St. Charles Episcopal Church, St. Charles, IL
The Fourth Sunday in Advent – December 18, 2012
2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16; Romans 16: 25-27; Luke 1: 26-38
The Rev. Elizabeth Meade
To listen to the sermon as it was preached by Deacon Liz, click here.
When I was on Pilgrimage in the Holy Land with Bishop Lee last summer, I couldn’t wait to get to Nazareth. I wanted to see where Jesus had grown up and the streets on which he played. But mostly, I wanted to see where it all began, the place where the Archangel Gabriel came to Mary with the startling news we heard in today’s Gospel passage. I think it must have been my art history background: I’ve seen and studied virtually every painting that depicts this scene, and, in fact, I have a print of Giotto’s fresco of the Annunciation hanging in my house.
Nazareth was – and wasn’t – what I expected. Like much of Israel, the city is a series of contrasts. As we left the bus, and walked up the hill toward the Church of the Annunciation, I saw a billboard that disturbed me. It was in both Arabic script and in English – and it read:
“And whoever seeks a religion other than Islam, it will never be accepted of him, and in the Hereafter, he will be one of the losers.”
It’s a quote from the Quran. The sign disturbed me.
I don’t like the idea of “losers.” It reminded me of just how confusing things are in Israel.
As we approached the Basilica, I longed to see something close to what Giotto had painted: a serene courtyard, where Mary and the archangel might have had their encounter, but I was disappointed. The massive modern Church of the Annunciation, built in 1969, disturbed me as much as the billboard telling me I was a “loser” had outside. If Mary ever returned to Nazareth, she’d have a hard time finding the place where the angel came to her. Such are things in modern day Israel.
The walls of the Church and its courtyard are covered with huge, extravagant art installations – all depicting Mary. The Vatican (in 1969) asked artists from each country where Catholicism is practiced to create one art piece that reflects their cultural impression of Mary. Size specifications were given: the installations are HUGE, and there are Marys from over 100 different countries covering the walls. I hated the one donated by the United States – which was too modern, too metallic and too shiny. The Mary we donated looks like Wonder Woman wrapped in a ball of tin foil. This was not how I wanted the Church of the Annunciation to be.
Suddenly, our guide appeared and requested we leave the church quickly. “We have a surprise,” she said, somewhat mysteriously. We followed her out into the hot Galilean sun and up a street a couple of blocks away, and turned into a courtyard. The sign said “The Sisters of Nazareth, Convent and Guest House.” There we were greeted by Sr. Stefania, who moved us quickly through the corridors of the guest house and down two floors into the basement of the convent. She asked us to abandon our backpacks and water bottles and told us not to touch the walls. From there, she led us down two more steep stone staircases – and into another world. We were in an underground world where archaeologists from Cambridge University and Jerusalem’s Yeshiva University have excavated the ruins of several 1st century houses and a 1st century well.
I was captivated by the well. It opens deep into the ground, and its tuffa edges have two deep ruts cut into it from the ropes used to haul out water year after year. It felt right. From this spot, Mary herself might have drawn water every day. From this spot, Jesus might have visited with his friends. In a recessed area, more like a cave than what Giotto painted, I wondered aloud whether this might be the place where the Archangel Gabriel approached Mary. The place felt holy, and we understood that, in our imaginations, we were faced with the possibility of “the real deal.” Suddenly the basilica down the road seemed irrelevant, and the billboard message that I, as a Christian, was a loser, was stilled.
We had reached holy ground three storeys below modern day Nazareth. We all felt it. Two at a time, the nun let us crawl further back into the excavations and down a perilous rope scaffold to peer into a 1st burial chamber. There was a round stone still leaning up next to the doorway, so that the room could be sealed off. Was this the place?
“Do not be afraid, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will call him Jesus.” Then Mary said, "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word."
This might be the place.
I tell this story for two reasons. First, to remind ourselves that the people whose stories are told across the pages of scripture are real: they existed, they were real life flesh and blood people just like we are. They’ve left traces of themselves. The second reason I tell you this story is more difficult to convey because it is here where our images of God, both transcendent and immanent, collide. Here, deep beneath the streets of contemporary Nazareth, I felt the holy; I felt the connection between myself, as a contemporary follower of Jesus, and Mary, the young girl who said “yes” when God asked her to participate in something far beyond what she had ever dreamed for herself.
As we walk our own pilgrims’ journeys, and especially in Advent, the church asks us to watch and listen for God; to be on the lookout for God being made manifest in the world around us. It is difficult to do this in the frenetic pace that is now called “the holiday season:” the ringing bells, the crowded stores, the lists, the parties, the ding-ding-ding of cash registers. Yet, God never stops inviting us to something deeper, something better. Advent asks us to discern what God would have us do. I do that be taking regular time, for me, it’s early in the morning, to simply sit and listen. I try to let my plans for the day go; I try to abandon my lists. I may read a passage of scripture, I often read the daily meditation from our Advent Booklet, but essentially, I just sit – and wait. When I do that, when I intentionally choose to sit and wait for god, I enter into a holy place, into that Holy Courtyard where Mary encountered the angel. I tend to notice more, to hear more, to be more attuned to the world when I sit quietly.
God waits for us to enter into holy space; waits for us to notice. Sometimes in prayer, it may feel as though we’re just talking to ourselves, but deep down, deep in the caverns of our own minds and hearts, there is bedrock; there is Truth with a capital “T.” I promise you this: If you will carve out a small amount of time and offer it to God, you will be given the gift of that still small voice. You will hear God’s invitation to you.
God offers us the opportunity to JOIN HIM in restoring the World to its perfect origins, to participate in things
that will always serve the common good. God does not need us to “do stuff” for him. I loved the contrast
presented today between the readings from 2nd Samuel and from Luke’s Gospel. In 2nd Samuel, notice that
David, who is finally settled in his new comfortable house, decides to build something like it for God – and
God says, “No.” Yet, in Luke, Mary is approached by God, and invited to join God in doing something for the
World.
God doesn’t need “Stuff,” and God doesn’t need us to dream up ways to serve him. God invites us to JOIN him in work that will always bring the Light of Christ into the world. God will always ask us to bring the Kingdom of God into a broken and hurting world, to shine a light on injustice, and to care for those who are marginalized or forgotten. God didn’t need or want the house David decided would be “good for God,” God wants the Kingdom of God to become a clear and present reality.
Even though she was only 11 or 12 years old, Mary somehow understood this. Her language, “Let it be WITH me, according to your word,” indicates she understands she will be doing something with God. It reflects her willingness to be a part of God’s outrageous idea that we call the Incarnation.
“Let it be with me, according to your word.”
Mary accepted out of faith – not because it was convenient, or something she thought she could manage – she accepted because she sensed God’s invitation. That’s why we honor Mary, theotokos, the bearer of God. God had an idea – to come to earth, to give the fallen world some hope, a chance of redemption, and to do this, God needed Mary’s womb. She is, for us, an icon of what it means to be willing to serve God, no matter what the cost.
So what of us? Are we willing to serve God no matter what the cost – or are we more like David, deciding for ourselves what God may need from us? In order to join in partnership with God, in order to know what God would have us be or do for Him, we need to stop and listen. We can’t hear God without a regular discipline of listening and prayer. What God may ask of us may seem impossible. Mary seemed to think so when she said, “How can this be, since I am a Virgin?” But God invites our questions and promises us that nothing will be impossible if we partner with Him.
As we prepare ourselves for Christmas, as we prepare a place in our lives for Jesus, I invite you to ask yourself the hard questions. Do you hear that still small voice calling you into partnership with God? Do we accept those invitations to be a part of something God is doing? Or are we too busy? Or are we like King David, acting out of a sort of self-satisfied altruism and deciding for ourselves what God might need from us? This week, this very day, God wants to partner with us. Are we listening?
I wonder how many other girls the angel Gabriel approached before Mary said, “Yes,” in Jesus’ name. Amen.