Episodes
Sunday Dec 21, 2014
Incarnation!
Sunday Dec 21, 2014
Sunday Dec 21, 2014
Incarnation!
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC, December 21, 2014, the fourth Sunday of Advent.
Luke 1:26-38
Former Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, says, “For God to come near us is for God to risk God’s own integrity, in the sense that God puts himself into our hands to be appallingly misunderstood…”[i]
The story we hear today is an extraordinary one that provides all sorts of opportunities to misunderstand. This is one of those stories that folks point to as one of the reasons they could never be Christian since it doesn’t make rational sense. How many folks do you know who think that the primary thing required to be Christian is to assent to or to “believe” unbelievable things—that is, in a simply intellectual way? Today, Mary receives a message that, at first, leaves her confused since it doesn’t make rational sense, it is unbelievable.
But what is required of Mary is not a simple rational assent, but instead an openness to what God desires to accomplish in and through her. For Mary to assent in this moment is not to claim intellectual clarity, but rather to do something: namely to trust not only God, but also herself—to trust that she is capable of doing what God believes she can do. Richard Rohr, Franciscan Priest, spiritual teacher, and founder of the Center for Action and Contemplation, writes, “The only way that we become convinced of our own sense of empowerment and the power of the Spirit and the truth of the Gospel is by crossing a line—a line of decision, testing, risking, doing and owning the consequences. It has a certain degree of non-sensical-ness, of unprovability, to it: That’s why we call it faith.”[ii] This story is about Mary who crossed the line from doubt to faith, who didn’t understand, who quite likely didn’t believe she was capable, but trusted God enough to say “yes.” Her life and the life of the world were never the same.
Believing unbelievable things is not the goal of Christian life. Rather, it is to be like Mary, open—even in the smallest way—to trust God’s love for us, God’s vision of us, and as a result, to take a step, faltering as it may be, toward greater wholeness, awareness, and the peace that comes from knowing we are at least trying to live the life we are made for; it is to say “yes” to God’s affirmation of us, to believe in God’s believing in us, in our capacity for participation in the Kin-dom. It’s not ultimately about intellectual belief—though there is much to ponder and explore intellectually in our faith tradition. At the heart of our Christian faith is this story we hear today: God draws near to us out of love and compassion and wants to be incarnate in and through us. Mary is the icon of human receptivity and courage—the one who shows us what can happen when we are open, when we trust. Mary experienced suffering as a result of her “yes.” She surely experienced the scorn of those who judged her for being pregnant before marriage, the anxiety of giving birth in less than favorable conditions, the trials of being mother to so precocious a child, and the deep suffering of having her son persecuted, unjustly convicted, and killed by the state. But she also knew the humbling love and loyalty of Joseph, the wonder and joy of giving birth, visitations by wise strangers, the delights of being mother to so precocious a child, and the awareness—conscious or not—that she was participating in God’s mighty acts of salvation, that her son was the Christ, the savior, the fulfillment of a promise for all the world.
When we open ourselves to receive Christ, we carry a great responsibility—it is up to us to try our best not to “appallingly misunderstand” this wonderful gift. Christ did not come into the world to provide the twelve handy habits of highly effective people. If our faith were just about philosophies and ideas or—God help us—rules, then we could hold faith at arm’s length and engage in endless debates, assign winners and losers, and maintain the illusion of control. But the story we tell isn’t of an idea, it’s the story of a personal God whose love was embodied in a particular, historical, human person named Jesus, a person who had a mother. For many of us, that may the big line to cross—the whole claim that God is and that God loves—YOU. But that is the story we tell… The gift we are given is not primarily a manual for how to be a happy, good, “highly effective” person. What we are given is Emmanuel, God’s presence, God’s love, God’s life—and not just to study or to stare at, to dissect and try to control—but to know. Mary wasn’t given ideas about God or rules to follow or promises of happiness—but an intimate relationship with God and the opportunity to hold God’s life in her own flesh and to bear it into the world. That is what is offered to us: an intimate relationship with God and the chance to have Christ live in us and be brought into the world through us. And that means that things will be messy and painful and beautiful and will change; that’s what relationships are like; that’s what birth is like. And that’s what we’re talking about.
Jesus the Christ doesn’t come into our lives to make us comfortable, to allow us to remain deaf, dumb, and blind, to bless the status quo, to make us rich, or to give us permission to exclude or judge others. As you open yourself to receive Christ, you will be made uncomfortable, you will be challenged to hear, speak, and see new things that challenge you, your life will change and will be increasingly aware of the need for surrender and sacrifice and of the call to include and forgive and love more and more. One of the blessings of my pastoral vocation is that I have had the chance to walk with women and men as they have discovered Christ moving, changing, and challenging them to see things in a new way or to do a new thing or to let go of something or to take on or create a new ministry. The impetus for the change comes in a variety of forms—a situation in the world that calls forth a response, a book, a conversation, a comment someone made, a dream, an elusive, consistent feeling that something needs to happen. God’s messengers—angels—arrive in all sorts of guises.
The result is that folks’ lives change—really change because of their growing relationship with Christ. I have seen grandmothers get seminary degrees; I’ve seen people at the top of their game give up money and prestige to serve the poor; I’ve seen broken relationships healed through forgiveness, I have seen countless men and women discover and reclaim their sacred worth, I have witnessed people overcome their fears—of public speaking or leadership or sharing their ideas or their gifts—in order to serve others; I have watched as folks find a sense of direction and purpose, take on a new job or vocation, move more fully into their passion and their truth. There is always confusion, some level of fear, uncertainty, and often surprise at what is emerging in their lives. But even in the midst of all that, there is greater love, meaning, and peace…
God enters the world and is made known through a lowly handmaid and a barren woman, through those whom society deems weak and silent and worthless—but whom God knows are powerful and able and worthy. As tempting as it is to make the story of the annunciation of Mary a tidy portrait of a beautiful, safe idea, that would be to misunderstand and to miss the point. Mary was a flesh and blood woman whose courage and sacrifice and trust and love made room for Christ to be born through her into the world. We, like Mary, are entrusted by God to give birth to Christ—God’s perfect love—in our lives. We are called to be bearers of God’s new life in the world. I don’t know what this might mean for each of you. But I trust that God’s messengers will visit you to help you figure it out. And then it’s up to you to choose how to respond.
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