We See God in Each Other
Generation to Generation: We See God in Each Other
Luke 1:39-58
December 18th, 2022
Rev. Rhonda Blevins
In those days Mary set out and went with haste to a Judean town in the hill country, where she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” And Mary said, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.” And Mary remained with her about three months and then returned to her home. Now the time came for Elizabeth to give birth, and she bore a son. Her neighbors and relatives heard that the Lord had shown his great mercy to her, and they rejoiced with her.
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I’m still on Cloud 9 after our “Carols by Candlelight” event last Thursday evening. The reception was amazing—everyone having such a joyful time! And the concert: wow! The choir singing in top form, the small ensembles, the solos, the harp, all under the leadership of our director of music, Brent Douglas.
New to the “Carols by Candlelight” event was the participation of some of our Chapel kids under the leadership of Kristen Mann. And I want to confess something to you—I was skeptical of the kids’ involvement in the event at first. “But this is our elegant event,” I thought to myself. “Sure, kids are cute, but it won’t be elegant if they’re a part of the concert.”
And oh my goodness, were they cute! Dressed as Mary and Joseph and a choir of angels with glittery wings and crooked halos. Singing “Jingle Bell Rock” with Mike Kaufman on guitar and “Away in the Manger”—they brought down the house. The entire event—concert and reception—was a picture of church at its best. All ages, bringing their best contribution into a celebration of Christmas. Are there more elegant events? Certainly. But you’d be hard-pressed to find a warmer Christmas event anywhere. I am so proud of this church family. And I’m happy to admit that my skepticism was flat-out wrong.
One of my favorite moments in the concert was something unplanned, as is often the case when kids are involved. Little Gwenna White, dressed as an angel, escaping to the chancel when it wasn’t time, and making a bee-line to the hidden manger holding a baby-doll Jesus. She just couldn’t stay away from Jesus. She couldn’t wait to see Jesus! Oh, that we would all be more like little Gwenna!
The challenge for Gwenna was to escape from the grown-ups to get up on the chancel because see wanted to see Jesus. The challenge for us? Wanting to see—learning to see Jesus—to recognize Divinity—in every person we meet.
That’s where the story of Elizabeth and Mary comes in. Let me see if I can set the scene for you:
It’s First-Century Nazareth. Two women talking as they walk together through the marketplace. One leans over to the other and says in hushed tones, “Did you hear the latest? Mary is pregnant.” The other woman is surprised, “No way! Who’s the father?” “No one knows. I heard her parents are sending her away to some relatives in the hill country; they want to keep everyone from finding out.” “Well bless their hearts. They must be so ashamed.” The audience’s attention is then drawn to a couple standing there, unnoticed by the two women. Mary’s parents. They’ve obviously overheard. He becomes angry. She is devastated. He starts to aggressively walk toward the women—his wife grabs his arm and stops him. The light fades on that scene, now shining brightly across the stage. A lone character, Joseph, is visibly upset as he works in his shop. “I can’t believe my ears. How could she? I’ve been so good to her. We were going to be married.” The light fades from that scene, and now shines center stage. Zechariah and Elizabeth at home. It’s tense. He’s frustrated because he can’t speak; he was struck mute. She’s irritable; she’s been in seclusion for five months because that’s how pregnancy was handled in those days. She feels alone, isolated.
That’s how I envision life was going prior to the events that unfolded in today’s Gospel lesson. Let’s think about the characters in the scene I described. Were these powerful individuals? No. Wealthy? No. They were ordinary Jews in First-Century Palestine, which meant that these were people who were oppressed by the occupying Roman government. They lived day-to-day. They were a vulnerable, marginalized people; the marginalization was even more pronounced for pregnant women. (Elizabeth had been in seclusion for five months we are told in Luke 1:24).
With which character do you most identify? Mary, the ostracized outcast? Elizabeth, isolated and alone? Are you physically impaired like Zechariah? Do you feel unimportant or inconsequential, like Mary’s parents who aren’t even named in the Gospels? Perhaps you feel betrayed like Joseph must feel. Or are you the gossipy, self-righteous townspeople who can’t see the log in your own eye for looking at the speck in another’s? I’ve been each of these characters at one point in time or another. I’ve felt betrayed, insignificant, ostracized. And God-knows I’ve felt my share of self-righteousness.
In the unwritten lines before the story Luke tells, the situation probably wasn’t great, no matter the character. It was full of frustration, anxiety, shame, betrayal. I think that’s what Mary carried with her on the walk from Nazareth to the hill country. I wonder what was going through Mary’s mind as she approached the home of this older relative? “How will she treat me? Will she make me feel ashamed? Is she going to lecture me? Will she offer unwanted advice? Is she going to ask me how I intend to support this baby?” So Mary, carrying her modest bag, walks up to the door of the home of Zechariah and Elizabeth. She takes a deep breath and knocks.
In the pregnant pause between Mary’s knocking and Elizabeth’s opening, worlds of possibility emerge. Like the old game show, contestants pick a door. Behind one door there is a pile of rocks and behind the other door, there’s a brand new car. The contestants are stuck with whatever they find behind the door they choose. What will Mary find behind that door? Sanctuary or shame? Blessing or blame?
The door opens in slow motion. The hinges creak. Mary can barely breathe . . .
Have you heard of the Butterfly Effect? Initially used in talking about weather, scientists looking at cause and effect have determined that small changes in initial causes can have massive effects later on. The scientist who proposed this theory suggested that a butterfly flapping it’s wings in one part of the world could create a tornado weeks later in another part of the world.
With that in mind, I wonder if what happened next in our story might have changed the course of history? If young Mary finds shame and blame. . .what might that have done to the story that unfolded with Mary and her unborn son?
The door opens in slow motion. The hinges creak. Mary can barely breathe . . .
Elizabeth greets Mary with great exuberance, throws open the door with arms open wide. Hugs the young Mary. Mary says hello, Elizabeth feels her baby kick, placing her hand on her rotund midsection. She says to Mary, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb! And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” Surprised by this blessing, unable to contain her joy, I see the stage darkening with only a solitary spotlight on Mary, who begins to sing the most beautiful, angelic rendition of “The Magnificat” you’ve ever heard. That’s the end of Act 1.
As Mary and Elizabeth encounter each other there at the threshold of Elizabeth’s home, I invite you to consider the gift that each offered the other. Elizabeth offered younger Mary a blessing; Mary offered older Elizabeth hope. That’s what I want us to focus on for a moment. I think there are roles we are called to play within families, whether our given family or our chosen family. (The given family being those folks we are biologically related to; our chosen family being those we are emotionally related to.) Even within our church family. With Mary and Elizabeth as examples, the gift of the old is to bless the young. The gift of the young is to share hope with the old.
When we plumb the Mary/Elizabeth story, we find these two honoring the other, granting the other exactly what she needs. Mary went from ostracized outcast to harbinger of hope. Elizabeth went from solitary senior to bearer of blessings. It’s never too late to turn the script. It’s never to late to harness the power of hope or the power of a blessing.
Henri Nouwen is one of my favorite authors. He was a Dutch Catholic priest, who was so successful that he became in-demand as a speaker and writer, and he even taught at an Ivy-League college here in the States. At the pinnacle of his success he chose what he called “downward mobility” and left all of that to live in community with and to care for severely mentally and physically disabled adults. One day, as Father Nouwen was finishing his prayer service with the residents, a disabled community member, Janet, interrupted him and asked him for a blessing. Distracted, he quickly offered her the sign of the cross. Janet was not pleased. “No, Henri,” Janet protested. “I want a real blessing!” Acknowledging his weak response, he promised Janet that he would offer her a proper blessing at their next prayer meeting. So at the end of the next service, Father Nouwen said, “Janet has asked me for a special blessing.” She immediately jumped up, wrapped her arms around him, and planted her face in his chest. Holding her, Henri said, “Janet, I want you to know that you are God's Beloved Daughter. You are precious in God's eyes. Your beautiful smile, your kindness to the people in your house, and all the good things you do show what a beautiful human being you are. I know you feel a little low these days and that there is some sadness in your heart, but I want you to remember who you are: a very special person, deeply loved by God and all the people who are here with you.” Janet’s beaming smile indicated that he had gotten it right this time. Then something unexpected happened. When Janet sat down, another lady raised her hand and requested a blessing. Like Janet, she, too, wrapped her arms around Father Nouwen, planted her face in his chest, and he offered her a special blessing. One by one, many more disabled adults asked Father for this kind of blessing, and one by one, he met their request. Then something even more unexpected happened. Watching this all unfold was John, one of the assistants. A big, burly, athletic college guy who worked as an assistant there. John raised his hand and said, “Father, what about me?” John wrapped his arms around Henri, and Henri said, “John, it is so good that you are here. You are God's Beloved Son.” John looked back with tears in his eyes and simply said, “Thank you, thank you very much.”[1]
Nouwen recognized Divinity within Janet, calling her “God’s Beloved Daughter.” He recognized Divinity within John, calling him “God’s Beloved Son.” We bless one another when we see God in each other. And, there’s great power in a blessing.
What if Elizabeth offered Mary advice instead of a blessing? What about a barrage of questions (Who’s the father? How will you support this child?)? A lecture? Instead, Elizabeth offered a blessing. And in the way Luke tells the story, Mary’s response was a song! A song in which the world is turned upside-down, where the marginalized are elevated and the powerful made low. A song reversing the human order. A song of hope, shared between two lowly, oppressed women.
Mary offered Elizabeth hope. Hope is the gift the young can give to the aged. Suffering can certainly be experienced at any age, but older people have all faced some amount of suffering. It’s easy to become jaded, cynical. Older people need the idealism of younger people. Never underestimate the power of hope!
That’s the theory Viktor Frankl based his life’s work on. You may remember him from his famous book Man’s Search for Meaning, the book the women’s book club has chosen to read for their discussion next month. A concentration camp survivor from the Holocaust, Frankl was a psychiatrist. Instead of focusing on the terrible conditions he was forced to endure, he chose to study how other inmates coped with such horror. He began to believe that one characteristic shared among survivors, was they kept a sense of hope alive. They continued to believe that something, someday would change. After his release at the end of the war, he developed a full-fledged psychological theory called “logotherapy,” which supposes that the power of hope can change people’s lives.
Younger people are naturally positioned in life to offer hope to older people. What a gift! Older people are naturally positioned in life to offer a blessing to younger people. What a gift! Both gifts flow freely when we learn to see God in other people. Both of these gifts can change the course of history; just as a butterfly flapping its wings might alter the weather a half a world away.
Do you hear it? Someone’s knocking at your door. You know who it is. Someone older? Someone younger? Someone’s knocking. Someone needs you to recognize the presence of God in them. Someone needs the gift you have to give. You have hope to offer. You have a blessing to share. Share that simple gift this Christmas, and see the world change.
senior to bearer of blessings.
[1] Henri Nouwen, Life of the Beloved (New York: Crossroad, 1992), pp. 70-72.