This week, the rhythm of advent shifts from looking forward and anticipating the return of the Son to looking back and remembering His first coming. Each year the church pauses to remember through stories, songs, plays and pictures. We remember, retell, reconsider, rehearse.
To re-hearse is to "hearse again." That word causes me to stop and think. When I think of rehearsing, I think of practicing my lines for an upcoming performance. So what does this have to do with a hearse?
A hearse refers to a tomb, an encasing, an elaborate framework used in ceremonies commemorating those who have died. So a hearse helps us remember those who died. Hearse comes from the word "harrow," which means to cultivate, break up, tear apart the land.
Each year the farmer re-harrows the land before planting. Each year we re-harrow our lives by remembering the incarnation of God in our midst. We must rehearse or else our minds grow hard, cold, infertile and forgetful.
Our land has forgotten the ancient stories, and I fear our churches have as well. One friend who has served his mother struggling with Alzheimer's disease suggested to me that the prevalence of this disease in our time seems to be a sign of a culture that has forgotten their roots. Failing to re-harrow, we suffer from memory loss.
The church didn't always set aside a time for remembering the birth of Christ. An intentional focus on remembering the birth of Christ came in response to a heresy that suggested Jesus was never really born in human flesh: he was simply a spirit that came to enlighten us. So the church decided to re-harrow, remember, rehearse the ancient tale of God made flesh.
This act of remembering was an act of war against thoughts and ideas fighting to diminish God's action in human history. And the war still rages. The culture continues to forget and diminish and discard the wonder of God, the gift of God, the blessing of God upon us.
The festive trappings that overshadow our season of remembrance can be frustrating. As Frosty, Rudolph and Santa loom larger than the Lord of Glory we may feel shut out from our own party.
I would suggest the response to this mass forgetfulness is not anger but remembering, re-hearsing. Let us revisit the ancient stories. Let us remember the babe in the manger, the shepherds in the field, the angels in the sky. But let us deepen our memory, reaching further back into the story.
Let us revisit the story of creation, the story of the garden. Let us brood deeply upon the flood, the tower of Babel, the call of Abraham. Let us pause at the enslavement in Egypt, the wondrous journey to the land of promise, the time of the great judges. Let us reconsider the glory and tragedy in the kingdom of Israel. Let us weep with Jeremiah at the destruction of temple, and dream with Ezekiel at the temple to come.
As we reread, remember, rehearse these stories, we come to realize with the writer of Hebrews that we are part of the story. Their story is our story. The story of the Jesus is our story. The miraculous birth, the announcement in the Temple, the flight to Egypt: these are all part of our story.
We are part of the journey from the mount of Transfiguration to the mount of Golgotha to the mount of Zion. This is our story, our testimony. Let us remember and retell and rehearse our story.
During this time of remembering, I encourage you to pause and rehearse the story of our Savior born in Bethlehem. Let it cut deep in your heart. I trust the Spirit of grace will come and break up our fallow ground, restoring us by "re-storying" us in His grand drama of redemption and recreation.
Showing posts with label Nativity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nativity. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Graven Images
Epiphany 2007
January 9, 2007
I’m still holding out. My antiqued nativity figures still light up the end of my driveway. I didn’t actually finish making them and setting them out until the week of Christmas, so I hate to take them down right away.
Last year my sister mentioned buying a plastic yard nativity and antiquing it. That sounded like a good idea, so I (and my sister-in-law) collected Mary, Joseph, the baby Jesus, the Wise Men, a camel, a sheep, a donkey and a cow.
In early December, I unpacked my nativity and began painting. The process included applying a primer coat of paint, then applying a copper coat and finally adding a dark antique stain that I would rub off with paper towels. This project gave me opportunity to do something with my hands instead of sitting at a keyboard or reading a book.
As I painted, I reflected on the stories and waited for inspiration. I’ve heard monks often pray and meditate while kneading bread, and this seemed like a perfect exercise for reflection while I worked.
But nothing came to me.
I painted, I stained, and I photographed my progress, but somehow the deep insights seemed hidden away. The only thing that came to mind was how the cow reminded me of the golden calf in Exodus. Surely, there must be some other great insight I could gain from this effort. A graven image on display for Christmas doesn’t seem inspirational.
Night after night, I reflected and the graven image idea returned again and again.
Gradually I began to consider what is a graven image? What is an idol? It is a form, a representation and image of the real, but it lacks one vital thing: breath, pneuma, spirit. It’s void of life.
God forbid the ancient Hebrews from creating graven images, and Jeremiah warns that “every man is brutish in his knowledge: every founder is confounded by the graven image: for his molten image is falsehood, and there is no breath in them” (Jeremiah 10:14). Without breath, without spirit, these images are simply forms—not persons.
God is person, and a person cannot be contained in a spiritless image. So when God chose to create an image of Himself, he breathed into it. Created in the image and likeness of God, humans are persons—not graven images. We are vital, living, changing and reproducing beings. When Adam gives birth to Seth the scriptures say, “he fathered a son in his own likeness, after his image.”
Just as God creates humans in His own image and likeness, humans create other humans in their image and likeness. A graven image cannot reproduce. It has no vital life. It has no animating spirit. It is frozen in time.
Each year we revisit the stories of Mary and Joseph through plays, nativities, and Scripture readings. Each year we join them in the journey to Bethlehem. Over time, it may be easy to forget that these were real people with real challenges. They may have lived in a different time and different culture, but they still faced the basic struggles of being human. In other words, they weren’t so very different from us.
And yet, they were caught up into a grand drama that occupies our imagination year after year after year. Our nativities can serve as reminders, signposts or snapshots of a moment in time. But Joseph, Mary and Jesus are not suspended in that moment. They lived, and as they lived they faced all the struggles of living in spite of the miraculous tale.
We face the danger of reducing the Biblical characters to graven images, to mere representations, to 2 dimensional figures in a morality play trying to teach us a lesson. We face the danger of forgetting these are stories about real people. When we do so, they seem to tower above us as some mythical cast of characters who lived divinely inspired lives in spite of their faults.
Yet, in reality, they were humans: real people with real struggles unaware of being caught up in the divine drama. And I suspect, most of us, most of the time live our lives unaware that we are caught up in a divine drama.
Just as God breathed into Adam, he breathed into us. That breath, that pneuma, that animating spirit is a vital, reproducing life bestowed on us by God. We are real persons created in the image and likeness of God. We are not graven images.
Jesus came as the perfect, complete image bearer. Jesus came to restore the image of God in us corrupted by sin. Jesus breathes upon His disciples and tells them, “Receive the Spirit.” He restores the vital, animating life of God within His people.
I fear sometimes that we may not always treat one another as real, vital persons created in the image and likeness of God. Instead, we might at times reduce one another to graven images, to mere representations. So we get angry when someone doesn’t act the way we expect, the way our “image of them” suggests they should act.
We may expect them to perform just as the image in our mind suggests they should perform, but they are not that image. They are real people—separate from us with a unique mind and body and spirit. And it is possible, and in fact probable that they will not always see the world as we do. Just as Paul and Barnabas did not always see eye to eye—neither will we.
As we learn to appreciate the people in our lives, we must give them grace to be the people God created them to be. We must trust that the same Spirit that rose Jesus from the dead, the same Spirit who groans and works within us, is working in them. They are not created in our image but in the image of God.
As we enter the season of Epiphany, we celebrate the revealing of God to the world in the person of Jesus. I would hope we might also celebrate the image of God in the people of God around us. I would hope that we might remember that each of us have been created in the image and likeness of God.
We are not graven images. We are corrupted images. The nativity tells the story of Jesus coming as the perfect image. The cross tells the story of Jesus restoring and redeeming our corrupted images. The resurrection tells the story of Jesus breathing into His images His animating Spirit.
My nativity sits on the hill as a reminder of the difference between graven images and images of God. I am reminded afresh to acknowledge the persons in my life: my family, my friends, the clerk at the store, the officer giving me a speeding ticket, the waitress forgetting to refill my drink. These are not graven images, they are vital, glorious, wondrous images of God—some living in the reality of that redeeming love and others waiting to be embraced and told of that redeeming love.
January 9, 2007
I’m still holding out. My antiqued nativity figures still light up the end of my driveway. I didn’t actually finish making them and setting them out until the week of Christmas, so I hate to take them down right away.
Last year my sister mentioned buying a plastic yard nativity and antiquing it. That sounded like a good idea, so I (and my sister-in-law) collected Mary, Joseph, the baby Jesus, the Wise Men, a camel, a sheep, a donkey and a cow.
In early December, I unpacked my nativity and began painting. The process included applying a primer coat of paint, then applying a copper coat and finally adding a dark antique stain that I would rub off with paper towels. This project gave me opportunity to do something with my hands instead of sitting at a keyboard or reading a book.
As I painted, I reflected on the stories and waited for inspiration. I’ve heard monks often pray and meditate while kneading bread, and this seemed like a perfect exercise for reflection while I worked.
But nothing came to me.
I painted, I stained, and I photographed my progress, but somehow the deep insights seemed hidden away. The only thing that came to mind was how the cow reminded me of the golden calf in Exodus. Surely, there must be some other great insight I could gain from this effort. A graven image on display for Christmas doesn’t seem inspirational.
Night after night, I reflected and the graven image idea returned again and again.
Gradually I began to consider what is a graven image? What is an idol? It is a form, a representation and image of the real, but it lacks one vital thing: breath, pneuma, spirit. It’s void of life.
God forbid the ancient Hebrews from creating graven images, and Jeremiah warns that “every man is brutish in his knowledge: every founder is confounded by the graven image: for his molten image is falsehood, and there is no breath in them” (Jeremiah 10:14). Without breath, without spirit, these images are simply forms—not persons.
God is person, and a person cannot be contained in a spiritless image. So when God chose to create an image of Himself, he breathed into it. Created in the image and likeness of God, humans are persons—not graven images. We are vital, living, changing and reproducing beings. When Adam gives birth to Seth the scriptures say, “he fathered a son in his own likeness, after his image.”
Just as God creates humans in His own image and likeness, humans create other humans in their image and likeness. A graven image cannot reproduce. It has no vital life. It has no animating spirit. It is frozen in time.
Each year we revisit the stories of Mary and Joseph through plays, nativities, and Scripture readings. Each year we join them in the journey to Bethlehem. Over time, it may be easy to forget that these were real people with real challenges. They may have lived in a different time and different culture, but they still faced the basic struggles of being human. In other words, they weren’t so very different from us.
And yet, they were caught up into a grand drama that occupies our imagination year after year after year. Our nativities can serve as reminders, signposts or snapshots of a moment in time. But Joseph, Mary and Jesus are not suspended in that moment. They lived, and as they lived they faced all the struggles of living in spite of the miraculous tale.
We face the danger of reducing the Biblical characters to graven images, to mere representations, to 2 dimensional figures in a morality play trying to teach us a lesson. We face the danger of forgetting these are stories about real people. When we do so, they seem to tower above us as some mythical cast of characters who lived divinely inspired lives in spite of their faults.
Yet, in reality, they were humans: real people with real struggles unaware of being caught up in the divine drama. And I suspect, most of us, most of the time live our lives unaware that we are caught up in a divine drama.
Just as God breathed into Adam, he breathed into us. That breath, that pneuma, that animating spirit is a vital, reproducing life bestowed on us by God. We are real persons created in the image and likeness of God. We are not graven images.
Jesus came as the perfect, complete image bearer. Jesus came to restore the image of God in us corrupted by sin. Jesus breathes upon His disciples and tells them, “Receive the Spirit.” He restores the vital, animating life of God within His people.
I fear sometimes that we may not always treat one another as real, vital persons created in the image and likeness of God. Instead, we might at times reduce one another to graven images, to mere representations. So we get angry when someone doesn’t act the way we expect, the way our “image of them” suggests they should act.
We may expect them to perform just as the image in our mind suggests they should perform, but they are not that image. They are real people—separate from us with a unique mind and body and spirit. And it is possible, and in fact probable that they will not always see the world as we do. Just as Paul and Barnabas did not always see eye to eye—neither will we.
As we learn to appreciate the people in our lives, we must give them grace to be the people God created them to be. We must trust that the same Spirit that rose Jesus from the dead, the same Spirit who groans and works within us, is working in them. They are not created in our image but in the image of God.
As we enter the season of Epiphany, we celebrate the revealing of God to the world in the person of Jesus. I would hope we might also celebrate the image of God in the people of God around us. I would hope that we might remember that each of us have been created in the image and likeness of God.
We are not graven images. We are corrupted images. The nativity tells the story of Jesus coming as the perfect image. The cross tells the story of Jesus restoring and redeeming our corrupted images. The resurrection tells the story of Jesus breathing into His images His animating Spirit.
My nativity sits on the hill as a reminder of the difference between graven images and images of God. I am reminded afresh to acknowledge the persons in my life: my family, my friends, the clerk at the store, the officer giving me a speeding ticket, the waitress forgetting to refill my drink. These are not graven images, they are vital, glorious, wondrous images of God—some living in the reality of that redeeming love and others waiting to be embraced and told of that redeeming love.
Friday, December 29, 2006
Unexpected Grace
My neighbors packed up their yard filled with Santas and snowmen. The shopping pages now blast New Year’s Day sales. The world has moved on from its brief fling with Christmas. Yet, those who celebrate the feast continue to roar in the echoing refrain of Glory to God in the highest.
Today is the fifth day of twelve-day feast, rejoicing in the miracle of the Incarnation of our Lord. And then comes Epiphany, an extended season for contemplating and celebrating the manifestation of the Son to the world. For many people in days gone by, Christmas carols would continue throughout Epiphany until February 2nd when the church celebrated the presentation of the Lord in the temple.
This year, my mind returns again and again the God’s coming in a way the no one could have anticipated and in a way that stirs the soul to awe. Here are a few thoughts that attempt to capture one theme that has been heavy in my heart:
The grace of God appears like an unexpected star on an uneventful night. Suddenly, light streams shower from a dark sky, and you step forward into the dawn of a coming Day.
The story of the nativity is the story of nighttime surprises. Gabriel greets an unexpecting Mary with the Word that brings new birth. Joseph’s dream awakens him to father the son of his Father above. The lonely shepherds behold a company of angels inviting them to come and see the Glory of God bursting out of heavens and into the earth. The heavenly drama beckons a few stargazers to leave behind an ancient world and behold the future made present.
While there are lessons to be learned from each story, these stories penetrate deeper than the moral truth of any Aesop’s fable. They illumine the ground upon which we tread. Each year we revisit Mary, Joseph, the Shepherds, and the Wise Men, and one day we might just realize we’re in the middle of the same story.
Mary, Joseph, the Shepherds and the Wise Men are not waiting for an invitation to Bethlehem. They do not anticipate God’s Word of favor to call them forth. Each of them are simply living their lives in the midst of countless other lives and countless other stories. They are not engaged in some heroic work; they are not calling down fire from heaven; they have no particular traits that will cause them to rise above the tapestry of history. Like their mothers and fathers before them, they were born, would live and eventually die with no particular lasting glory.
Suddenly, their common life is interrupted with a glory that exceeds the grasp of earthly minds. Suddenly God’s Word appears like favor, like new birth, like a sword of love that pierces the heart. Suddenly the light of morning grace awakens them, calls them to Bethlehem, and invites them to behold a new Day.
O come let us adore Him.
His glorious Word that sustains every living thing sounds in the cry of that baby in the manger. Halted in their journeys by this tiny vision of divine glory, the travelers can do nothing but worship. No words, no actions, no human ingenuity can add to the moment.
O come let us adore Him. Adore Him.
Jesus comes to dwell among us. Jesus comes to reveal the Father. Jesus comes to save His people from their sins. He enters history at a particular point in time through the womb of Mary. Yet, by His Spirit, He remains in history and continues to bring the Word of life to each of us.
The wondrous invitation to Bethlehem comes without warning and without expectation. In the middle of my dark night, His love surprised me like a sunrise casting its gentle glow over the surface of a black lake. In just a moment, the dark rippling water glowed with yellows and oranges and reds and blues and greens. The dawn overtook the night, and I stepped into the first light of a new Day.
And all I can do is worship.
O come let us adore Him. Adore Him. Adore Him.
I have more essays and reflections that I may or may not write this season. There is much to say and much to do. But at some point, when I pause and consider the splendor of that “wonderful, wonderful Day,” I am speechless. I am overwhelmed. I am falling before Him with a gratefulness that can never match His matchless grace.
O come let us adore Him. Adore Him. Adore Him. O Come let us adore Him.
Today is the fifth day of twelve-day feast, rejoicing in the miracle of the Incarnation of our Lord. And then comes Epiphany, an extended season for contemplating and celebrating the manifestation of the Son to the world. For many people in days gone by, Christmas carols would continue throughout Epiphany until February 2nd when the church celebrated the presentation of the Lord in the temple.
This year, my mind returns again and again the God’s coming in a way the no one could have anticipated and in a way that stirs the soul to awe. Here are a few thoughts that attempt to capture one theme that has been heavy in my heart:
The grace of God appears like an unexpected star on an uneventful night. Suddenly, light streams shower from a dark sky, and you step forward into the dawn of a coming Day.
The story of the nativity is the story of nighttime surprises. Gabriel greets an unexpecting Mary with the Word that brings new birth. Joseph’s dream awakens him to father the son of his Father above. The lonely shepherds behold a company of angels inviting them to come and see the Glory of God bursting out of heavens and into the earth. The heavenly drama beckons a few stargazers to leave behind an ancient world and behold the future made present.
While there are lessons to be learned from each story, these stories penetrate deeper than the moral truth of any Aesop’s fable. They illumine the ground upon which we tread. Each year we revisit Mary, Joseph, the Shepherds, and the Wise Men, and one day we might just realize we’re in the middle of the same story.
Mary, Joseph, the Shepherds and the Wise Men are not waiting for an invitation to Bethlehem. They do not anticipate God’s Word of favor to call them forth. Each of them are simply living their lives in the midst of countless other lives and countless other stories. They are not engaged in some heroic work; they are not calling down fire from heaven; they have no particular traits that will cause them to rise above the tapestry of history. Like their mothers and fathers before them, they were born, would live and eventually die with no particular lasting glory.
Suddenly, their common life is interrupted with a glory that exceeds the grasp of earthly minds. Suddenly God’s Word appears like favor, like new birth, like a sword of love that pierces the heart. Suddenly the light of morning grace awakens them, calls them to Bethlehem, and invites them to behold a new Day.
O come let us adore Him.
His glorious Word that sustains every living thing sounds in the cry of that baby in the manger. Halted in their journeys by this tiny vision of divine glory, the travelers can do nothing but worship. No words, no actions, no human ingenuity can add to the moment.
O come let us adore Him. Adore Him.
Jesus comes to dwell among us. Jesus comes to reveal the Father. Jesus comes to save His people from their sins. He enters history at a particular point in time through the womb of Mary. Yet, by His Spirit, He remains in history and continues to bring the Word of life to each of us.
The wondrous invitation to Bethlehem comes without warning and without expectation. In the middle of my dark night, His love surprised me like a sunrise casting its gentle glow over the surface of a black lake. In just a moment, the dark rippling water glowed with yellows and oranges and reds and blues and greens. The dawn overtook the night, and I stepped into the first light of a new Day.
And all I can do is worship.
O come let us adore Him. Adore Him. Adore Him.
I have more essays and reflections that I may or may not write this season. There is much to say and much to do. But at some point, when I pause and consider the splendor of that “wonderful, wonderful Day,” I am speechless. I am overwhelmed. I am falling before Him with a gratefulness that can never match His matchless grace.
O come let us adore Him. Adore Him. Adore Him. O Come let us adore Him.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
While Shepherds Watched Their Flock
Matthias sat down by the entrance to the cave. Rubbing his freezing, blistered hands together—specs of mud mixed with manure flecked onto the ground. The day had been long; the cold night would be longer. The warmth of the fire nearby gradually gave some relief to the bitter night.
His joints and bones ached and had ached for so long, it seemed normal. Years of nomadic life in summer and winter, rain and snow, blistering heat and freezing cold—aged his body. The once playful youth, who could rebound from every fall, now struggled sometimes to simply rise and sit. The lines carved into his face, the distant gaze in his eyes, and the creaking limbs betrayed his thirty-five years, suggesting an older, weaker man.
On this cool dark night he watched. He guarded the sheep asleep in the cave and watched for anything that might hurt the sheep or his fellow shepherds. While Bethlehem nights were usually quiet and peaceful, he could take no chances. Someone must watch in case of bandits, wolves, other creatures or other problems.
Matthias struggled to stay awake. Last night was his turn to rest, but a commotion among the dogs of the flock kept him awake most of the night. And now his mind and body fought hard to recover that sleep.
Puling out a little pipe from his leather pouch, Matthias began to play a tune. In a life of constant struggle for survival, this little pipe was one of his few joys. When he played, he dreamed. He traveled back to boyhood. To sitting by the fire as his grandfather told stories about days long gone.
According to pappa, shepherds were beloved of God and were the reason God chose Israel as his people. Abraham, Isaac and Jacob were shepherds. Moses was a shepherd. David was a shepherd.
Yes God loved shepherds and would one day restore their glory. They wouldn’t always be outsiders. Stories weaved through the cities accusing shepherds of everything from stealing, tricking and killing townspeople to even mating with their flocks.
Not every rumor was false. Their lives were hard, and sometimes survival meant doing things that made you less than proud. Poverty so gripped and controlled their lives, they no longer even owned the sheep they herded. Instead, wealthy landowners bought the sheep from the shepherds and then lorded over them like slaves.
This humiliation, this constant struggle, this life of virtual slavery drove shepherds to play a role that sometimes included the very worst of the rumors. A shadow of regret and guilt darkened many of their lives.
Living on the margin of the world, they felt forgotten, abandoned and even hated by God. They were dirty, smelly, poor and knew nothing but shepherding. Yet in spite of this, Matthias still dreamed on his pipe. Pappa made the life of shepherding seem wondrous, magical. Pappa’s words kept him alive on the inside even when the outside seemed to be crumbling.
In the desolate hours, Matthias felt the desolation of his life stir a yearning deep within for something. A longing burned and burned and he expressed the longing in slow lamentation on the pipe. He played on and on through the monotonous minutes and hours of the cold winter eve.
Suddenly a light jolted through him and the pipe flew from his hands. Instantly Matthias fell to the ground screaming. The other shepherds followed suit. God had finally come and the end was at hand. They would be judged…and found wanting.
But then two words, two words which promised hope and love and…possibility. “Fear not!”
As the words washed over him in a flood a peace, Matthias looked up at the cause of his travail. A light figure stood or floated before him. He could see no features for the intense brilliance almost blinded him.
Then the voice of a thousand bells spoke again, “For behold, I bring you good news of a great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger."
“Unto me? A baby born to me? A savior born for me?” The questions raced through his head, but in a moment, laughter erupted from Matthias’s belly like a sudden flood. The other shepherds laughed as well. Soon they were dancing and singing. The joy that burned within them was brighter and more furiously playful than anything they had ever known.
Shearing days could not compare to this spontaneous festival of laughter and dancing and frolicking that broke out in their midst. As though one angel was not enough to witness this joy, the sky suddenly flamed with thousands upon thousands of angel singing, ringing, shouting proclaiming
"Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!"
As they danced, Matthias heard Pappa’s words ringing in his ears. “God really does love shepherds.” Then he out of the blue remembered something else Pappa would say, something he had forgotten all these years, “God loves shepherds because he is a shepherd and we’re his sheep.”
For the first time since childhood, Matthias beamed with a heaven-sent pride. He was called of God, chosen to shepherd the sheep. Chosen to reveal the wisdom and kindness of God upon the earth. And now, unexpectedly chosen to share in the joy of God’s redeeming Israel by sending the baby shepherd king who would restore his flock and lead them home.
His dreams stopped short when the sky turned black. As suddenly as they came, the angels departed, and Matthias turned to his fellow herders, “Come my friends, we must go at once. Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us."
His joints and bones ached and had ached for so long, it seemed normal. Years of nomadic life in summer and winter, rain and snow, blistering heat and freezing cold—aged his body. The once playful youth, who could rebound from every fall, now struggled sometimes to simply rise and sit. The lines carved into his face, the distant gaze in his eyes, and the creaking limbs betrayed his thirty-five years, suggesting an older, weaker man.
On this cool dark night he watched. He guarded the sheep asleep in the cave and watched for anything that might hurt the sheep or his fellow shepherds. While Bethlehem nights were usually quiet and peaceful, he could take no chances. Someone must watch in case of bandits, wolves, other creatures or other problems.
Matthias struggled to stay awake. Last night was his turn to rest, but a commotion among the dogs of the flock kept him awake most of the night. And now his mind and body fought hard to recover that sleep.
Puling out a little pipe from his leather pouch, Matthias began to play a tune. In a life of constant struggle for survival, this little pipe was one of his few joys. When he played, he dreamed. He traveled back to boyhood. To sitting by the fire as his grandfather told stories about days long gone.
According to pappa, shepherds were beloved of God and were the reason God chose Israel as his people. Abraham, Isaac and Jacob were shepherds. Moses was a shepherd. David was a shepherd.
Yes God loved shepherds and would one day restore their glory. They wouldn’t always be outsiders. Stories weaved through the cities accusing shepherds of everything from stealing, tricking and killing townspeople to even mating with their flocks.
Not every rumor was false. Their lives were hard, and sometimes survival meant doing things that made you less than proud. Poverty so gripped and controlled their lives, they no longer even owned the sheep they herded. Instead, wealthy landowners bought the sheep from the shepherds and then lorded over them like slaves.
This humiliation, this constant struggle, this life of virtual slavery drove shepherds to play a role that sometimes included the very worst of the rumors. A shadow of regret and guilt darkened many of their lives.
Living on the margin of the world, they felt forgotten, abandoned and even hated by God. They were dirty, smelly, poor and knew nothing but shepherding. Yet in spite of this, Matthias still dreamed on his pipe. Pappa made the life of shepherding seem wondrous, magical. Pappa’s words kept him alive on the inside even when the outside seemed to be crumbling.
In the desolate hours, Matthias felt the desolation of his life stir a yearning deep within for something. A longing burned and burned and he expressed the longing in slow lamentation on the pipe. He played on and on through the monotonous minutes and hours of the cold winter eve.
Suddenly a light jolted through him and the pipe flew from his hands. Instantly Matthias fell to the ground screaming. The other shepherds followed suit. God had finally come and the end was at hand. They would be judged…and found wanting.
But then two words, two words which promised hope and love and…possibility. “Fear not!”
As the words washed over him in a flood a peace, Matthias looked up at the cause of his travail. A light figure stood or floated before him. He could see no features for the intense brilliance almost blinded him.
Then the voice of a thousand bells spoke again, “For behold, I bring you good news of a great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger."
“Unto me? A baby born to me? A savior born for me?” The questions raced through his head, but in a moment, laughter erupted from Matthias’s belly like a sudden flood. The other shepherds laughed as well. Soon they were dancing and singing. The joy that burned within them was brighter and more furiously playful than anything they had ever known.
Shearing days could not compare to this spontaneous festival of laughter and dancing and frolicking that broke out in their midst. As though one angel was not enough to witness this joy, the sky suddenly flamed with thousands upon thousands of angel singing, ringing, shouting proclaiming
"Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!"
As they danced, Matthias heard Pappa’s words ringing in his ears. “God really does love shepherds.” Then he out of the blue remembered something else Pappa would say, something he had forgotten all these years, “God loves shepherds because he is a shepherd and we’re his sheep.”
For the first time since childhood, Matthias beamed with a heaven-sent pride. He was called of God, chosen to shepherd the sheep. Chosen to reveal the wisdom and kindness of God upon the earth. And now, unexpectedly chosen to share in the joy of God’s redeeming Israel by sending the baby shepherd king who would restore his flock and lead them home.
His dreams stopped short when the sky turned black. As suddenly as they came, the angels departed, and Matthias turned to his fellow herders, “Come my friends, we must go at once. Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us."
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Telling Stories during Advent
The story of the shepherds, a manger, a husband and his young wife all surrounding the manger of a newly born Savior has been told, retold and told again for countless generations in multiple languages. It inspires young and old, poor and rich, religious and even irreligious.
As your making your list (and counting it twice), I would encourage to pause a little to reflect on the stories of the nativity. Let the stories soak deep into your imagination. Read and reread them. And if possible, tell the stories.
The gospels emerge from a storied culture. There were no movie theatres or televisions to entertain. Storytelling played a fundamental role in shaping these people. While most ancient people groups focused their calendar on agricultural rhythms, the ancient Hebrews focused their calendar on stories. Not just any stories, but stories they claimed and believed to be actual history. They reenacted the stories in their rituals. They retold and relived the stories year after year after year.
The stories gave them power to survive occupation, captivity and persecution. The stories of Abraham, Moses, and David filled the imagination of the disciples. The letters of Paul, Peter, John and even Jude are filled with allusions to stories. They thought in stories and they often wrote atop stories.
We need those stories inside us, and sometimes the process of telling the stories impacts us even more than hearing or reading them. So I encourage you to take time to tell the stories: whether in a journal or in gatherings with family or friends. My sister said she might give each member of her family an assignment to tell the story of a different character.
However you tell the stories, I encourage you to do it. You don’t have to be a grand novelist to tell the stories. By virtue of being human, we are all born storytellers. As the ancient Jews heard the story of the Exodus over and over, they begin to realize they were still a part of the story of a people redeemed from the hand of a great oppressor.
It is important to get the story of Zechariah, Elizabeth, Mary, Joseph, the Shepherds and others into the very fibre of your soul. It is important to take these figures out of the two-dimensional flannel board world and let our imagination help us see them as three-dimensional, fully human, beings: real people with real problems who encounter a real God.
As we tell the stories, we might begin to grasp the far grander mystery: that we are part of the story ourselves.
To help stir you and get you motivated, I thought I might share some of my feeble attempts at trying to retell these stories. I used my imagination to fill details and took some creative license, but I also tried to be true to what I knew of the history at the time. I’ll share few to help motivate you. But I encourage you that it is more important for you to tell the story than to read the story I send out.
The first story I worked with is the story of Zechariah, Elizabeth and Mary. This is long (and long than my average post), so those who want to read may choose to print it out.
Zechariah and Elizabeth carried their shame with a quiet dignity. Years of anguished longing and fervent prayers with no result: God remained silent. And in his silence, He marked them with a sign of public humiliation: barrenness. The time for birthing children came and went, Elizabeth’s womb dried up and her cries had no avail.
Zechariah and Elizabeth took their shame, their disappointment, their loss, their hopelessness and found hope in God alone. Their anguish became devotion to the God of Israel. Born into a priestly family, Zechariah’s life would be defined by serving and worshipping God every day in the Temple. The God who failed him. The God who turned His back to him. The God who abandoned him. Every day, Zechariah stood in the Temple and faithfully worshipped and served the Holy One of Israel.
One evening as Zechariah went to serve in the Temple, something happened that only happened a once in a lifetime. This priest humiliated by God was selected to an act of highest honor, offering incense in the Presence of the Most High.
With trepidation, Zechariah approached the Holy Place. Even though it was just a few steps, he was walking between worlds, stepping into the very place of heaven on earth where God’s glory shined and could overwhelm anyone. Long ago, Aaron’s sons approached the holy place irreverently and were instantly killed. And since that time, a certain holy fear surrounded this terrible, wondrous place.
Standing in the Presence of the Unnamable, the terrible glorious Creator, Zechariah obediently carried out his service of offering the incense. Suddenly Gabriel stepped out from the Presence and spoke. The moment the glory touched him, Zechariah fell to the ground in terror.
“Do not be afraid Zechariah. Your prayers have been heard, and your wife Elizabeth will bear a son and you shall call his name John. And you will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth. For he will be great in the sight of the Lord, and shall drink neither wine nor strong drink. He will also be filled with the Holy Spirit, even from his mother’s womb. And he will turn many of the children of Israel to the Lord their God. He will also go before Him in the spirit and power of Elijah, ‘to turn the hearts of the fathers to the children,’ and the disobedient to the wisdom of the just, to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.” (The Message)
As Gabriel spoke, Zechariah’s trembling turned to tears. The anguish of carrying the years of shame swept over him, and he lay there moaning before the throne. His tears came from a deep wellspring, deeper even then his own grief. Suddenly, he was grieving with Abraham and Sarah in their barrenness. The pain of their dying world turned within him. Abraham and Sarah seemed to carry the barrenness of their generation as signs in their own bodies. Their world was dying around them, and in some impossible way God had chosen to recreate the world through them.
God’s promise filled their emptiness with hope of a world restored. Through them God would bless all creation. And through them, came Izaak. And through Izaak came Jacob. And through Jacob, came twelve sons who formed twelve tribes. Jacob’s clan would form a nation of people chosen to bear the blessing of God for all creation: Israel the chosen people, chosen to bless, restore, and break the curse. Unfortunately, story wisted in upon itself. Instead of blessing the world, they fell under a curse. Prophet after prophet after prophet called them back to the Law, back to the covenant, back to their commission to be the light of the world. Instead it seemed that darkness really did overcome the light.
Eventually Israel fell to surrounding empires. Her brightest and best were carried away, taken captive. Daniel, one of those captives, cried out day and night for the God to restore his people and to renew to covenant. Just as Zechariah and Elizabeth and had cried out day after day after day for God’s favor.
One night as Daniel prayed, Gabriel suddenly appeared. He promised the curse wouldn’t last forever. 70 weeks or 490 years would pass before God’s judgment would be complete. But then something new. God’s promises would be fulfilled.
And then Gabriel left. No words for many, many years. In fact, some suggested it had been close to 490 years and they were waiting expectantly for the end of the curse.
So Zechariah’s grieving took him through the whole history of Israel. He experienced the curse, the shame of God’s people from within. Now he realized, that he and Elizabeth bore the shame of Israel’s barrenness. For God’s people, in spite of their outward rituals, were a barren people, crushed under the curse of sin. No one could redeem, save God alone.
As Zechariah came to his senses, he began to grasp the impact of Gabriel’s words. He and Elizabeth would bear a son? But how could this be? They were too old? And how could this signal the end of exile? The end of the curse?
As he turned to Gabriel, he stuttered searching for a sign, “But how shall I know?”
Gabriel gave him a sign. He took away his words. Man shall live by the Word of Lord alone. And if he can’t do that, he will have no words. So Zechariah stumbled out from the Temple, just beginning to realize the power of words and the weight of God’s Word.
He could not tell the people what happened. He could give the priestly blessing. Even in this he was a living sign. For the priestly blessing would now be handed over to another. One day soon, the real Priest would stand and bless his people before He departed to be with His Father.
Zechariah held onto Gabriel’s last words, “My words which will be fulfilled in their own time.” The words were not dependent on man’s planning, man’s praying, man’s wrestling. The words carried the force of God’s blessing and would be fulfilled in God’s time by God’s hand.
Zechariah stumbled home to his wife. Silently, he embraced her unable to express the glory of what was happening. And yet, the hope of their future, and the hope of Israel’s future brought new life to a dying body and soon the life manifested in Elizabeth’s womb. The old woman cried out with the joy of teenage girl: “the Lord has dealt with me, He has looked on me, He has taken away my reproach among people.” As Elizabeth hid herself away to prepare for the coming child, Mary, her young cousin, was about to experience her own surprise.
Mary’s parents knew it was time to prepare their little girl for womanhood. So they found a husband. While much older, Joseph could provide for Mary, and her parents were delighted in such a match. Their marriage was sealed and now Mary need only wait for the time when Joseph would come to welcome her to his home. As Joseph went away to prepare a home for her, Mary waited quietly and patiently, preparing her heart for a new life, a new family and a new world. But nothing she did could prepare her for a visit from Gabriel.
Suddenly the angel appeared. “Rejoice young lady! Your beauty is God’s beauty and your joy is God’s joy. For God delights in you and has chosen to bless you!”
Puzzled and fearful, Mary bowed beneath the shining glory of this figure. Gabriel took her hand and gently helped her. “Mary, you have nothing to fear! This is good news! God has a special surprise for you: you are going to give birth to a son and you’ll name him Jesus.
He will be great,
be called 'Son of the Highest.'
The Lord God will give him
the throne of his father David;
He will rule Jacob's house forever—
no end, ever, to his kingdom." from the Message)
Sheepishly, Mary replied, “But, but how can this people. I am young girl. I’ve, I’ve never even been with a man.”
The Holy Spirit will come upon you,
the power of the Highest hover over you;
Therefore, the child you bring to birth
will be called Holy, Son of God. (from the Message)
And did you know that your cousin Elizabeth conceived a son, old as she is? Everyone called her barren, and here she is six months pregnant! Nothing, you see, is impossible with God."
As Gabriel spoke, a peace overwhelmed Mary. She couldn’t grasp what all he meant, and yet God was moving, working. She thought of her cousin Elizabeth. Years of shame would now disperse, as Elizabeth would bear the mark of God’s favor. Yet, even at the same time, Mary realized her own life would now be marked by shame. For she, not yet alone with Joseph, would be with child. All the questions people would raise. As these thoughts overwhelmed her mind, she rested in God’s promise.
In some mysterious way, He was restoring the throne of David. And in some way, the Spirit of God would hover over her womb (still formless and void like a new born earth) and He would breathe life. It was too much too grasp, she simply fell again beneath Gabriel’s words and submitted to the Word of God.
“Let it be to me according to your word.”
The angel left. The Spirit moved. Mary arose. With the child who would change the world, she traveled to see Elizabeth.
Resting in the shade of her courtyard, Elizabeth drifted between waking and sleeping when suddenly a voice burst into her daydreams. Mary’s greeting penetrated her womb and the baby within leapt for joy. Waves and waves and waves of joy rippled through her body. Elizabeth jumped and ran to her young cousin. They hugged and cried and laughed. Their voices lifted up into the Presence of God and the angels joined in a chorus of praise for the wonder, the mystery, the surprise of God’s love revealed in these ladies. For a moment, the whole world seemed to sparkle in the light of this joy.
Elizabeth and Mary began to speak, to proclaim, the prophecy the wonder of God’s grace revealed in their midst. Mary exclaimed:
I'm bursting with God-news;
I'm dancing the song of my Savior God.
God took one good look at me, and look what happened—
I'm the most fortunate woman on earth!
What God has done for me will never be forgotten,
the God whose very name is holy, set apart from all others.
His mercy flows in wave after wave
on those who are in awe before him.
He bared his arm and showed his strength,
scattered the bluffing braggarts.
He knocked tyrants off their high horses,
pulled victims out of the mud.
The starving poor sat down to a banquet;
the callous rich were left out in the cold.
He embraced his chosen child, Israel;
he remembered and piled on the mercies, piled them high.
It's exactly what he promised,
beginning with Abraham and right up to now. (from the Message)
In a world of wickedness and oppression, Mary saw God coming in the midst to set things right. Her baby. Her son. Her gift from heaven would usher in a new kingdom. The kingdom of God, and the poor and downtrodden would be restored. As Mary sang, she sang the future into being. For Mary, like the prophets of old, sang of the world’s future. Our future. And the song she sang and continues to sing is a song of hope. Grace and mercy and justice really will prevail. God’s love really does triumph. And wickedness and evil and pain and death are ultimately crushed by the loving-kindness of God.
As your making your list (and counting it twice), I would encourage to pause a little to reflect on the stories of the nativity. Let the stories soak deep into your imagination. Read and reread them. And if possible, tell the stories.
The gospels emerge from a storied culture. There were no movie theatres or televisions to entertain. Storytelling played a fundamental role in shaping these people. While most ancient people groups focused their calendar on agricultural rhythms, the ancient Hebrews focused their calendar on stories. Not just any stories, but stories they claimed and believed to be actual history. They reenacted the stories in their rituals. They retold and relived the stories year after year after year.
The stories gave them power to survive occupation, captivity and persecution. The stories of Abraham, Moses, and David filled the imagination of the disciples. The letters of Paul, Peter, John and even Jude are filled with allusions to stories. They thought in stories and they often wrote atop stories.
We need those stories inside us, and sometimes the process of telling the stories impacts us even more than hearing or reading them. So I encourage you to take time to tell the stories: whether in a journal or in gatherings with family or friends. My sister said she might give each member of her family an assignment to tell the story of a different character.
However you tell the stories, I encourage you to do it. You don’t have to be a grand novelist to tell the stories. By virtue of being human, we are all born storytellers. As the ancient Jews heard the story of the Exodus over and over, they begin to realize they were still a part of the story of a people redeemed from the hand of a great oppressor.
It is important to get the story of Zechariah, Elizabeth, Mary, Joseph, the Shepherds and others into the very fibre of your soul. It is important to take these figures out of the two-dimensional flannel board world and let our imagination help us see them as three-dimensional, fully human, beings: real people with real problems who encounter a real God.
As we tell the stories, we might begin to grasp the far grander mystery: that we are part of the story ourselves.
To help stir you and get you motivated, I thought I might share some of my feeble attempts at trying to retell these stories. I used my imagination to fill details and took some creative license, but I also tried to be true to what I knew of the history at the time. I’ll share few to help motivate you. But I encourage you that it is more important for you to tell the story than to read the story I send out.
The first story I worked with is the story of Zechariah, Elizabeth and Mary. This is long (and long than my average post), so those who want to read may choose to print it out.
Zechariah and Elizabeth carried their shame with a quiet dignity. Years of anguished longing and fervent prayers with no result: God remained silent. And in his silence, He marked them with a sign of public humiliation: barrenness. The time for birthing children came and went, Elizabeth’s womb dried up and her cries had no avail.
Zechariah and Elizabeth took their shame, their disappointment, their loss, their hopelessness and found hope in God alone. Their anguish became devotion to the God of Israel. Born into a priestly family, Zechariah’s life would be defined by serving and worshipping God every day in the Temple. The God who failed him. The God who turned His back to him. The God who abandoned him. Every day, Zechariah stood in the Temple and faithfully worshipped and served the Holy One of Israel.
One evening as Zechariah went to serve in the Temple, something happened that only happened a once in a lifetime. This priest humiliated by God was selected to an act of highest honor, offering incense in the Presence of the Most High.
With trepidation, Zechariah approached the Holy Place. Even though it was just a few steps, he was walking between worlds, stepping into the very place of heaven on earth where God’s glory shined and could overwhelm anyone. Long ago, Aaron’s sons approached the holy place irreverently and were instantly killed. And since that time, a certain holy fear surrounded this terrible, wondrous place.
Standing in the Presence of the Unnamable, the terrible glorious Creator, Zechariah obediently carried out his service of offering the incense. Suddenly Gabriel stepped out from the Presence and spoke. The moment the glory touched him, Zechariah fell to the ground in terror.
“Do not be afraid Zechariah. Your prayers have been heard, and your wife Elizabeth will bear a son and you shall call his name John. And you will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth. For he will be great in the sight of the Lord, and shall drink neither wine nor strong drink. He will also be filled with the Holy Spirit, even from his mother’s womb. And he will turn many of the children of Israel to the Lord their God. He will also go before Him in the spirit and power of Elijah, ‘to turn the hearts of the fathers to the children,’ and the disobedient to the wisdom of the just, to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.” (The Message)
As Gabriel spoke, Zechariah’s trembling turned to tears. The anguish of carrying the years of shame swept over him, and he lay there moaning before the throne. His tears came from a deep wellspring, deeper even then his own grief. Suddenly, he was grieving with Abraham and Sarah in their barrenness. The pain of their dying world turned within him. Abraham and Sarah seemed to carry the barrenness of their generation as signs in their own bodies. Their world was dying around them, and in some impossible way God had chosen to recreate the world through them.
God’s promise filled their emptiness with hope of a world restored. Through them God would bless all creation. And through them, came Izaak. And through Izaak came Jacob. And through Jacob, came twelve sons who formed twelve tribes. Jacob’s clan would form a nation of people chosen to bear the blessing of God for all creation: Israel the chosen people, chosen to bless, restore, and break the curse. Unfortunately, story wisted in upon itself. Instead of blessing the world, they fell under a curse. Prophet after prophet after prophet called them back to the Law, back to the covenant, back to their commission to be the light of the world. Instead it seemed that darkness really did overcome the light.
Eventually Israel fell to surrounding empires. Her brightest and best were carried away, taken captive. Daniel, one of those captives, cried out day and night for the God to restore his people and to renew to covenant. Just as Zechariah and Elizabeth and had cried out day after day after day for God’s favor.
One night as Daniel prayed, Gabriel suddenly appeared. He promised the curse wouldn’t last forever. 70 weeks or 490 years would pass before God’s judgment would be complete. But then something new. God’s promises would be fulfilled.
And then Gabriel left. No words for many, many years. In fact, some suggested it had been close to 490 years and they were waiting expectantly for the end of the curse.
So Zechariah’s grieving took him through the whole history of Israel. He experienced the curse, the shame of God’s people from within. Now he realized, that he and Elizabeth bore the shame of Israel’s barrenness. For God’s people, in spite of their outward rituals, were a barren people, crushed under the curse of sin. No one could redeem, save God alone.
As Zechariah came to his senses, he began to grasp the impact of Gabriel’s words. He and Elizabeth would bear a son? But how could this be? They were too old? And how could this signal the end of exile? The end of the curse?
As he turned to Gabriel, he stuttered searching for a sign, “But how shall I know?”
Gabriel gave him a sign. He took away his words. Man shall live by the Word of Lord alone. And if he can’t do that, he will have no words. So Zechariah stumbled out from the Temple, just beginning to realize the power of words and the weight of God’s Word.
He could not tell the people what happened. He could give the priestly blessing. Even in this he was a living sign. For the priestly blessing would now be handed over to another. One day soon, the real Priest would stand and bless his people before He departed to be with His Father.
Zechariah held onto Gabriel’s last words, “My words which will be fulfilled in their own time.” The words were not dependent on man’s planning, man’s praying, man’s wrestling. The words carried the force of God’s blessing and would be fulfilled in God’s time by God’s hand.
Zechariah stumbled home to his wife. Silently, he embraced her unable to express the glory of what was happening. And yet, the hope of their future, and the hope of Israel’s future brought new life to a dying body and soon the life manifested in Elizabeth’s womb. The old woman cried out with the joy of teenage girl: “the Lord has dealt with me, He has looked on me, He has taken away my reproach among people.” As Elizabeth hid herself away to prepare for the coming child, Mary, her young cousin, was about to experience her own surprise.
Mary’s parents knew it was time to prepare their little girl for womanhood. So they found a husband. While much older, Joseph could provide for Mary, and her parents were delighted in such a match. Their marriage was sealed and now Mary need only wait for the time when Joseph would come to welcome her to his home. As Joseph went away to prepare a home for her, Mary waited quietly and patiently, preparing her heart for a new life, a new family and a new world. But nothing she did could prepare her for a visit from Gabriel.
Suddenly the angel appeared. “Rejoice young lady! Your beauty is God’s beauty and your joy is God’s joy. For God delights in you and has chosen to bless you!”
Puzzled and fearful, Mary bowed beneath the shining glory of this figure. Gabriel took her hand and gently helped her. “Mary, you have nothing to fear! This is good news! God has a special surprise for you: you are going to give birth to a son and you’ll name him Jesus.
He will be great,
be called 'Son of the Highest.'
The Lord God will give him
the throne of his father David;
He will rule Jacob's house forever—
no end, ever, to his kingdom." from the Message)
Sheepishly, Mary replied, “But, but how can this people. I am young girl. I’ve, I’ve never even been with a man.”
The Holy Spirit will come upon you,
the power of the Highest hover over you;
Therefore, the child you bring to birth
will be called Holy, Son of God. (from the Message)
And did you know that your cousin Elizabeth conceived a son, old as she is? Everyone called her barren, and here she is six months pregnant! Nothing, you see, is impossible with God."
As Gabriel spoke, a peace overwhelmed Mary. She couldn’t grasp what all he meant, and yet God was moving, working. She thought of her cousin Elizabeth. Years of shame would now disperse, as Elizabeth would bear the mark of God’s favor. Yet, even at the same time, Mary realized her own life would now be marked by shame. For she, not yet alone with Joseph, would be with child. All the questions people would raise. As these thoughts overwhelmed her mind, she rested in God’s promise.
In some mysterious way, He was restoring the throne of David. And in some way, the Spirit of God would hover over her womb (still formless and void like a new born earth) and He would breathe life. It was too much too grasp, she simply fell again beneath Gabriel’s words and submitted to the Word of God.
“Let it be to me according to your word.”
The angel left. The Spirit moved. Mary arose. With the child who would change the world, she traveled to see Elizabeth.
Resting in the shade of her courtyard, Elizabeth drifted between waking and sleeping when suddenly a voice burst into her daydreams. Mary’s greeting penetrated her womb and the baby within leapt for joy. Waves and waves and waves of joy rippled through her body. Elizabeth jumped and ran to her young cousin. They hugged and cried and laughed. Their voices lifted up into the Presence of God and the angels joined in a chorus of praise for the wonder, the mystery, the surprise of God’s love revealed in these ladies. For a moment, the whole world seemed to sparkle in the light of this joy.
Elizabeth and Mary began to speak, to proclaim, the prophecy the wonder of God’s grace revealed in their midst. Mary exclaimed:
I'm bursting with God-news;
I'm dancing the song of my Savior God.
God took one good look at me, and look what happened—
I'm the most fortunate woman on earth!
What God has done for me will never be forgotten,
the God whose very name is holy, set apart from all others.
His mercy flows in wave after wave
on those who are in awe before him.
He bared his arm and showed his strength,
scattered the bluffing braggarts.
He knocked tyrants off their high horses,
pulled victims out of the mud.
The starving poor sat down to a banquet;
the callous rich were left out in the cold.
He embraced his chosen child, Israel;
he remembered and piled on the mercies, piled them high.
It's exactly what he promised,
beginning with Abraham and right up to now. (from the Message)
In a world of wickedness and oppression, Mary saw God coming in the midst to set things right. Her baby. Her son. Her gift from heaven would usher in a new kingdom. The kingdom of God, and the poor and downtrodden would be restored. As Mary sang, she sang the future into being. For Mary, like the prophets of old, sang of the world’s future. Our future. And the song she sang and continues to sing is a song of hope. Grace and mercy and justice really will prevail. God’s love really does triumph. And wickedness and evil and pain and death are ultimately crushed by the loving-kindness of God.
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