Two Mothers, Two Sons, and the Audacity to Hope: A Sermon for the Visitation of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Today we celebrate the joyful encounter between two pregnant cousins – Mary and Elizabeth. Both of them were miraculously pregnant – Elizabeth had been unable to conceive her whole life - and she was well beyond child-bearing age when she finally became pregnant. Her much-younger teenaged cousin Mary was also miraculously pregnant, having conceived while she was a virgin. So this visitation between these two faithful miracle-bearers was one of celebration and joy. 

So, Elizabeth exclaims, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb.” And Mary responds with one of the most powerful songs in all of scripture, which begins, “"My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior…”

Indeed, this was a joy-filled acknowledgment and celebration of God’s steadfast power, love, and goodness. Elizabeth and Mary were two joy-filled, hope-filled, gracious mothers-to-be. The gratitude and joy and wonder is palpable in both of their greetings to one another.

Though Elizabeth and Mary were remarkable vessels of God’s miraculous power and grace, they were also, in many ways, ordinary human beings like you and me. They were susceptible to fear, pain, disappointment, and grief. And as it turns out, these two mothers experienced a heavy dose of all of those in their lifetimes.

As we celebrate the joy, awe, and wonder of this remarkable encounter between Elizabeth and Mary, I can’t help but to think about the fact that both of their boys – John the Baptist and Jesus, would end up dying horrible deaths. Both would be executed unjustly by the powers-that-be. Mary would actually be present for and witness up close the horrific torture and crucifixion of her son. I can’t even imagine that. I wonder if Mary had any idea this would be the fate of her son who she carried in her womb when she sang the Magnificat.

When I think about these two mothers – Elizabeth and Mary – my mind then goes to mothers today. I imagine that most mothers - regardless of their racial or socio-economic background – begin their journey of motherhood with at least a glimmer of hope in their hearts for their children. I believe that parenthood, at its core, is a hopeful endeavor. Even if our lives aren’t what we hoped they would be, we bring children into this world with big hopes and dreams for them. We hope that their lives will be better than ours. We hope that we can teach them what we have learned. We hope to steer them away from the mistakes we made. We hope that the world will be a safe place of opportunity for our children. As citizens of the United States, we hope and expect that our children will have full access to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, and all of the freedoms that our remarkable constitution offers them.

But the recent news has been a sobering reminder that many, maybe even most, mothers should have a healthy dose of fear for their children. In particular, mothers of color are afraid for their children, particularly their boys. Whatever hopes they have for them, they are clouded right now by legitimate fear for their safety – for their very own lives. 

My children were born into privilege, so my fear for them is different than is they were children of color. My fear is that they will participate in and benefit from systemic racism that infects our country today. My fear is that though they will be raised well and taught to love all people, they will still be a part of the deeper virus of racism that infects our country. They might be asymptomatic carriers, but they will still be carriers.

I think we are all fearful for our country as a whole and our children in particular right now. And we have every right to be fearful and despondent. That is how I feel right now. 

I have received some feedback that I should keep my messages positive and joyful during these trying times. I simply can’t do that, because it is not how I feel. And the minute that I feel like I have to be inauthentic with my feelings and my message is the minute I need to find another vocation.

So, I may not be joyful or positive. But I am hopeful. And the only reason I am able to be authentically hopeful is because of the son who Mary gave birth to. Yes, Mary had to endure what no mother deserves to endure when she witnessed the unjust, cruel execution of her son. But Mary never abandoned him, and she never abandoned hope. She stood at the foot of the cross as he hang there dying, in hopes that somehow, some way, this suffering and death would be redemptive as the promised that it would. 

The Song of Mary the we read today – the  Magnificat – is a rally cry for hope in the midst of suffering. On Good Friday and Holy Saturday, the Song of Mary was deeply out of tune, and appeared to be a terrible mis-reading of who her son was and what he would accomplish.

But on Easter Sunday, Mary’s Magnificat was deeply in-tune with God’s promise for the world. Mary’s hope is our hope. She was a mother who hoped against all odds. She, a lowly, poor teenager who was pregnant out of wedlock, who lived under Roman occupation and oppression, gave birth to a boy who, statistically-speaking, didn’t stand a chance for a safe, happy, fulfilling life. But that same son turned out to be the savior of the world. That same son – Jesus Christ – is not just a sign of hope, he is the world’s only hope for living life as God’s Beloved Community.

May we have the audacity to hope like Elizabeth and Mary hoped. For our children, for our nation, and for our world.