Let it be with me according to your Word Advent 4C

 

Let it be with me according to your Word.

Advent. A time of waiting. A time to prepare. We have identified at least two prayers this Advent to give some sort of shape to our waiting and our preparations: Come, Lord Jesus. And then this from Maggie Ross: Lord, give us mercy to bear your mercy. This Fourth Sunday in Advent suggests to us another prayer from that moment in time that makes Advent possible. This, of course, is the Annunciation-when the Angel Gabriel appears, or perhaps better, is suddenly perceived to be with a young woman named Mary. 

My new favorite portrait of this moment is a sixteenth century painting by Lorenzo Lotto that shows God in the clouds sending Gabriel into Mary’s kitchen, with a clearly alarmed cat dashing away from the angel, and Mary, with her back to Gabe, who is on one knee with a lily seeming to make a proposal, as Mary seems to appeal to the viewer, her hands palms-up facing us, perhaps inviting us into the experience of the very surprising holiness that has taken hold of the entire scene! So that the angel is not only proposing to Mary, but also to the viewer, you, me, all of us who dare to hope, pray, prepare, and wait for the arrival of Christ in our lives. [i] 

I suspect Lorenzo Lotto’s scene is closer to what it must have been like than the traditional placid, quiet, orderly depictions with which we are all too familiar. This is the moment. This is the starting point. For without Mary’s response, we would not be here at all. For indeed, she was asked, not commanded, to participate in the most extraordinary way to exceed all human expectations. After being invited to bear a child of God, God incarnate, she becomes, as our Orthodox siblings call her, the Theotokos, the Mother of God, and calmly replies, “Let it be with me according to your word.” [ii] 

Maggie Ross, reflecting on the Annunciation, writes that she suddenly realizes “…that the bread made God and the God made bread with which we live so intimately in the Eucharist was possible only because of her response, her acceptance; that the Sacrament is the earthly and tangible culmination of her saying, “yes.” Let be with me according to your Word. [iii] 

To sit with this story, we need not only let go of our own very real human expectations, but also to let go of any and all concepts we have of God and try to begin to understand God’s concept of us – who, and what, and how we are meant “to be.” We may recall that night when Nicodemus went to see Jesus in the dark of night, only to be told of his need to be “born again,” or “born from above.” Poor Nic cries out, as Mary does at first, “How shall this be?” Just as John the baptizer’s father Zechariah cries out, “How shall this be?” Just as Abraham’s and Sarah’s laughter when they learned that he, age one hundred, and she in her nineties, would have a son! 

“How shall this be?” it turns out, is a central dimension of faith and just what God’s concept of us is all about. As we read in Hebrews, “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” [iv] It turns out it’s those things that are ‘unseen’ which are most central to faith. Surely, Mary never saw, let alone imagined, what she was being asked to do: to bear Christ to the world. Do we begin to understand that what God asks of Mary is what God asks of us all? That we are to bear Christ to the world in all we say and all we do. 

This leads Maggie Ross to conclude, “This is the answer to Nicodemus: that in order bear the Word of God, to enter the Kingdom, we must indeed be born from the Spirit, not for the second time in the womb of our natural mothers, but continuously in the love of the Mother of God that brought forth her Son, and at the same time, like her, to bear him as well. Mary, then, is my mother in this second birth, just as she is Nicodemus’s mother.” [v] Mary becomes the Mother of us all. 

Mary then rushes to see her cousin Elizabeth, who in her advanced age became the surprising and surprised mother of John the baptizer. Elizabeth understands. What ensues is one of the very first song texts of our tradition which we call the Magnificat, or Song of Mary. The Greek text is unclear as to whether Mary or Elizabeth made this pronouncement, but it is so vitally important to understanding who and what we are meant to be that we read it twice on this Fourth Sunday of Advent. It is so central to what it means to be a follower of Christ, that every household is expected to read it every evening as appointed in our Prayer Book for Evening Prayer. It is a revolutionary creed really. It speaks to turning the world right-side-up again: it speaks of scattering the proud, casting down the mighty, lifting up the lowly, filling the hungry, and sending the rich away empty. All of which is wrapped in repeated mention of God’s everlasting mercy! As Jesus asserts in the Beatitudes, “Blessed are the merciful!” 

One wag once suggested that the Beatitudes are attitudes of being, what it means to be a follower of Jesus Christ: merciful, peacemakers, righteous, pure in heart, the salt of the earth, the light of the world. [vi] Long ago I heard a French hymn by the poet, Didier Rimaud. It’s called Les Arbres dans la Mer – Trees in the Sea. It is based on Jesus teaching his followers how with just a tiny bit of faith as small as a mustard seed, one can plant trees in the sea, help the blind to see, the lame to walk, and set prisoners set free. The English text of the poem goes something like this:

            1

Look! The Virgin has a child,

A man is born of God,

Heaven is among us,

the people are no longer alone!

It would take only a bit of faith

and you would see trees in the sea

Beggars who are kings

The powerful overthrown,

Wealth is shared!

2

Look! Water turns into wine,

Wine becomes blood,

Loaves multiply,

People are no longer hungry!

It would take only a bit of faith

and you would see trees in the sea

Deserts full of flowers

Harvests in winter

Granaries are overflowing!

3

Look! the lame can walk

the blind see the light of day

the deaf are delivered

the people are no longer in pain!

It would take only a bit of faith

and you would see the trees in the sea

Executioners without work

Rusty handcuffs

Prisons are useless!

4

Look! The cross is empty and bare,

Your graves are pierced,

and the man stands

the people are no longer afraid!

It would take only a bit of faith

and you would see the trees in the sea

Guns buried

Armies discarded

Mountains dancing!

 

I believe this is the vision Mary and Elizabeth mean to share with us every day. This is what it means to take that first step into God’s kingdom. I believe were we to read the Magnificat, the Song of Mary, at least once a day, this vision can become not just a part of us, a part of our Community of Love, but a reality for all the world. For this we wait. For this we prepare. This is Advent. 

It all begins when we join with Mary and say, “Let it be with me according to your Word.”

Lord, give us mercy to bear your mercy.

Come, Lord Jesus, come… 

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[i] https://www.etsy.com/listing/976761420/annunciation-angel-young-mary-god?gpla=1&gao=1&&utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=shopping_us_ps-d-art_and_collectibles&utm_custom1=_k_CjwKCAiAgoq7BhBxEiwAVcW0LNLhcv56CLFHGbzacxyIuAyH1hRDAcEU-xdSXnR1I2Zwkd4zCoqzyBoCW8AQAvD_BwE_k_&utm_content=go_21506855477_167985809239_716809480969_pla-314954651933_c__976761420_5328323151&utm_custom2=21506855477&gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAiAgoq7BhBxEiwAVcW0LNLhcv56CLFHGbzacxyIuAyH1hRDAcEU-xdSXnR1I2Zwkd4zCoqzyBoCW8AQAvD_BwE

[ii] Luke 1:38b

[iii] Ross, Maggie, The Fire of Your Life (Paulist Press, New York:1983) p.19.

[iv] Hebrews 11:1

[v] Ibid, Ross p.20

[vi] Matthew 5:1-16

The Wrath to Come Advent 3C

The Wrath to Come

“You brood of vipers!” John cries out. “Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come!” [i] This, no doubt, strikes us a fine “how do you do?” to a crowd that has gathered from all of Jerusalem and all of Judea to participate in John’s ritual bathing in the River Jordan. The man in the wilderness crying! 

It should be noted that the word “wilderness” connotes more than a place beyond a civilized city like Jerusalem – the place believed to be where Abraham was all set to plunge a knife into his only son Isaac; the of the Temple, with its holy of holies, the resting place for the Ark of the Covenant with the tablets of the Ten Commandments; the very place where it was believed God’s, YHWH’s finger, touches the Earth to hold it steady, safe and reliable. Wilderness also describes the broken, fractured, and dangerous state of the world, civilized or not. Even before the Roman occupation, the regions of Israel known as Galilee and Judea were beset with a religious elite placing financial demands on the people; rapacious land owners, the oiko-despots, who bought up all the farms of families so far in debt that they were reduced to tenant farmers, or worse, slaves, producing crops for the profit of others; no possibility of ever retiring their debt. With Rome came more tax collectors, who often were Israelites conscripted to collect the taxes, but were only paid by what they themselves could get away with tacking on to the tax, which were more like tolls on the roads to take goods to market. They were seen as collaborators with the Empire’s greed. And, of course, the military, loyal only to Caesar and no other, who also supplemented their meager pay by demanding protection money, food and clothing from the already burdened am haretz, the people of the land. 

To this picture of Judea in the time of John and Jesus one must remember that at the time Luke assembled this account of the Gospel and the Book of Acts, Jerusalem had suffered a terrible holocaust. The Temple and the city lay in ruins, while nearly one million Israelites had been killed, with as many as 500 being crucified daily by the Roman Legions. First Century Israel was indeed a wilderness, broken and unsafe under the Roman Empire’s rule of brutality. 

Enter John, son of Zechariah, one of the Temple priests. John is portrayed as one of a long-line of God’s prophets. He issues a call to repent – to turn society’s lives around back to the Way of the Lord as articulated in Torah: a way of life rooted in Love of the God of the Covenant, and love, compassion and care for one’s neighbor. All neighbors, including strangers from other lands looking to Israel as a place to escape famines and brutalities in neighboring regions. 

Perhaps the single most important take-away in this story of John preparing the way for the arrival of Jesus is the sheer number of people who come down to the river. And the incredible cross section of society represented. All of Jerusalem, which then as it is today, perhaps the single most cosmopolitan city on Earth. People from all the world, east, west, north and south travelled trade routes that ran through the region, and many stayed to witness the miracle that was God’s people descended from Abraham and Sarah. And as Luke portrays it, there were also tax collectors, who might be Jews or Gentiles, and Roman soldiers, all of whom were Gentiles. 

The crowd represents the peculiar character of God’s people called Israel: when things were bad, when life had returned to wilderness status, when the world was truly broken and in need of repair, they did not point fingers at one another, and did not blame others for the broken state of affairs. Instead, the people of God take responsibility for their failure to live lives that reflect the love of God and love of neighbor. It must be our own fault that things are this bad, they would say. We need to repent. We need to turn back to the Way of our God. And so they join in John’s ritual bathing. 

So, they turn to John, who greets them roughly, and warns that there will be a reckoning in the Day of God’s Wrath. The axe is set at the root of the tree, says John. Trees that do not bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown in the fire. The people beg John to tell them what they need to do in the meantime. 

To the general crowd it begins with baby steps: share food and clothing with all those who are without resources – those who hunger and thirst, and who cannot afford a winter coat. The tax collectors ask what they need to do, and the task is simple: do not jack on surcharges above the tax itself for yourself; just collect the tax. And the Gentile soldiers ask, what can we do: do not extort money from our citizens; don’t make false accusations; be happy with your pay. 

That is, the coming presence of the Lord that John announces calls for “changes in the nature of human life, so that justice, compassion, and honesty take the place of their opposites.” [ii] This is what repentance is to look like: justice, compassion and honesty with one another. The people are astonished, and begin to wonder if John is “the One who is to come.” To which he says emphatically, “No! I am not worthy to tie or untie his shoes. But be ready! For he will baptize you with water and fire! His winnowing fork will be in his hand, sifting to gather the wheat into his barns, but the chaff he will burn with “unquenchable fire!” If that does not motivate them to repent and become more loving toward one another, thinks John, nothing can. 

Sidenote: Poor John. He has a skewed vision of what the time of Jesus will look like. The wrath of God embodied in Jesus will look more like a good shepherd who has compassion on his flock. He feeds people. He heals people. He welcomes people. He serves people, not asking them to serve him. There’s no winnowing fork in his hand. It’s up to us to choose to be gathered into his Body, or to opt out and become chaff of our own choices – choosing not to seek justice for others, not to be compassionate toward others, not to be honest with others. It’s up to us. Jesus calls us. We are to respond. 

Years ago, Maggie Ross, an Anglican Solitary, or anchorite, wrote a book, The Fire of Your Life.While reflecting on loneliness as portrayed in George Balanchine’s ballet, Prodigal Son, a story that only appears in Luke’s Gospel. The Prodigal Son descends into utter despair, loneliness, and a grief that brings him to a moment of repentance – a turning back toward home and his father. His father, who welcomes him home with open arms. 

Ross concludes, “The wrath of God is his relentless compassion, pursuing us even when we are at our worst.” To which she adds a prayer, “Lord, give us mercy to bear your mercy.”  [iii] This is the very essence of Advent – do we choose to turn, to repentance, to return to a life of justice, compassion, and honesty which is the very heart of God’s relentless pursuit to bring us home, our true home wrapped in the arms of his never-ending love and mercy. Will we choose to become those people who live lives of tikkun olam, those who repair the world? If we so choose, the Wrath to Come will be a day to rejoice and give thanks! 

Lord, give us mercy to bear your mercy.

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[i]  Luke 3:7-18

[ii] Brueggemann, Gaventa, et.al., Texts for Preaching Year C (Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville: 1994) p.20

[iii] Ross, Maggie (Paulist Press, New York: 1983) p.137.