Advent 4, Year C | Luke 1:39-55
St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church
December 19, 2021
the Rev. Jonathan Hanneman
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Midnight—it’s now or never. A teenage girl silently rises from her bed, careful not to disturb any of her siblings or jostle their dreams. She moves like a shadow through the house, holding still for what feels like minutes on end at any unusual noise or breath. No one can see her. No one must know. By some miracle, the front door’s hinges don’t offer their usual moan, and she slips into the frosty, moonless night. Pausing at the corner of every house, stealing across each intersection, she checks her trembling breath as she watches for signs of anyone who might notice her flight. Finally reaching the road at the edge of town, she looks back one last time, her heart and mind at war. Should she really? Can’t there be some other way? No, she must. She knows she must. Resolve and fear shore up the cracks in her rapidly breaking heart. Turning to her darkened path once more, she runs.
*****
We’ve been in Year C of the three-year Lectionary cycle for four weeks now. Each of those year’s Gospel readings focus on one of the first three books of the New Testament: Matthew in Year A, Mark in year B, and Luke in Year C. (John fills in gaps throughout all three years.) While these three synoptic Gospels cover much of the same material, each tends to have its own particular emphasis.
Mark, which is likely the first Gospel to have been written down—and may have actually started out as a folk play—tends to be action oriented, rushing from scene to scene. The oldest versions also left the audience with a cliffhanger ending. Matthew is more focused on how Jesus fulfills prophecy and, despite being quite literalist in his readings of the Hebrew Bible, has a more “spiritual” take on what Jesus said and did. Luke, on the other hand, has a strong focus on the action of the Holy Spirit, although he tends to be very physical in his presentation of the Good News—nowadays we would describe him as having a social justice emphasis.
A good example of the difference between Matthew and Luke is in how each presents the Beatitudes. In Matthew, Jesus opens with “Blessed are the poor in spirit…”[1] while Luke offers no room for internalization or spiritualization, simply throwing down with “Blessed are you who are poor.”[2] With his focus on reality as it presently is, Luke also wants to ground Jesus within a specific time and place, which is likely why he opens his Gospel with so much information about both Jesus and John the Baptist’s births.
We recently talked a little about Zechariah and Elizabeth, John’s parents. For most of their lives they were unable to have children, which, in the ancient world, was viewed as a sort of curse—without modern medical knowledge, people would have assumed one of them had done something to offend God. However, once they were old, an angel appeared to Zechariah as he was serving in the temple and announced they would have a son. Since he wouldn’t accept what the angel told him, Zechariah became unable to speak, which is where our reading begins today: Elizabeth is more than six months pregnant, and Zechariah is nowhere to be found.
Just before our Gospel started this morning, Luke introduced us to Mary through the foretelling of Jesus’ birth. Mary was likely in her early- to mid-teens at this point, and though she questioned how this miraculous conception was going to happen, she accepted the angel’s word, leading us, again, to today’s text.
I’ve always imagined Mary’s meeting with Elizabeth as a sort of light-hearted event, a holiday season reunion between two expectant mothers on different ends of the age spectrum. Mary has planned a quick trip to a nearby town to spend a few months supporting her aunt. Everyone just sort of relaxes into their quiet new phases of life as soon-to-be mothers, chatting contentedly as Mary assists Elizabeth with household chores and Elizabeth encourages Mary and teaches her how to care for a new child—a kind of “all is calm, all is bright” type of scene.
But I suspect that image might be one of those tricks time likes to play on us when looking at past events from a distance. Although the scene is familiar to us and carries a warm emotional glow, it’s important to remember that this was not a normal situation. There are very good reasons to question our nostalgic assumptions.
In the passage about the Annunciation, Gabriel talks about Elizabeth as Mary’s “relative,” but we don’t have any more detail than that. At its base, the word tells us that both Mary and Elizabeth were Israelites—people from the same overall ethnic group. Elizabeth may have been a genetic family member, but the term can also be interpreted more along the lines of how a variety of modern cultures use the word “auntie”—someone who might have a connection to your family through old friendships or maybe just a matronly figure in someone’s life.
Also, in that time, the people in Mary’s town would have seen her unwed pregnancy not only as shaming and dishonoring to her family but also a direct affront to their god. She had essentially cursed herself, and some likely feared that curse might spread, drawing disaster toward the entire village. When Luke talks about Mary setting out and going with haste, the language actually suggests she was driven away.[3]
Another clue is that Elizabeth didn’t live nearby—this was not a quick or easy trip. The Judean hill country was roughly 80 miles away from where Gabriel spoke with Mary in Nazareth. Movement in the ancient world wasn’t remotely as easy as it is for us. Roads were frequently dangerous, and people tended to travel in large groups to ensure their own safety. A young pregnant woman heading off by herself would have been almost unheard of.
So in the best case scenario, it sounds like Mary’s parents marched her down to a distant relative’s house to conceal their (and her) shame, suddenly and mysteriously sending their teenage daughter away a few months “for her health.” But my real guess is that with her world collapsing around her, Mary fled from her fellow villagers and, after putting a border or two[4] between her and anyone who might have been pursuing her, miraculously stumbled upon the house of the elderly “auntie” Gabriel told her to look for.
We’re beginning our final week of Advent, well into our labor of leveling mountains and filling valleys as we ready for the King’s arrival. But reconsidering Mary and Elizabeth’s story this week has really pulled me up short. Even if we’ve completed all the major structural work, it appears there’s still plenty to do to fully prepare the Way of the Lord.
A few weeks ago we started talking about John’s call to repair the Royal Road and how easy it is to assume this thoroughfare only exists for the King and his nobles to easily pass by. But Baruch reminded us that God has a different intention for this highway. These lanes are not being built for the King’s convenience but for commoners—an open route for all to reach the Royal Hall in safety. It doesn’t matter where their paths have previously led them: all are invited to feast with this King.
So, then, how do we prepare a way like that? How do we ease the path for the person whose own friends and family have cast them out? How do we provide shelter for the fearful and exhausted, people simply hoping to rest along their ongoing journey? How do we unwind the shame binding the feet of people like Elizabeth, those who life itself appears to have cursed, whether through accident of birth or other misfortune? And what about Mary and those like her—ones who society[5] wishes to convince us have cursed and ruined themselves, becoming collateral damage that must be cast aside to maintain the gods’ favor?
Honestly, I don’t know. I have a lot of questions, but at this point, I don’t have any answers. All I know is that both Luke and John the Baptist would want us to seek and work toward genuine solutions—ones that affect real people in real life and result in change to the world as it stands in front of our eyes.
*****
A desperate young woman, feet bloody and eyes wide with fear, begs for help at a stranger’s door. Although she may not know exactly what to do, from the depths of her being the older woman who answers knows she needs to help. As she draws the girl inside, the exhausted teenager collapses into her auntie’s arms in tears, praising God for the mercy and love she’s finally received after all that running. Lifted, even if briefly, from the edge of exhaustion and despair, new hope rises as her shattered heart cries out,
“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.”[6]
[1] Matthew 5:3 | All Bible quotations are from the NRSV unless otherwise noted.
[2] Luke 6:20
[3] https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/πορεύω
[4] Judea was essentially a separate province from Galilee.
[5] along with many who claim to speak for Christ
[6] Luke 1:46