A Great Cost for the Greater Good [Advent 4B]
The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson
Luke 1:26-38
A Great Cost for the Greater Good
Something doesn't seem quite right
here. I think it is supposed to be
Elizabeth. That is how the story should
go. That is the way God always does
it. The special child is supposed to
come out of the barren womb of the aged woman.
Like Isaac from Sarah. Like
Samuel from Hannah. That's it; that is
how God has always done it.
And that would have been
perfect. The story of the Messiah's
birth, it would perfectly mirrored Israel's narrative – a history of longing,
waiting, just about to lose hope – and then God acts. In an unexpected way, in a miraculous way,
but also in a manner in which the people of God, those who were really paying
attention, had come to expect.
On paper, Elizabeth was the perfect
candidate. And not only that, people
would have celebrated their good news.
They were good people. They had
been married for a long time. Zechariah,
Elizabeth's husband, was a priest. And
she was a descendant of Aaron. They
lived in the center of the Jewish world.
Luke tells us they were righteous, observing all of God's commandments
blamelessly. They deserved it.
And she really, really wanted a
child. And everyone knew it. Every month, every month for years, Elizabeth
was reminded that her deep longing to be a mother would forever be just that –
a longing. She watched her friends grow
bellies and have babies. She celebrated
with them. And she was glad, she really
was, but still that longing. And now, at
her age, that dream had died.
But if God could once again pull
off one of those old fashioned miracles... Elizabeth and Zechariah – they
deserved it. It would be like their own
Abraham and Sarah story. Who better to
raise the Messiah? It would have been
perfect.
You know what would not be perfect?
An unwed teen-aged mother from the hills.
That would not be perfect. Mary
did not deserve it – not a baby, certainly not the Messiah. She did not need it. She did not understand longing. She was a just kid. And unwed virgins do not get pregnant. That is not a thing. God doesn't do that in the Scriptures.
And one can definitely not use God
as an excuse for debauchery. That has
got to be blasphemy. It is an
unbelievably impossible story: A virgin, pregnant by the Holy Spirit, giving
birth to the Son of God. It sounds like
a cover-up – and not a very good one.
You see, not every pregnancy is
greeted with the same enthusiasm.
Elizabeth's pregnancy is the kind folks will celebrate. The couple had been trying for so long; they
deserve it; they will be such good parents; it is a miracle. Mary's was not that kind of pregnancy. She was too young; and she was poor; and she
was unmarried. It was the kind of
pregnancy that causes folks to say, “That's a shame.” That causes folks to roll their eyes. That
invites gossip and anger and judgment.
Something doesn't quite seem right
here. It should have been someone else –
like Elizabeth. Someone more
deserving. Someone who, you know, looked
the part. Mary did not look the
part. Joel Green says, “Mary…seemed to
measure low in any ranking – age, family heritage, gender, and so on.” But it
is Mary who “turns out to be the one favored by God, the one who finds her
status and identity in her obedience to God and participation in [God's]
salvific will.”[1]
This is the way God does
salvation. God chooses Mary. And Mary says, “Let it be.” And together this odd couple finds an odd way
to take on the impossible task of saving the world.
It was an incredible burden for a
kid to bear. God called her, and like
the first disciples of Jesus, she gave up everything. She went all in – risked everything to
participate in God's impossible plan.
She risked her future, her financial security, her social status, her
reputation. God called her in secret,
but she carried out her calling quite publicly – with only her unshakable faith
and implausible story. And nowhere to
hide. It is hard to hide the belly; even
harder to hide a baby.
Salvation always comes this way:
through those who are willing to bear a great cost for the greater good. Mary willingly carried the burden of her
people. It was not celebrated; it was
not that kind of pregnancy. In her body
she bore their salvation – and almost no one knew it. From her mouth and from her womb came the
promise – the same promise that was spoken to Abraham – a promise of mercy, the
promise that, even when hope seems lost, God will save.
Salvation still comes through those
who are willing to bear a great cost for the greater good. Mary's call to carry and birth the Messiah is
unique; you are not called to do that. I
probably do not need to you this but your child is not the Messiah. But Mary's call is also a universal
call. Each of us is called to carry Christ. To share the implausible story of a God who
still does the impossible. To allow that
same eternal promise to burst forth from our lives and our mouths: even when
hope seems lost, God will save.
Christmas is almost here. And on that day, Mary will birth her son, and
his name will mean, God saves. And he
will grow up. And he will follow in his
mother's footsteps. And in his most difficult
moment, with the salvation of the world hanging in the balance, her words will
come from his mouth: “Let it be.” Like
Mary, he will bear a great cost for the greater good. And in his body he will bear our
salvation. And he will prove, once and
for all, that nothing is impossible with God.
Even when hope seems lost, God saves.
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