It Seemed Like a Very Long Journey

The Rev. Josh Shipman
The Fourth Sunday of Advent, Year C, 2015
Luke 1:39-55

It seemed like a very long journey.

In actuality, it was only

an hour and a half drive—

a light stroll in terms of
the Diocese of Central PA’s geography.

It was a beautiful drive, too,

winding around mountains,

admiring the evergreen trees.

But, as I made the turn,
and took the windy road up to
Cathedral Ridge, the Diocese of Colorado’s

camp and conference center—

My stomach also made
some turns.

I was headed to the

Bishop’s Advisory Committee on Ministry

BACOM for short.

I was making my way
to this “retreat”
to be interviewed by a number

of clergy and lay people—

the results of the meeting
would change my life.

I don’t think that’s being
too dramatic.

This committee would decide
whether I would be a priest or not—

the culmination of a seven year journey

that involved packing up

all of my worldly possessions,

moving across the country to another state

and to a large city.

(There are a few differences
between Denver, Colorado
and Oxford, Mississippi,

if you can imagine.)

It involved finding a job—

even one

in a maximum security youth prison.

I had entered terrifying situation
after terrifying situation.

And I was entering another one.

For instance,
I was terrified mostly

about the finance meeting.

I wasn’t quite ready for the
hard conversation about financing seminary.

Naturally, it was my first scheduled meeting.

But I got through.

I even got through the meeting

with the psychologist!

I even survived a two hour meeting
with the Bishop!
Imagine—stark white room—

almost hospital like.

Two metal folding chairs
the Bishop and me.

But here I am!

There is one meeting,

however, that really sticks in my mind.

I believe the subject was spirituality—

my memory is a bit fuzzy.

I know I talked a lot about

my childhood.

I had much to say,
me growing up me
in Mississippi.

I don’t remember, exactly,

what story I was sharing,

but the person interviewing me
suddenly exclaimed:

God has been with you since birth!

Randomly.

It came outta nowhere.

It was the weirdest experience

of my life.

I sat in stunned silence,
we both did,
and then the interviewer clarified:

“Well, I don’t mean to say
that you’re special.”

(pause)

Where was Mary,

on her life’s journey,

when she received her proclamation?

My guess is that she wasn’t
at BACOM or on her way to seminary.

Luke’s Gospel doesn’t say.
Just that the Angel Gabriel
showed up in the Sixth month,
with a strange greeting,
Greetings Favored One
The Lord is with you!

Was she cooking dinner?

Was she making a long journey
to a well to draw water?

Was she headed to the market?

No matter what she was doing,

her life was changed
in an instant.

She was a favored one.
She was blessed.

(pause)

One commentator notes
that the idea of “blessedness”
that we find in today’s Gospel
is pretty far from what we think of
when we think of blessedness, today.

He notes that #blessed has become
a hashtag and a Facebook status update.
“Found a great parking space!
Feeling blessed!”
“Enjoying some random
material pleasure, warmth,
or well-being.”
Hashtag. Blessed.

The commentator writes,
“The blessedness that Mary
celebrates stands in stark contrast
to our culture’s attitude.
By our standards
she does not look at all blessed.
God has chosen her
to be the mother of the messiah,
but in practical terms what
does that mean for her?
She is not from a family
that can afford expensive
food or clothing.
She is a nobody,
a peasant girl from a small village.

Her friends and neighbors
see her as a disgrace
because she is unmarried and pregnant …

Furthermore, as she will soon

learn from Simeon

if she hasn’t perceived it already,

being the mother of the messiah

is scarcely an unmixed blessing.

She will bear the unspeakable grief

of watching as her son is rejected,

shamed, and crucified:

“This child is destined for the falling

and rising of many in Israel ...

and a sword will pierce your own soul too” (Luke 2:34–35).

Despite all this,

Mary praises God for honoring her.”[1]

(pause)

After Gabriel’s proclamation to her,
Mary decides to visit her cousin Elizabeth,

and she receives another proclamation—

and a loud one, at that.

One person notes,
“When she greets

her pregnant cousin Mary

[Elizabeth] is filled with the Holy Spirit,

and "exclaimed with a loud cry ... "

This phrase in Greek

means to shout as though

one is using a megaphone,

literally a "big" or "mega" voice.

This is how Elizabeth

speaks a prophetic word to Mary,

and so to us

in her outdoor voice.[2]

And Mary responds
with a song.
As an aside,
it’s interesting to see
all of the musical responses
in Luke’s Gospel.
Truly, it was a Gospel
made for Christmas pageants--
The Song of Zechariah,
The Song of Simeon,
The Song of the Heavenly Hosts—The Gloria

and The Song of Mary.

Everybody is breaking into song.

It’s a wonder Rogers and Hammerstein
never did a treatment of Luke’s Gospel.

Mary’s song, the Magnificat as we call it,

is different than the rest of the songs, though.

You’ll have to humor me as I read it
from the Rite I Morning Prayer service,

in all its glory:
My soul doth magnify the Lord, *
and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Savior.
For he hath regarded *
the lowliness of his handmaiden.
For behold from henceforth *
all generations shall call me blessed.
For he that is mighty hath magnified me, *
and holy is his Name.
And his mercy is on them that fear him *
throughout all generations.
He hath showed strength with his arm; *
he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.
He hath put down the mighty from their seat, *
and hath exalted the humble and meek.
He hath filled the hungry with good things, *
and the rich he hath sent empty away.
He remembering his mercy hath holpen his servant Israel, *
as he promised to our forefathers,
Abraham and his seed for ever.

(pause)

It’s a song of protest.
Here is Mary,

a nobody,
a peasant,

a girl, “in a delicate condition.”

“God has looked on my lowly estate,
and has blessed me

with the greatest blessing of all.”

And not only that,

but God looks on all of the lowly,

and lifts them up.

And God, humbles the proud.
And God, sends the rich away empty,

while filling the hungry.

(pause)

Mary’s response,

is to say, or sing, rather,
“I’m not special.”
God does this all the time—

and has done it from the beginning of time—

hence the past tense of the Magnificat.

She could say,
“God has been with me since birth.”

And I could say that, too.
And so can you.
(pause)

Mary isn’t some

impossible figure to approach.

She was an ordinary woman,

doing ordinary things,

until God intervened.

(pause)

Do you believe

that God intervenes?

That God has an interest
in our ordinary lives?

I do.

But I believe that you have
to keep your senses sharp.
You have to be watching,
listening, feeling for the presence of God.

And you have to make a choice.

Will you receive the message
that has been given to you?
Will you, whatever your
life circumstances may be,
see the glory of God
when it shines around you?

Will you, like Elizabeth,
grab your megaphone
and proclaim the blessings
of the Lord?

Will you, like Mary,
magnify God’s holy name,

even knowing that at some point,

a sword will pierce your own soul?

[1] http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2705

[2] http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1500