me some creative license to imagine Mary at the threshold of what was about to be the strangest and greatest gift of her life.
She was about to take a break from her afternoon chores of taking clothes off the line, preparing the bread for the nightly meal. She had been waiting all day for the chance to sit down and look through the latest Modern Bride magazine that she just bought down at the Nazareth corner store. See, she had just gotten engaged. She was betrothed to this man named Joseph. She was ecstatic, but more than excitement, she just sensed a great calm with him. She knew they would have a special marriage together, that they would make a difference somehow.
Then the holy encountered her. She jumped back as she saw an angel in light. Then words that sounded completely foreign. “Greetings, favored one. The Lord is with you. You will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great. … .” At this point Mary probably spaced out and didn’t hear much of the last part. Her mind was stuck on “conceive in your womb.” A sense of nausea came over her. She tried to hear the last words, “For nothing is impossible with God.” She was held by this incredible tension of fear and love, but finding strength in the moment, she responds, “Here am I, let it be with me according to your word.”
I can see Mary lying down, though days later, when she doesn’t feel as strong, holding her stomach while lying in the fetal position. This can’t be. “No,” she rages in her mind. “This is not how it’s supposed to happen. I had plans. We weren’t even sure we wanted children. Even if we did, we wanted to wait for several years. I’ll be despised. No one will look me in the eye. I’ll be the center of shame, or worse, death. Joseph will never understand. My parents will disown me. I don’t know if I have the strength to bear this child, whoever it is. Why would God do this to me? Why would he choose me?” She questions everything; thoughts of dresses and flowers have long left her. But the words spoken by faith had come out of her mouth. She was willing to have this baby.
Mary decided to visit her cousin. Maybe Elizabeth could make some sense of this. She knew she needed someone to share her most intimate thoughts with. After arriving there, she couldn’t help but think, “What child is this? That even my cousin’s unborn child is leaping at the sound of my voice. This is all so strange.”
I imagine that the gestation period for Mary wasn’t easy. Every day, as her belly began to swell, she must have wondered if there was another way. She may have wondered how she would do as a parent, especially for this child.
But, I believe, at multiple times in her pregnancy, Mary came back to the words that she spoke to the angel: “Here am I, your servant girl.” She must have reconnected to her calling and trusted that she was not the one bringing this miracle to pass.
See, this is the beautiful thing—the baby was growing inside her, despite her doubts, despite any efforts or lack of effort on her part. Interesting. It’s as if we don’t actually do any of the growing part. It’s not like the fetus says, “Can you give me a hand here? I’m trying to get together.” This baby grows by God’s power. You may say, ”But we take prenatal vitamins, have sonograms. But it’s interesting that there was a time that none of that was available, and healthy babies were still born.
See, Mary couldn’t create this baby herself, limb by limb. But the greatest gift she gave was her womb and her faith. That’s all God required. God did the rest.
These are powerful words to me. These are powerful words to me when I’m trying to birth a sermon and all I feel is labor pains. I’m reminded that God is already inside me, growing, working—even without my help!
We are all like this, because when we receive the seed of Christ, he begins to grow within us. Interesting image, huh? That Christ is being formed inside of you slowly and the gestation period can be fraught with some anxiety, but eventually we are to bring it into the world. This was Mary’s story, but it is also ours. Our greatest gift to Christ is also our womb—our soul—giving him space to develop, to grow.
Giving space means giving presence—giving attention to the God within us and within others. We do this in prayer, listening quietly to the God who is speaking to us. This is our calling, and we can only do it by faith. Because we don’ t actually see what’s growing inside of us.
Think of Mary. She had been given a gift, maybe an unwanted gift at first. When she said yes to the journey, she didn’t know how far it would go or where it would take her. Like other expectant mothers, she experienced a lot of unknowns. They don’t know exactly what child this will be. They don’t know when and where they will deliver—it can’t be predicted. This whole process requires great faith. They don’t know what IQ she will have or if he will have trouble socializing at school or have any physical disabilities, but there’s this incredible trust and attachment without any proof of the child’s worthiness. . .
All that is required is a womb and faith.
There wasn’t a time when these words were truer than when I was a hospital chaplain. The greatest gift I ever gave my patients was not my theory on why do bad things happen to people or even my conversation. My greatest gift was holding out space for them—a womblike space—where they felt safe, comforted, free to speak whatever was on their minds. It wasn’t my great words; it was my presence, just offering up sacred space.
We, like Mary, are walking in faith trusting the Messenger—trusting that the message is a gift even if it’s one we don’t understand at first. We have been given a mysterious blessing. We don’t know where all the roads are going to lead. Maybe they’ll lead to a manger. Maybe they’ll lead us in search of something we can’t find at first. This path requires a granite faith.
But remember, Mary’s faith didn’t come without doubt. Just think how many times she asked, “What child is this?” Even the Scripture reports her asking the angel a question: “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” but this is not evidence of lack of faith. For Elizabeth says to her during their visit, “Blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what had been spoken to her by the Lord.”
This is what the season of advent is about. Like Mary, who was waiting, sometimes, I’m sure, in fear, we too are in a period of waiting. We feel the kicking and stirring inside of us too, and we are asked in faith, to just be, just be right now. That’s the goal of our worship here, to create a sacred space so you can experience God. God says, “Just open yourself up to me. I have something to teach you, but I will need a space to put it in.”
It’s so countercultural to think, that something great could happen without our active hands-on work. To think that maybe God’s calling you to stop working so hard, stop shopping so long, stop running around from place to place. Sometimes we get in our heads that it’s up to us to make Christmas come. I see the Spirit coming to us this advent season and saying instead, z’rest for a while. Lie down, hold your stomach if you have to, feel what’s inside. There’s something beyond you that’s in you. It’s there if you will provide the space.”
Perhaps our greatest gifts with the greatest impact are those small spaces between this step and the next, which you never thought were possible to reach. Maybe it’s not offering our greatest skills, gifts, abilities, and possessions. The Wise Men brought gifts of what we would consider great monetary worth; Mary offered only space, love, and faith.
And then think of the enormous impact of giving that space. She delivers Christ who delivers us.[1]
Blessed are all those who believe that there will be fulfillment of what is spoken to them by the angelic messengers of grace.[2]
For do not fear; you have found favor with God.
Let us give space this Advent and walk in faith with Mary, saying, “Here I am, your servant. Let it be with me according to your word.” Amen.
[1] Ross-Gotta, Loretta, “To Be Virgin,” Watch for the Light (Maryknoll, New York: Orbis, 2001).
under the chosen Sunday to hear choral anthem or special music [You need Real Player to hear music]
under the chosen Sunday to hear audio of sermon (mp3 format) (beginning March 11, 2007).
--need Real Player].
(214) 452-3100