A common thread that runs through our entire liturgy today is temptation. The Collect for the First Sunday in Lent begins by recalling Jesus’ temptation by Satan, and then asks God to help us, knowing that we are “assaulted by manifold temptations.” Our reading from Genesis tells us of the Great Fall – where humankind succumbed to temptation by the crafty serpent. And then in our gospel lesson, we hear of Jesus’ 40-day temptation in the wilderness. The difference between these two accounts, of course, is that Jesus was able to resist temptation, while Adam and Eve were not.

During the Season in Lent, the Proper Preface for the Eucharistic Prayer also focuses on temptation, as it says, “Through Jesus Christ our Lord, who was in every way tempted as we are, yet did not sin…” – again, like the Collect, a nod to our Gospel lesson today.

So right out of the gate, on the First Sunday in Lent, we are being asked to grapple with the very thing that the first human beings grappled with. And also what our Lord and Savior grappled with. Of course, we all know who was able to resist temptation and who was not. The dichotomy is clear.

But I think we have to be careful with these lesson and prayers, lest we leave worship today with the wrong message. Otherwise, we might get all worked up and inspired by Jesus’ formidable self-control, discipline, and obedience, and come to believe that the purpose of Lent is for us to be like Jesus. All we have to do this season is try harder – if we pray, fast, attend Adult Formation classes, volunteer, give alms to the poor – we just might be able to go 40 days without succumbing to the “manifold temptations” that assault us. And if we really try hard enough, we might even live a sin-free life, if for only 40 days.

If we approach Lent this way, we have missed the mark. The bottom line is that no matter how hard we try, no matter how faithful we are, we will always be Adam and Eve. Until Christ comes again to judge the living and the dead, we will never achieve perfection in Christ.

So then, if this is the case, then what’s the point? Why even try to live a faithful, obedient, holy life if we know that we will always end up succumbing to temptation? I think the answer to this question, and the way to approach this broad gulf between Adam and Eve on the one hand and Jesus on the other, lies in our lesson from Paul’s letter to the Romans. In Paul’s language, he is drawing the distinction between what he refers to as the two Adams. The “first Adam” not only refers to the first human being, but also is a representative term for all of humankind.

The first Adam – created in God’s very own perfect image – succumbed to temptation, and by their own will chose to disobey God. Ever since then, all of humankind has been living under the image of the fallen “first Adam”, who “introduced sin and death into the world.”[1] Paul saw Jesus as the “second Adam,” sent by God to redeem the “first Adam” by bringing forth life out of death. This is a brilliant use of metaphor, wordplay, images by Paul to communicate the truth of the Good News of Jesus Christ.

What Paul recognized to be true was that through the sin and disobedience of the first Adam, all of humankind thereafter inherited the penalty of death. No longer was humankind immortal, as we were first created to be. This theology of inherited – or original - sin is scandalous for many people. Many Christians today refuse to believe it. We shouldn’t be held responsible for something someone else did a long time ago. We didn’t eat the forbidden fruit in the garden. God wouldn’t hold me accountable for what someone else did a long time ago. Adam’s sin doesn’t affect me. When I choose to disobey God, it has nothing to do what the first Adam did a long time ago. And so the arguments go.

But Paul doesn’t stop with inherited sin. His understanding of the consequences of the Second Adam are just as scandalous as the first – actually much more so. Paul asserts that just as sin came into the world through one person, so did salvation. I think Eugene Peterson’s translation of Romans 15-16 from The Message can help us hear the dichotomy Paul’s lifts up between the first and second Adam. It reads like this:

 “Yet the rescuing gift is not exactly parallel to the death-dealing sin.

If one man’s sin put crowds of people at the dead-end abyss of separation from God,

just think what God’s gift poured through one man, Jesus Christ, will do!

There’s no comparison between that death-dealing sin

and this generous, life-giving gift.

The verdict on that one sin was the death sentence;

 the verdict on the many sins that followed was this wonderful life sentence.”

My friends, that is the gospel in a nutshell right there. As bad as the news is that we are implicated by the actions of the first Adam, we have the scandalous Good News that we are redeemed by the actions of the second Adam. Yes, one person’s disobedience affects all of humankind, whether we like it or not. But in Christ, one person’s obedience graciously affects all of humankind as well.

Ted Blakley tells us that “Paul argues that the positive effects of what Jesus accomplished not only reverses the consequences of Adam’s sin but completely surpasses them. This is because the grace and graciousness of God is so far superior to the power of sin and death.”[2]

So, as we begin our journey together through this holy season of Lent, let us remember that none of us will get through these 40 days in the same obedient, faithful, sin-free manner that Jesus did in his 40 days in the wilderness. Because we have inherited the sin of the first Adam, we too will succumb to the manifold temptations that assault us. But we also must remember what Paul wrote just one verse after what we read today – “where sin increased, grace abounded all the more.” As children of the first Adam, we do not have to live in despair. We are not sentenced to eternal death. In the second Adam – Jesus Christ – we have eternal life.

During this season in Lent, I encourage us all to not try to heroically make it 40 days without failing. That is simply impossible, and it is not what God expects of us. Rather, during this holy season, we are called to engage our faith in such a way that we come to know Jesus more intimately, more deeply, and more fully. And as we come to know and experience him in this way, then we will better be able to rejoice and be glad in the great Good News of new life in Christ, who died so that we all might live. 

[1] J. Ted Blakley, A Lector’s Guide & Commentary to the Revised Common Lectionary, Year A.

[2] J. Ted Blakley, A Lector’s Guide & Commentary to the Revised Common Lectionary, Year A.

“Even when we fail…always we begin again.” This is a quote from one of my heroes in the faith, St. Benedict of Nursia. It comes from the Rule that Benedict created for his monastic communities in the 6th century. But we do not have to be a Benedictine monk or nun to be drawn to this quote.

“Even when we fail…always we begin again” is for all of us who are on the journey of Christian discipleship – this journey that is marked by daily failure, followed by beginning again...and again…and again.

As such, “Even when we fail…always we begin again” is an Ash Wednesday saying – a Lenten saying. Ash Wednesday is the day that the Christian tradition has marked as the time for “beginning again.” As such, Christians since the 4th century have used the holy season of Lent to refocus our intentions towards embodying our baptismal identities as beloved children of God – simultaneously fallen and redeemed.

As we heard with the Ash Wednesday exhortation earlier in the service, we are invited to observe a holy Lent through the spiritual disciplines of self-examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by reading and meditating on God’s holy Word. That sounds like quite a lot. If you feel overwhelmed by this list, I encourage you to pick one or two to focus on this year.

We must remember that Lent is not meant to be a sort of spiritual Cross Fit or Olympics. And please remember that when we engage in the Lenten disciplines, we are doing so not so that God will love us more. God already loves us more than we can imagine, and it does not ebb and flow like human love does. The Lenten disciplines are to transform us, not God.

We engage the Lenten disciplines so that we might experience a deeper, more intimate relationship with God through his son, Jesus Christ. That’s it. We are simply being invited to know and love Jesus more fully. And the Church throughout the ages has found that the spiritual disciplines of self-examination and repentance; prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by reading and meditating on God’s holy Word are effective ways to come to know and love Jesus more fully. But at the end of the day, it is about knowing and loving Jesus more intimately.

And of course, we are called to know and love Jesus more fully all the time, not just during Lent. But we are human beings. Just as in our relationships with one another, we take for granted, neglect, or even abandon our relationship with God. Relationships of any kind are hard work! There’s a reason that there are countless marriage retreats available for couples these days. There’s a reason that families come together for the holidays, even when it involves travel over long distances. Our relationships with one another need attention and nurturing. Over the long haul, our relationships don’t flourish on their own. They need to be tended to. In our relationships with one another, we are always beginning again.

And so today marks a time and season where the Church invites us to begin again in our relationship with Christ. I encourage you to see this as a journey that we are all on together, as opposed to several different, isolated journeys. Yes, each of us has our unique story and our particular means for drawing closer to God. Our Lenten disciplines in that regard are very personal. But we do not journey alone. That is the beauty and power of Christian community. St. Benedict was so drawn to the communal aspect of Christianity that he established what is now one of the great traditions of Christianity – the Rule of St. Benedict. Benedict knew that living together in monastic community was extremely difficult work, because it involves relationships between fallen human beings. His Rule was established as a means for helping these communities thrive, not as a means of being heavy-handed and strict.

And such is the case in our Christian community right here and right now. We are invited to observe a holy Lent so that we as individuals and we as a community can flourish in our own relationships, and in our relationship with our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. And as we begin again together, my prayer is that we all have a holy, blessed Lenten season. And may all of our Lenten disciplines draw us closer to the God who created us out of dust, and to the God to whom we will return.

 Today marks the end of our three-week journey through the Sermon on the Mount. It’s unfortunate that we only hear from the Sermon on the Mount seven or eight times over the course of a three-year cycle. There is just so much to explore and unpack in this sermon that lays out the very core values of this alternative kingdom that Jesus had come to proclaim.

But one thing that we must avoid is seeing the Sermon on the Mount as a listing of moral, ethical values required for becoming a Christian. Nor are they a listing of requirements for Christians to observe in order to remain in good standing with God. Christian ethicist Stanley Hauerwas notes that the Sermon on the Mount is descriptive rather than prescriptive. “[It is], therefore, not a list of requirements, but rather a description of the life of a people gathered by and around Jesus. To be saved is to be so gathered.”

So, what does it mean for us to live our lives as a people gathered by and around Jesus?

We must remember where we are in the Gospel story. Not long before Jesus preached the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus was baptized in the River Jordan by John, after which he was led by the Spirit into the wilderness for 40 days of trial and temptation. After his time in the wilderness, he returned home to Galilee where he proclaimed that “the kingdom of heaven has come near.” He then called his disciples, went on a brief preaching, teaching, and healing tour, and from there ascended the mountain to deliver his sermon.

So, all that Jesus has said and done since his baptism and temptation in the wilderness has been grounded in his claim that the kingdom of heaven is near. The Sermon on the Mount is a kingdom message; it is a kingdom proclamation. Another New Testament term for this new kingdom is a new aeon, or a new age. In the incarnation, God ushered in an entirely new aeon of salvation history. Once God became human to live and die as one of us, not only the world, but the entire cosmos was forever changed. And the Sermon on the Mount was one means Jesus used to communicate the character of this new aeon that he was ushering in. The Sermon on the Mount was describing this vision of an alternative reality that his disciples had been invited to join and follow.

Again, this sermon wasn’t a list of requirements for Jesus’ followers. Rather, it was Jesus telling them about the kingdom that was upon them. It was a kingdom where the poor in spirit, pure in heart, the mourners, and the persecuted were among those who were blessed. It was a kingdom where the law that God delivered to Moses on Mount Sinai would finally be realized and fulfilled. It was a kingdom with an entirely new and radical understanding of power, ethics, and righteousness… an entirely new and radical understanding of blessedness.

Now, if Jesus’ disciples dutifully followed these principles Jesus wasn’t going to love them more. If they failed to follow them, Jesus was not going to love them less. That’s not the way that Jesus loves. The abundant economy of love in the kingdom of heaven is not like the scarce economy of love that resides outside the kingdom. The bottom line is that Jesus knew that until this aeon was fully realized, his disciples would never live up to the principles outlined in this sermon. And neither will we. But he still calls us to be his Body in the world today. He is willing to let you and me - in all of our sinfulness, brokenness, and imperfection - be his very own Body in the world. Think about that for a second. Jesus Christ is ok with you and me standing in for him while he is with his Father in heaven. How absurdly graceful is that?

I think that in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus was describing for his disciples and for us who we already are by virtue of our being created in God’s very own image. At Jesus’ baptism, when the Holy Spirit descended upon him and God’s voice from heaven declared that Jesus was his beloved Son, with whom he was well-pleased, Jesus hadn’t done anything remarkable that we know of. He hadn’t performed any miracles. He hadn’t preached a sermon or healed anyone. He hadn’t died on the cross. He was God’s beloved child before he did any of that. And so were his disciples. And so are we.

As God’s beloved children who have been gathered by Jesus through the ministry of his body, the Church, how might we respond to this calling? How might we be a people that reflect the values of this new aeon that Christ has brought upon us?  How might what we hear from the Sermon on the Mount actually describe who we already are rather than prescribe how we should try to act? What might the world look like if Christians just rested in our blessedness as God’s beloved children instead of trying so hard to behave our way into blessedness? What if God’s grace was enough for us? What if our blessedness and belovedness didn’t depend on our piety, or good works, or social justice efforts? What if all those things were simply the fruit of being rooted and grounded in our identity as followers of Christ as opposed to a checklist for discipleship? What if Jesus was telling his disciples who they were as children of God rather than how he wanted them to start behaving?

Yesterday I just finished reading the biography of legendary blues guitarist Stevie Ray Vaughn. His story is an incredible one on so many levels, and I am still trying to unpack it. Stevie Ray was one of the greatest guitarists – one of the greatest musicians – to ever live. But at the ripe age of 31, his long-time addiction to drugs and alcohol nearly killed him. In spite of his talent, success, and worldwide acclaim, he finally hit what addicts oftentimes call their “rock-bottom,” and he – along with his bass player and best friend Tommy Shannon - entered into a residential rehab program and was able to get sober. Like so many addicts, he just rechanneled his passion for getting high into his passion for sobriety and the spiritual growth that accompanies it.

He said that one of his biggest fears about getting sober was how it might affect his playing and singing. He admitted that he couldn’t ever recall time when he hadn’t played high, dating back to his teenage years. Would he still be able to access the passion, energy, and creativity that he had before? Would he still be able to perform at such a high level? Would his bandmates. Friends, and fans still like him if he was a totally different person?

Everyone in his organization was curious about how things would go with the band with Stevie having gone through such a profound transformation in his life. Well, as it turns out, sober Stevie Ray was even better than drunk and high Stevie Ray. He played better, he sang better, and he was better in the studio. The first album he recorded after his sobriety was his most successful-selling record to date, and his career took a giant step forward.

When reflecting back on this transformation, Stevie Ray’s longtime drummer and friend Chris Layton had a profound observation, and one that I think connects directly to what I’m trying to glean from the Sermon on the Mount. Layton said that sober Stevie Ray wasn’t a new-and-improved Stevie Ray Vaughn. He said the musical and personal brilliance and genius that emerged from his sobriety was who he really was to his core. The drunk Stevie Ray – the only Stevie Ray Chris Layton ever knew - was really just a distortion of who God created Stevie Ray Vaughn to be. Layton marveled at the joy of discovering who Stevie Ray Vaughn truly was for the first time. To use my own words, Layton was marveling at the blessedness and belovedness of Stevie Ray Vaughn, a child created in God’s very own image, and one who, at age 32, finally was able to reflect that image to the world.

One of the world’s greatest-ever blues guitarist most likely isn’t residing deep within any of us here. I have a good hunch that nobody that notable or remarkable is sitting in these pews today. But all of us here are God’s very own beloved children, created in God’s very own image. That perfect image resides within each and every one of us. We hopefully haven’t abused that image to the level that Stevie Ray Vaughn did, but we all have in some way or another. That goes back to the very first human beings, and that sin has been handed down to us. But the rehab program for that is not a list of ways to behave better. The rehab program is for us to remember who we are, and to remember whose we are. We are God’s beloved children, chosen by God to follow his son Jesus Christ. Let us simply rest in that Good News. Let us rest in the unearned, unmerited gift of that scandalous, abundant grace. And when we – and all of God’s children around the world – do that, I believe that the Sermon on the Mount will indeed be an accurate description of how Christians behave.

Today marks the beginning of the lectionary’s three-week jaunt through the most famous sermon in history - the Sermon on the Mount. I’ll never forget the day I heard this sermon preached in its entirety during a worship service. I was in seminary, and guest preacher who was scheduled to preach that day didn’t show up. But instead of cutting the service short and letting us out of chapel early, the seminary president chose to instead read the entire Sermon on the Mount. About halfway through, when I realized that she was going to read the whole thing in one sitting – not just a chapter to us - I was thinking “blessed are those who skipped chapel today.”

Much has been analyzed, written, preached, and taught about the Sermon on the Mount. Some of it helpful, some of it not so much. Whether or not Jesus really delivered this entire collection of sayings in one sitting like our seminary president did that day isn’t what I am interested in right now. What I am interested in today is the Beatitudes, which is where both Matthew and Luke say that Jesus began his most famous sermon.

Looking at Matthew’s version of the sermon, it is unclear to me whether Jesus was delivering the message to a large crowd of people or just to his twelve disciples. I have always assumed the former, particularly because that is how Luke portrays it. But in my sanctified imagination this week, I began to meditate on the idea that after his 40-day temptation in the desert, followed immediately by a preaching, teaching, and healing tour throughout Galilee, Jesus climbed the mountain to get away from the crowds and prepare for the next journey.

Our text tells us that “when Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him.” Typically, it has been interpreted that he climbed the mountain so that the crowds below could better see and hear him deliver his message. But again, this week, the text took me to a different place. I imagine that Jesus saw the crowds and actually wanted to escape for a while.

Just prior to this moment, Matthew tells us that “Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people. So, his fame spread throughout all of Syria, and they brought to him all the sick, those who were afflicted with various diseases, and pains, demoniacs, epileptics, and paralytics, and he cured them. And great crowds followed him from Galilee, the Decapolis, Jerusalem, Judea, and from beyond the Jordan.”

Y’all, that was quite a preaching, teaching, and healing tour coming on the heels of forty days of grappling with Satan in the desert, all on an empty stomach. So, I am wondering if the retreat up to the top of a mountain was an escape from the spotlight rather than stepping into it. We must remember that Jesus was fully human, and like so many of us, suffered from compassion fatigue and needed some time to recharge and regroup.

As I imagine it, after the grueling missionary journey that immediately followed his calling of the disciples, Jesus needed some time alone with his new disciples. They needed to rest, and Jesus used this moment alone with them to minister to them, as well as to share with them his “core values” so to speak. After all they had witnessed on that first preaching, teaching, and healing tour, the disciples must have had a lot of questions for Jesus. This was his opportunity to answer those questions.

Perhaps one of their topics of conversation was the sheer amount of suffering they encountered on that first missionary journey. These fishermen no doubt had seen and experienced suffering and illness in their own communities. But just like those of us who have gone on mission trips, their eyes were likely opened to the breadth and depth of suffering, perhaps even in their own backyards.

Perhaps the disciples were surprised that Jesus – the Messiah for whom all of Israel had been waiting – spent so much time with sick, suffering people. Perhaps they were surprised that Jesus spent so much time preaching and teaching. Is this what ushering in the kingdom of heaven looks like? Will their whole mission consist of preaching to, teaching, and healing the ordinary people of their communities? Why not go straight to Jerusalem, the location of both Jewish and Roman power and influence?

And it was perhaps these questions that led Jesus to begin with a lesson on to whom their immediate focus would be. It would not be the powers and principalities in Jerusalem. It would be to the poor in spirit; the mourners; the meek; the merciful; the peacemakers, and the like. In other words, ordinary people like you and me who might find ourselves simultaneously grieving and trying to make peace in our homes in our day-to-day lives. Who among us here hasn’t felt “poor in spirit” – or depressed before? Who among us hasn’t mourned?

I think a common mistake we make when we hear the Beatitudes is that we tend to romanticize the “other” in our call to follow Jesus. If we are fairly well-off in our first-world, American, privileged context we might hear the Beatitudes as only Jesus’ call for us to minister to those other people who we perceive to have more problems than we do.

Perhaps Jesus needed to remind his disciples – and us – that Jesus’ ministry was extraordinary indeed, but it was aimed at transforming all people, not only the poorest of the poor or those is positions of great power and influence. His disciples themselves were ordinary people. Yes, they had encountered and healed those “afflicted with various diseases.” But aren’t we all afflicted one way or another, namely by the disease of sin? Aren’t we all afflicted by things both within and beyond our control?  Aren’t we all in desperate need of Jesus’ ministry to us? Don’t we all need to be healed? Don’t we all need to be made whole?

What this realization can do for us first and foremost is to realize that the Good News of new life in Christ isn’t something for us to possess and hand out to other people, as if they need it more than we do. It is a gift for us to receive. As such, the Beatitudes are an invitation for us to recognize that we too are among the blessed. Instead of trying to be the Messiah – instead of trying to fix all the world’s problems on our own terms - what might it be like for us to take a moment to get away from the crowds and rest in our own blessedness? What might it be like to receive God’s grace as a gift that we don’t have to earn or work for? What might it be like to let go of our need for control or action or problem solving, and just rest in our blessedness in spite of it all? What might it be like to take a moment to receive the gift of God’s grace, mercy, love, and justice, and rejoice in it without having to pay him back by going and doing something important?

My friends, I am preaching to myself as much as I am preaching to you. I hold a high standard of Christian discipleship for myself and for others. We all know that to be true. But such a standard can be exhausting if we don’t find a balance in our walk with Christ. I think Jesus climbed the mountain to get away from the crowds, not to address them. And I think Jesus invited his twelve new disciples to join him so that he could model for them that after a rigorous mission trip of preaching, teaching, and healing, they needed to rest – both physically and spiritually. The spiritual rest was to simply to practice the discipline of receiving the gift of God’s presence. And recognizing that they too were blessed. They too needed God’s mercy, grace, love, and forgiveness. And, thanks be to God, they didn’t have to do anything extraordinary to receive that. And thanks be to God we don’t either.

The Epiphany begins on January 6 with the story of the Magi from the East following the light of the star all the way to the Christ child in Bethlehem.  The star literally illumined the way, but the deeper meaning is that the Gentiles were being invited on a journey from darkness to light. This light was no longer only for the people of Israel. The season after the Epiphany picks up and carries this theme of the light shining in the darkness. And this light is God’s light being made manifest in Jesus Christ.

In today’s Old Testament lesson the prophet Isaiah uses the metaphor of God’s light shining in the darkness to express a new era of freedom from bondage.

Isaiah prophesied that God would raise up a new King of Israel who would liberate them from their bondage under Assyrian rule. As it turns out, Isaiah was right and wrong. God did eventually shine God’s light into their darkness by sending Israel a new king. But, this King – this light – would be for all people, not just Israel.

In our gospel lesson today, Matthew picks up on Isaiah’s prophesy, as well as his metaphor. He points out that after John the Baptist was arrested, Jesus shifted the epicenter of his ministry to “Galilee of the Gentiles,” just as Isaiah prophesied. And in that region where “people sat in darkness,” this new King – Jesus, would invite his first disciples to follow “a great light.” These first disciples did what the Magi at the beginning of Matthew’s gospel did – they followed the “great light,” not knowing where it would lead them, but knowing that it was indeed like no other light they had seen before.

This “great light” about which Isaiah prophesied and was fulfilled in Jesus Christ is a light that changes all who see and follow it. It forever changed the Magi, as Matthew notes that they went home by a different road. Of course, there were practical reasons they chose another road home, but there is also an ontological reason – their very own essence was forever changed once they encountered the Light of Christ. And the disciples who chose to follow the Light – to follow Jesus – were forever changed. They too took a different road home once they saw Jesus.

But this light doesn’t invoke easy, superficial change. The first words out of Jesus’ mouth when he began his ministry in “Galilee of the Gentiles” was an echo of his mentor John the Baptist - “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” In other words, the first thing that this light illumined was Israel’s and our desperate need to repent – to turn around. The light shining in our darkness is akin to lifting up a rug and seeing the dust and dirt that has been hidden underneath. But the light also calls us out of our darkness – out from underneath the rug, and into a new reality that is illumined and guided by the light of Christ.

For the disciples in our gospel lesson today, this new reality was drastic indeed, as it required a change of vocation, location, and purpose. They “immediately left their nets and followed Jesus.” Like the Magi, they were forever changed by their encounter with Christ’s light, so they took a different road home.

So, what is our new reality? What effect does God’s light shining in the darkness have on us? How is this “great light” that was prophesied by Isaiah and fulfilled in Jesus more than just a quaint, sentimental observation for us? How can and does this light usher in an entirely new reality for us as it did the Magi, the disciples, and countless saints who have gone before us?

I think that the first step for us during this season of Epiphany is to not only look for, be aware of, and observe the light, but also to follow the light. This will be challenging work – or as Dietrich Bonhoeffer called it – “the cost of discipleship.” We don’t know what ever came of the Magi, but we do know what came of those first twelve disciples that Jesus called. As hard a life as commercial fishing is, their lives as followers of Christ light was, on one level, much more difficult. We must remember that once Christ ascended into heaven, all of the disciples died martyrs deaths. But look at the impact they had not only on their generation, but the generations that would follow, all the way up to ours. I am not advocating for martyrdom – thanks be to God that following Christ’s light in our context here doesn’t result in that. But it does require a death of sorts. It does require what John and what Jesus called for – it calls for repentance. It calls for a turning around and a new beginning. And there will be turn arounds and new beginnings over and over and over again.

When we look for, see, and follow Christ’s light, we will indeed be both convicted and redeemed. But we will not have to stand alone in our journey out of darkness into the light. As noted in our Psalm today, the light gives us strength and courage in the face of darkness. The psalmist declares, “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom then shall I fear?... For in the day of trouble, [this light] shall keep me safe in his shelter; he shall hide me in the secrecy of his dwelling and set me high upon a rock…Therefore, I will offer in his dwelling an oblation with sounds of great gladness; I will sing and make music to the Lord.”

And here we are, in the Lord’s dwelling, making an oblation – our sacrifice and offering of praise and thanksgiving for all that God has done, is doing, and will continue to do. The call to follow the light of Christ is an odd and wondrous calling, and thankfully it isn’t an isolated call. The call to follow the light of Christ and to be the light of Christ is always a call into community. During this season of Epiphany, let us look for, enter into, follow, and remain in the light.

A Sermon by the Rev’d Deacon Ed Richards

Winston Churchill once called his political opponent “a sheep in sheep’s clothing.”

At least for much of the 19th Century popular art, hymnody and poetry tended to portray Jesus as “gentle Jesus, meek and mild.” Part of the problem would seem to be that we confuse love with sentimentality. Social media, for all its wonders, seems to have fueled concepts of anger and love, easily protected by a firewall of separation from physical contact. Pictures of cute little kittens fight for screen space with graphic videos of atrocities. “False news’ stimulates belief, particularly among those who haven’t received basic training on how truth should be distinguished from falsehood.

So when Jesus walked by and John announced to his followers, “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! “, what were they to make of such an improbable claim? If they had the slightest familiarity of their faith and religious tradition, two words stood out. They were “lamb” and “sins.”

The edifice of first century Judaism was based on two traditions. The older, the one that placed the Temple center stage, invoked memories of their father Abraham, as he attempted to offer his wife Sarah’s only son Isaac as a human sacrifice. In the story God’s messenger instructed Abraham to substitute an available animal, a goat, for his son. The story has many nuances, but its most important is the step it makes from barbarism to a more benign concept of substitution. God was going to accept an animal, albeit one in mint condition, as a blood offering by which the person, family, tribe or nation were “atoned”, made one with their Creator. Around this system grew the Tabernacle and then the Temple cult, supervised by an hereditary priesthood descended from Moses’ brother-in-law Aaron.

The second vital part of Jewish religion in the days of Jesus was the synagogue system. The Old Testament tells the story of Israel, torn apart, situated between aggressive world powers, conquered again and again. The conquering powers sought to cower the Jewish people by destroying its visible connection with God. Those Jewish people taken hostage “by the waters of Babylon” not only wept; they gathered together to hear their Scriptures read by authorized teachers. In first century Palestine Temple worship, with its substitutionary sacrifices, situated in Jerusalem, jostled together with synagogue practice, hearing and receiving the Scriptures and applying them to daily life.

Note how today’s Gospel brings together these two practices, not in a theory, but in a Person. Jesus is the sacrificial lamb, “who died that we might be forgiven, who died to make us good.” Jesus is also Rabbi, the authorized teacher, in whom God’s law is renewed and applied to the new citizens in his chosen nation.

If you are up to date with the never-ending church squabbles about how Jesus’ sacrifice on the Cross is a substitute for our sins, our family sins, the Church’s sins and that “of the whole” world, the important point is that God knows how this is true.

Our minds are best focused on the Eucharist, rather than on theories of how Atonement works; on a Person rather than a theory.

In the Holy Meal, we re-member. We bring to life in the here and now, the sacrifice, once offered for the sins of the whole world. We eat and drink, ingest, the life of Jesus, the Lamb of God.

Before we reach that point in the service, we hear Jesus the Rabbi, the authorized teacher, expounding to us God’s law, the words Jews heard at the time of Jesus and the words Christians have heard since the time of Jesus. And we corporately confess our misdeeds, missteps and flirtations with evil.

We do so as God’s community of priests, as we stand between God and the human race, the nations, the Church, our families and ourselves.

Sitting in your pew this morning, look up, and with the mind of faith see the Lamb of God, the one you call Rabbi, and in your hearts pray, “ Have mercy on us. Grant us peace.”

Today in the Church we celebrate the Feast of the Holy Name, which always falls on January 1. This is one of only ten feasts on the Church calendar that takes precedence over a regular Sunday. So, that is why, instead of being assigned the collect and lessons for the First Sunday after Christmas Day, we are assigned the propers for The Holy Name.

I mention this detail because the feast of The Holy Name lands on a Sunday only once every seven years. And on those other years when it lands on another day of the week, we typically don’t celebrate it. So, this one sentence from the Gospel of Luke – sandwiched between the feasts of Christmas Day and the Epiphany - rarely gets our attention. And that is a shame.

Here is the sentence: “After eight days had passed, it was time to circumcise the child; and he was called Jesus, the name given by the angel before he was conceived in the womb.” Prior to the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, today’s feast was called the Feast of the Circumcision, not the feast of the Holy Name. I’ll admit that any phrase that contains “feast” and “circumcision” together is not altogether appetizing. And perhaps that is why the church didn’t make it a habit to observe and celebrate it when it landed on a weekday.

But to the family, culture, and tradition into which Jesus was born, circumcision was a big deal – so much so that the child wasn’t even given his name until the 8th day of his life – the day when he was taken to the priest to be circumcised. Circumcision was so tied up with one’s identity that it was concomitant with receiving one’s very own name. Without circumcision, one’s name meant nothing.

So yes, it is indeed more palatable to follow the lead of the 1979 Prayer Book and focus on the name of Jesus rather than the circumcision of Jesus. But I think it is important for us to not forget the implications of his circumcision.

The practice of circumcision in Judaism was an integral part of the Mosaic law, mentioned explicitly in Leviticus 12:3. This was an identifying mark of covenant obedience and faithfulness to God. It was one of the many “marks” that distinguished Jews as a holy people set apart from others.

A month from now, on February 2, the Church observes what we now refer to as the Feast of the Presentation. Like the Feast of the Holy Name, the Feast of the Presentation is a name that has been updated to assuage our modern sensibilities. Up until the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, the Feast of “The Presentation of Jesus” used to be known as the “Feast of the Purification of the Virgin Mary.”

The ritual practice of the purification of a woman 40 days after childbirth was another part of the Mosaic Law, again, outlined in Leviticus. To the ancient Jews, the process of childbirth made a woman ritually unclean, and the Law prescribed that on the 40th day, the woman present herself to the priest for ritual cleansing so that she could rejoin public life.

I mention these details about Jesus’ circumcision and Mary’s purification because I think they both highlight an important characteristic of Jesus’ earthly parents. Both Mary and Joseph, from the moment they were visited by angels prior to Jesus’ conception and birth, exhibited their deep and abiding obedience to God. Prior to Jesus’ conception and birth, their obedience was manifest in their remarkable faith – in believing the unbelievable.

After Jesus’ birth, their abiding obedience was manifest in their faithful observance of the Mosaic Law – which was the bedrock of their religious lives. In the persons and actions of Mary and Joseph, there is nowhere to found a sense of entitlement due to their special roles in ushering in the incarnate God in their midst. My guess is that Mary didn’t have a “Mother of God” parking spot by the front door of the Temple.

In spite of the fact that they had been chosen by God to play such a special role in the God’s incarnate life, Mary and Joseph still submitted to what were the practices of their religious lives and community. They waited until the 8th day of Jesus’ life to name him, even though the angel of the Lord had already given the name to them months before. And on that 8th day, they not only named him, but they had him circumcised, even though circumcision would ultimately not be the identifying mark of Jesus’ followers. And Mary waited until day 40 to present herself and Jesus to the priest at the Temple. In spite of her being clearly “favored” by the Lord, never once did Mary see herself as being above or beyond the Law that bound her religious community together with one another and with God. And the same goes for Joseph.

So, the Feasts of the Circumcision of Jesus and Purification of Mary are feasts that celebrate Mary and Joseph’s obedience to God through the Mosaic law. As such, they serve as a model for us as we seek to be obedient to our own baptismal covenants. The covenant we as Christians are called to obey are different from that of Mary and Joseph. That being the case, it is not the Law in today’s Gospel lesson that we are called to emulate, but rather it is Mary and Joseph themselves. And ultimately, it is their son Jesus who we are called to emulate and obey.

Our post-modern instincts are such that we are not comfortable talking about and celebrating things like circumcision and purification. We Episcopalians are much more proper and polite than that. So, we switched the focus to the naming and presentation of Jesus, which are much less graphic and offensive, but also run the risk of becoming much more sentimental. And with the switch of emphasis away from circumcision and purification, we no longer get the whole story. And that is a shame.

In our Epistle lesson to the Galatians today, the Apostle Paul asserts that, “When the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, in order to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as children.” In one of his Homilies on the Gospels, the Venerable St. Bede asserted that Jesus did not ignore the law; rather, he submitted to it “not because of necessity but for the sake of example.” And the same could be said for Jesus’ parents, Mary and Joseph.

And on the same passage, Cyril of Alexandria remarks that “in order that he might expiate the guilt of Adam’s transgression, [Jesus] showed himself obedient and submissive to God the Father in our stead.”

Just as scandalous to our postmodern ears as discussing the messiness of circumcision and purification in public are the notions of obedience and submission. In our postmodern, post-Christendom context, we hear very little about obedience and submission to anything or anybody. We prefer freedom, welcome, inclusion, affirmation, and the like. And there certainly are biblical precedents for all those things. And when we are assigned a passage that highlights those characteristics of God, I’ll focus on them.

But I believe that today’s gospel lesson is first and foremost about obedience and submission to God. The earthly parents of God, who, next to John the Baptist might be considered the most favored of all human beings, were not above the law. Before and after ushering God’s son into the world, they remained faithful and obedient to God through their faithful observance of God’s law.

And Jesus himself observed and obeyed the law, albeit, with his own divine interpretation of it. He did not come to abolish the law but to fulfill it. So, even God’s only begotten son chose to live a life of faithful obedience.

And such is the example that has been set for us, his followers. For us Christians, our obedience isn’t to the Mosaic Law. Our obedience is to Christ himself. While such obedience may seem much more favorable to keeping the expansive, detailed, and arguably rigid Mosaic Law, we must remember that Christ’s ultimate embodiment of obedience was his death on the cross. The blood that was shed when he was circumcised - the embodiment of his parents’ obedience – was a foreshadowing of the blood that he would shed on the cross, again, as an act of faithful obedience.

The Good News for us is that Christ’s death on the cross was a once-and-for-all sacrifice. He became sin in our place. He died so that we might have eternal life; he shed his blood so that we would not have to. That is the great Good News of Jesus Christ – whose name means savior, rescuer, and deliverer. He delivered us from the law by fulfilling the law. He delivered us from the grip of sin, death, and evil.

As Christians, our faithful response to this Good News isn’t self-mortification. And it isn’t following a religious law. Our faithful, obedient response is to humbly heed to Jesus’ call to follow him as our Lord and Savior,

“so that at the name of Jesus
every knee should bend,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,

and every tongue should confess
that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.”

When it came time to tell the story of how Jesus came to be, John the Evangelist took an entirely different approach from that of Matthew and Luke. When we compare today’s “birth” narrative with Luke’s from yesterday, we notice some stark differences.

As Luke was prone to do, he gave us a lot of specific details in his telling of the story. He oftentimes wanted to make sure his readers knew exactly when and where an important event took place.

So, when he told the story of the birth of Jesus, Luke made sure that we knew that it was in the day when Augustus was the Emperor of Rome, and Quirinius was governor of Syria. We know that Mary and Joseph left their hometown of Nazareth in Galilee to the town of Bethlehem in Judea. In other words, this event happened in a place that can be found on a map and during a time of history that can be looked up in a history book.

John wasn’t interested in that kind of detail. For John, the most important thing to communicate was the cosmic significance of who Jesus was and how he came to be. Jesus’ existence didn’t begin when Mary gave birth to him on that cold night in Bethlehem. John reminds us that God’s Word – the Divine Logos - preexisted creation. Jesus – the second person of the Trinity - was the Divine Word that spoke creation into existence. He was there before, during, and after the creation of the cosmos.

And following this cosmic theme, John goes on to proclaim that “What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.” In other words, the incarnation of God in Jesus Christ wasn’t just a local phenomenon in a particular time and place for a particular people. In the Divine Word becoming flesh, John is asserting that God didn’t send his Son to save only Israel; God sent him to save all of God’s creation. And that is the beauty, power, and cosmic significance of the prologue to John’s gospel.

But is John’s prologue a Christmas story? Is it a birth narrative? What about those of you who didn’t come to church last night? Well, one thing we know is that you were given the gift of ample parking and ample seating today! But you are not getting the beloved story of Jesus’ nativity that we hear from Luke. No angels; no shepherds; no Mary and Joseph; and not even a sweet baby Jesus in the manger.

But while John didn’t intend tell us the time and place when Mary gave birth to Jesus, I do believe that his prologue is indeed a birth narrative. It just happens to be our birth narrative – yours and mine.

Towards the end of the prologue, John writes, “But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.”

When we receive Jesus, the Divine Word of God, into our hearts - into our selves, our souls, and bodies - we are born again in the Spirit. We become children of God. This is our birth narrative; or perhaps a better way to say it is that it is Jesus’ birth narrative within us.

And when this miraculous birth happens, we are not left to fend for ourselves in the sin sick world that surrounds us. We are adopted into God’s family as God’s very own children. We have a heavenly parent, and we have an earthly family – the Body of Christ.

So today, some 2,000 after the Divine Logos ascended into heaven to sit at the right of his Father in Heaven, we – the Body of Christ - are God’s incarnate, enfleshed Word. As such, the Christmas story is our birth narrative too. May we, during this Christmas season and beyond, make room for Jesus to be born within us, so that we may be born again. And may we again and again receive him and believe in his name, and go forth rejoicing, so that we may be a light to all people.

I love it when something that I believe to be true can be proven. There are no opinions, hypotheses, or arguments. Just cold, hard facts. One such case is the popularity of Christmas. If you are a retailer, you can back this up by pointing to the increase in sales towards the end of the year. You have actual financial data to prove your assertion that Christmas is indeed a big deal.

In the church, we have attendance records. That is our data. Yes, we could talk about the warm, happy feeling we get around Christmastime. But when we turn in our church report to the national office every year, there isn’t a space to record our feelings. The Episcopal Church simply wants to know how many people came to church last year. So, we keep attendance records. And ever since churches have kept attendance records, Christmas and Easter are by far the most-attended worship services of the year. That isn’t a feeling or an opinion…it is a measurable fact.

It is undeniable that we love Christmas. But why do we love Christmas so much? Common answers are the wonderful hymns and carols, the festive decorations in our homes, churches, and around town, nativity pageants, nostalgic memories of family and loved ones, the joy of giving and receiving gifts…the list goes on.

For us to fully understand why Christmas is so uplifting I think it is helpful to look at what comes immediately before. A lot of the impact of a delicious, sweet desert is the savory meal that precedes it.

At Morning and Evening Prayer this past month we’ve been praying the collect for the first Sunday of Advent, which calls us to “cast away the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.”

The Advent scriptures and hymns also address the reality of the darkness of a fallen creation. The hymns are oftentimes in a minor key, with an eerie, haunting tone and message. The scripture lessons warn us of God’s coming judgment, imploring us to keep awake and prepare a straight way for the Lord.

So, after four weeks of brooding hymns and harrowing scripture lessons, the joy of Christmas is indeed palpable. “O come, all ye’ faithful, joyful and triumphant” is a genuine, heart-felt call to worship and adoration. The Christmas poinsettias jump out at us because we haven’t had flowers in church for the past month – only greenery. All the candles on the Advent wreath are lit and glowing brightly. The Christmas light has finally emerged out of the Advent darkness. And everything we see, hear, and smell this evening points to that proclamation of joy.

But what about that very first Christmas? Had the shepherds in the field been growing weary of Advent hymns in a minor key? What was the reason for their deep and abiding joy?

Our text tells us that on that very first Christmas evening, an angel of the Lord appeared to some shepherds in a field…and said to them, "Do not be afraid; for see-- I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people.”

The text goes on to say that after attending the impromptu concert in the field, the shepherds went to Bethlehem to see this newborn child that the angel announced to them. And afterwards, they “returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.”

Clearly this evening was a big deal not only for Mary and Joseph; and not only the shepherds; and not only the people of Israel; but for, as the text tells us, all people. Including us here today. But why is this so?

The beloved traditions of how we celebrate Christmas might be what we point to now. But God did not become incarnate and live and die as a mortal human being because he thought that we needed to write some uplifting, joyful hymns and take our decorations up a notch. God wasn’t tired of singing “O Come Emmanuel” and the lack of flowers on the altar.

God became incarnate to save the world from sin, evil, and death – the very things we focused on in Advent. God broke into our weary, dark world with the bright, shining light of his only begotten son, Jesus Christ, to put an end to the darkness.

For us to better understand the shepherds’ and the angels’ joy that we hear about in our gospel lesson, we need to look back at our lesson from the prophet Isaiah. This passage was written when Israel was in exile, under the rule of Babylon. In the midst of this barren time for the people of Israel, Isaiah prophesied that

“The people who walked in darkness
have seen a great light;

those who lived in a land of deep darkness--
on them light has shined.

…For the yoke of their burden,
and the bar across their shoulders,
the rod of their oppressor,
you have broken...

…For a child has been born for us,

…and he is named

Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

His authority shall grow continually,
and there shall be endless peace

for the throne of David and his kingdom.”

This is the prophecy that the people of Israel were waiting to be fulfilled. This is the long-expected messiah that they had been praying for. This was their Declaration of Independence. This was their Emancipation Proclamation. So that first Christmas evening, the angel of the Lord appeared to the shepherds and announced that the long-expected messiah had finally come:

"Do not be afraid; for see-- I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.”

The profound depth and breadth of this incredible news for these oppressed, beleaguered people is, dare I say, almost impossible for us to comprehend here and now. Like their ancestors before, they were living under the oppressive rule of a hostile, foreign, pagan empire. They were crying out for Emmanuel to come and ransom captive Israel.

So, this news of a messiah who had finally come to break the rod of their oppressor was the sort of good news that was earth shattering and life-changing for those who heard it in 1st-century Palestine. It wasn’t about favorite hymns, decorations, or nostalgia. It was about God entering into a broken world and their broken, hopeless lives and making them whole and hopeful again. It was about God coming to save them.

We are not 1st-century Jews living under the heel of the Roman Empire. If anything, we are the empire now. But thankfully God doesn’t discriminate when it comes to brokenness. Our sin, our pain - our desperate need to be made whole again - are just as real to God as were the prophet Isaiah’s. And our yearning for God’s peace, justice, and righteousness are just as real to God as well. The Wonderful Counselor and Prince of Peace who God not only sent - but who God himself was and is today is why we are here this evening. We are here to celebrate Emmanuel – God with us.

Yes, we love the music; yes we love the flowers and decorations; yes we love the traditions, memories, and all that is associated with how we celebrate the good news of God with us.

But above and beyond all of that is the fact that the life-changing news that the angel announced to the shepherds can still be life-changing good news for us today. But we will be more likely to see and feel it as such if we can first recognize and acknowledge the darkness that resides within and around us.

The season of Advent is designed to help us do just that. It prepares us for the journey through the darkness. And after the harrowing journey through the darkness, we are greeted with the light of Christ that awaits us at Christmas. There is no darkness within any of us – no grief, depression, fear, brokenness, or despair – that cannot be overcome by the light of Christ. And so, with that good news, let us rejoice that the Christ who came to save the people of Israel 2,000 years ago is the same Christ who comes to save us today.

So let us cast away the darkness, and put on the armor of light. Let us Sing to the Lord and bless his Name; [and] proclaim the good news of his salvation from day to day.

“Mary, a Prophet?” - Sermon by Emily Rose Proctor

3rd Sunday in Advent – Dec. 11, 2022 

Christ the King Episcopal Church, Santa Rosa Beach

In the gospel reading for today, Jesus asks the crowd, “Then what did you go out to see?  A prophet?  Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet.”  In Advent we hear a lot from prophets, especially the prophet Isaiah and John the Baptist.  But there’s another prophet in the lectionary today that you might have missed… and that’s the prophet Mary.

Mary, a prophet? You might be asking.  And perhaps the image of Mary you have in your mind is the one most often depicted in art—a young woman, face placid, eyes downcast, hands together in prayer, crossed over her heart or, better yet, holding her child. 

But is this the Mary of the Magnificat that we just read aloud together, and that Episcopalians say every day as part of evening prayer?

I’d like to propose that Mary is more than simply a willing servant, meek and mild.  I’d like to propose that she is also a prophet, right up there with John the Baptist and Isaiah.  And that the joy reflected in the Magnificat is not simply the joy of an expectant mother, but a prophet’s joy, anticipating the coming victory of God. Let me explain.

If we let scripture be our guide, one of the first things we learn about prophets is that they can be men or women.  The title of prophet is first used to describe Abraham, then Moses’ brother Aaron, but the third prophet mentioned in the Bible is Miriam, Moses’ sister, who leads the people in singing and dancing in praise to God—her own Magnificat of sorts in Exodus 15.  And here, in this first female prophet, we get a taste, not of meek and mild, but of bold and joyous, and maybe even a little disturbing.  

You see, Miriam’s song praises God for bringing the parted waters of the Red Sea back together to sweep away their Egyptian pursuers.  She is celebrating the defeat of her enemies.  It’s understandable given that their freedom and their lives were in danger, but it is nonetheless a good reminder that the word prophets bring can be an unsettling one, especially to those in power.

Mary’s name, in Hebrew, is “Miriam.”  She is named after the first female prophet.  Coincidence?  

Well, here’s another one for you.  The second female prophet mentioned in the Bible is Deborah, who was not only a prophet, but a judge who led the Israelites into battle against the Canaanites (Judges 4), when the general whom she asked to lead the charge refused to go without her.  Her prediction that because of his cowardice, the Canaanite commander Sisera would fall at the hands of a woman came true.  

After the battle, the prophet Deborah sang a song of praise to God for the Israelites’ victory (are you detecting a pattern here?), and in it she praised in particular, Jael, the woman who killed Sisera, calling her “Most blessed of women” (Judges 5:24).  The same phrase that Elizabeth used to describe Mary in Luke 1:42. The women that Mary has been linked to by Luke are not meek and mild women, but prophets and warriors.

Are there other clues that Mary’s joy goes beyond that of just an expectant mother’s?  There are.

Many prophets have a moment where they are identified by God, chosen and called to do a particular prophetic task.  Often that moment inspires some initial fear and trembling.  Mary’s moment is the one we call the annunciation.  

And the angel’s words to Mary, “Do not be afraid,” echo the words God spoke also to the prophets Abraham and Jeremiah.

Another recurring theme in the prophetic tradition is that prophets sometimes have some questions about their worthiness or ability to carry out the task.  Moses protests that he is slow of speech and slow of tongue.  Jeremiah says that he is just a boy.  Isaiah laments that he is a man of unclean lips.  

And Mary?  Well, Mary has some questions about how exactly she’s going to have a baby since she’s not yet married.  And like the other prophets, Mary is assured that the power of God is sufficient.  

Prophets seem to know, or to quickly learn, that their calling isn’t about them and their special abilities—it’s about God and God’s ability to work through us in spite of or sometimes through our very weakness.  Mary lifts this good news up for all of us to hear in her Magnificat, “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.”

Another thing biblical prophets have in common is that they tend to be threatening to those in power.  Often they have been given a word about who is to be the next King, which is not usually good news to the current King.  Or the prophet provides a critique of the current king or religious leadership or of the nation as a whole.  

Hence prophets like Elijah and Jeremiah faced real danger at the hands of their political enemies.  And Mary was no different. By announcing to Mary that her son would be given “the throne of his ancestor David” in order to “reign over the house of Jacob forever,” Gabriel effectively dubbed her a kingmaker.  

And according to Matthew, Mary, Joseph, and the baby were forced to flee into Egypt as refugees to avoid Herod’s genocidal wrath at the announcement of this new king.

But perhaps the most essential task of a prophet is being entrusted with God’s Word.  Sometimes that means reminding people of God’s commandments, deeds of power or God’s past promises.  Sometimes it means interpreting current events.  And sometimes it means providing a warning or a promise about what the future holds or may hold.  

We tend to think about prophesy only as a prediction of the future, but God’s Word is relevant in the past, present and future tense.  And that too is manifest in the word Mary receives and the word she speaks in the Magnificat.  Gabriel tells Mary first about what WILL happen, and then Mary rejoices with Elizabeth in what is currently happening to them both.  But she ends her Magnificat with a kind of battle cry in the past tense:

“[The LORD] 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.” 

Is Mary quoting the song of her ancestor prophet Miriam passed down through the generations, implying that her present joy and trust in the future promises of God is founded on her people’s experience what God has done in the past?  Or is she saying that God’s promise for the future is so trustworthy that it might as well be in the past tense—it’s as good as happened? 

Perhaps her Word to us is in part that with God the three tenses can’t be separated—past joy=present joy=future joy.  They are intertwined and interdependent.

But we can’t skip over the fact that Mary’s joy isn’t just a mother’s joy.  The whole last half of the Magnificat has nothing to do with pregnancy or motherhood.  There is nothing meek or mild about it.  She is rejoicing in the promise that under God’s reign, everything is turned upside down.  The hungry are fed, and the rich sent away empty.  The lowly are lifted up, and the powerful brought down. 

It’s clear whom Mary identifies with—she’s among the lowly—a young unmarried Jewish woman in a no-account town in a territory occupied by a foreign power.  And yet, by coming into the world in this particular way, through this particular woman, God has said, women’s lives matter, poor lives matter, Jewish lives matter.  And Mary is announcing it loud and proud.  What she celebrates is the coming of God that turns the current social hierarchy on its head.

Here again are the potentially disturbing words of the prophet, spoken first to Elizabeth, and then through scripture to generation after generation of Christians for nearly two thousand years.  An affliction to the comfortable, and a comfort to the afflicted.  As God’s Word has always been, is, and will be.  As Jesus was, and is and will be.

Which brings us to the final way in which Mary is a prophet.  Prophets are often called upon to embody the word given to them, to perform some kind of representative symbolic act.  Hosea is asked to marry an unfaithful woman as a symbol of God’s marriage to unfaithful Israel.  Jeremiah is asked to remain unmarried and childless as a sign of the bleakness of the immediate future.  Ezekiel is asked to pack a bag and dig through Jerusalem’s wall to symbolize the coming exile.  

And Mary is asked to bear a child conceived, not with a human father, but with the Holy Spirit, as a sign and the incarnation of God’s presence with us.  Mary doesn’t just bear God’s Word through her speaking, she bears God’s Word in her very body.  Through her, the Word is made flesh.

Today, on Gaudete Sunday, we lit the candle for joy.  And today we heard the joy, not just of an expectant mother, but of a prophet, asked to bear God’s Word into a hurting world.  Not all of us have the ability or desire to birth a baby, but all of us can be bearers of God’s Word in a hurting world.  

Greetings, beloved ones. The Lord is with you. Do not be afraid. For nothing is impossible with God.  His mercy is for those who fear him throughout all generations.  That’s good news we can all bear into the world with our words, and with our whole lives.  

May we let the prophet Mary inspire in us deep ponderings this Advent season.  May we hear her questions to us this day… 

Where in our own lives can we choose hope over fear?  

What might we do or say if we really believed, with Mary, that nothing is impossible for God?  

How might we can cast our lot with the lowly, like God does, like Jesus did, so that we too will experience God’s promise that the first shall be last and the last shall be first as good news?  So that we too can boldly rejoice with Mary, that God’s promise has been fulfilled, is being fulfilled, will be fulfilled and that Christ has come and is coming to make all things new.