O come, O come, Emmanuel. Amen.
Advent
calls us to pay attention. Whether it is Jesus or John the Baptist, the message
of this season is to focus. There are so many distractions this time of year:
lists running through our heads, an overbooked social calendar, and stress about
year-end budgets. It can be easy to miss the important things. And it doesn’t
help that this passage from Luke is a familiar one, so it could be easy to
gloss over it. But this morning, I’d like to pay close attention to our Gospel text.
This
part of the story is often referred to as “the Visitation.” As you’ll recall
from the Second Sunday of Advent, Elizabeth and Zechariah were an older couple
who had been unable to have children. But the angel Gabriel comes to them and
announces that they will, indeed, have a son. This child, John, would be the
one to prepare the way of the coming Messiah. As our text this morning begins,
Mary sets out with great haste to visit with her relative, Elizabeth. The
distance between the two was about 90 miles, so it’s not like Mary was just visiting
a relative down the street. Why does Mary go to Elizabeth? Is it to compare notes
about the angelic visitor? Is it to flee from the shame of being an unwed
mother? Is it to share with her in joy? We don’t know; the Bible doesn’t tell
us what Mary’s motivation was. But 90 miles is a long way to go, but it speaks
to the importance of having friends – someone you can share your hopes and fears
with, someone who will listen before they will judge. I know that often this
time of year, we all have those debates in our minds – “do I need to buy this
friend a gift?” Perhaps the greatest gift is just to let that person know how
dear they are to you, as Elizabeth greets Mary with words of joy.
When
they saw each other, John the Baptist lept with joy in Elizabeth’s womb. It is
a reminder that we often see God in each other. Sure, you might have a sense of
the Divine when you see a beautiful sunset, but if you’re like me, you more
often see the Divine in the joy of laughter with a friend, the comfort of
shoulder to cry on, or the service of others. Our faith proclaims that joy can
be found anywhere that God is. Joy can break out during a financial recession,
on a battlefield, or in a hospital waiting room. Though a situation can be
fearful and gloomy, if we invite God into it, joy can still be found. And this
is the great example of Mary – her openness. Mary plays a central role in the story
of God’s salvation, not because of who she is or because of some skill that she
possesses, but rather because of her openness to God. Let Mary’s example be one
that we always carry in our hearts, that we don’t have to be qualified, or
confident, or certain, we just have to be open.
I
think that Mary and Elizabeth’s model is a great one for us. Notice that they
don’t debate, or teach, or preach, they sing. Just as Zechariah did a few weeks
ago, Mary sings. Her song is known as the Magnificat. We all know that there
are times where words alone just won’t do, sometimes we need music. It has been
said that “music is the shorthand of emotion” and that “music is what language would
love to be if it could.” Music is able to capture things that words alone
cannot. And I am privileged to see this – I see the way that music moves you. Regardless
of what baggage you come into this church with, I have seen music put a spring
in your step, and I have seen music move you to tears.
John Milton once wrote “There
let the pealing organ blow, to the full voiced choir below. In service high and
anthems clear, as may with sweetness through mine ear, dissolve me into ecstasies
and bring heaven before my eyes.” That is the power of music to unite heaven to
earth, to join our voices with those who have filled these pews in previous
generations and those who will come after us. St. Augustine is known for saying
“when you sing, you pray twice.” The beauty of music is, in itself, a prayer
offered to God. The power of song should never be overlooked. Songs of lament
express our grief and fear, and also strip those emotions of their power to
dominate us. It was song that sustained
slaves in the cotton fields, it was song empowered those marching for civil
rights, and when our hearts are full of joy, song is the only way to express
it. So, today, we give God thanks for the gift of music.
Songs, though, can also
be subversive. In the 1980s, in Apartheid-era Pretoria, South Africa, the authorities
banned the use of candles and carols. When a member of the press asked why, a
politician said “You know how emotional women are. You let a poor Jewish woman
like Mary sing, or a black mother in Soweto sing, and you don’t know where it
might lead.” Or consider a story that comes out of East Berlin before the Wall
fell. There was a group that gathered each night at a church to sing songs of
protest and hope. The police commissioner was asked why he didn’t squash that
protest, as he had dozens of others. He said “We had no contingency plan for
songs.” Mary’s song is no lullaby, it is a battle cry.
CS Lewis once called the
Magnificat a “terrible” song, using the word “terrible” in the sense of “dreadful”
or “frightful.” Indeed, Mary’s song shakes the very foundations of the world. The
Magnificat turns everything upside down. Even the storyline challenges all of
our assumptions. If you read through the Bible, there are a few narrative arcs
that are repeated – and of the most common is that of the faithful, but barren
older woman becoming pregnant to bear a son who will become a savior figure. Abraham,
Hannah, and Elizabeth are just a few examples. But Mary changes the pattern,
she is not an old woman, but a young girl. Everything about Mary subverts the
order of the world.
The Magnificat has two
movements. In the first, Mary expresses praise for what God has done for and
through her. Like other songs in the Bible, Mary starts by recounting how God
has been active. As we’re ready to turn the page on another year, it might be
helpful to sit down and write down the places that you have noticed God in your
life. Where have you seen God’s salvation? Where have you, unexpectedly, found
joy?
In the second movement of
the Magnificat, Mary speaks of the reversals that are hallmarks of God’s
salvation. The Bible makes it clear that God favors the lowly. God works among
all of us – rich and poor, young and old, those at the top and those at the
bottom. But, at least in Scripture, God works through the lowly. Being lowly is
synonymous with being oppressed or in misery. Later in Luke, Jesus will articulate
this preferential treatment of the lowly when he says “Blessed are the poor,
blessed are the hungry, blessed are those who weep, blessed are the persecuted.”
Mary’s song is a song of protest against the injustices of the world.
Do we dare join in
singing with her? Mary did what most of us do, she took a good idea and built
on it. The Magnificat is noticeably influenced by the Song of Hannah from the
book of First Samuel, and Mary draws on imagery from other Biblical stories in
her singing. Mary’s situation was not identical to Hannah’s, but she continued
singing her song. We are invited this Advent to sing Mary’s song in our own
time. So even if you are older than Mary was, you can sing her song. If you are
a man, you can sing this faithful woman’s song. If you are rich, but long for
justice, you can sing Mary’s song. The question is, do we want to?
The proud are scattered, the
powerful are brought down from their thrones, the rich are sent empty away.
This is a dangerous song. Often we think of Mary a sweet, young girl. Look at
the windows in the church that depict her. These images don’t match up with the
Magnificat. Mary is more Margaret Thatcher than Queen Elizabeth, more Iron Lady
than tea and crumpets. And so we must ask ourselves if we are bold enough to
sing this song with Mary. Are we ready to join the revolution? Are we going to
join the protest song?
Depending on where you
are sitting, the Magnificat is a very different song. Are you rich or hungry?
Powerful or lowly? I won’t answer that question for you, but I know that when the
lyrics of this song come true, I stand to get lowered a bit. When county
commissioners say that they want to pray in Jesus’ name at the start of their
meetings, is this the Jesus they’re praying to? The one who lifts up the lowly
and casts down the powerful? When people say they want to keep the Christ in
Christmas, are they wanting to invite to Christmas dinner the rebel-rousing itinerant
preacher who ate with the homeless and prostitutes? When we put a cross around
our neck, do we do so remembering that is not only a symbol of victory, but also
the result of faithful living?
The Magnificat is the
perfect way for us to close our journey through Advent, as it really captures
the entire journey. When Jesus spoke of the end of all things, we considered
eschatology, noting that God’s final victory at the end of time shapes the present.
Mary speaks of the future using verbs that are all in the past tense. She is so
confident of God’s future salvation, that she speaks of it as something already
accomplished. When we read Zechariah’s song, we talked about the importance of
God’s promises as the foundation for our hope. The Magnificat does the same,
rejoicing in God’s faithfulness to the promises made to Abraham. When we were
introduced to John the Baptist, we were called to repent, to change our minds
by putting the Gospel first in our lives. Mary’s song invites us to do the
same, as the birth of the Messiah is a great reversal of injustice and
oppression. Christmas is a revolution. The Incarnation is revolutionary
theology, a peaceful Messiah from Galilee is a revolutionary Messiah, and Mary’s
Magnificat prepares us for that. The Magnificat becomes the theme song for God’s
revolution in Jesus.
O
come, O come, Emmanuel. All Advent, we’ve been singing the hymn “O come, O
come, Emmanuel.” Today, we’ll be singing all eight verses at the offertory. Pay
attention to them. Pray them. As we conclude Advent, may we do so giving thanks
for our friends who show us images of God. May God grant us the grace and strength
to be open to what God is doing through us. We give thanks for the power of
song to unite us to each other, to express our joy, and to buttress our lament with
hope. If we dare to join the subversive song of Mary, may we do so knowing that
there may be some repentance and humility required on our part. And may God
give us the boldness to sing and pray the refrain of Advent: O come, O come,
Emmanuel. Amen.
