Advent 4 is Mary’s day. We remember the young woman who said ‘Yes’ to God and changed the world. On her ‘Yes’ rests the Christian faith, and 2000 years of art, theology, cultures, moral codes and standards and law. Because of Mary and her ‘Yes’ we are here today. Who knows what would have happened if she’d said ‘No thanks’? But we can know that our own lives would be impoverished beyond measure if Mary’s ‘Yes’ had been a ‘No’. For this young woman and her ‘yes’ we must be eternally and deeply grateful.
We’re almost at the end of 2020 and I think most people will be glad to see the back of it – what an awful year! Tomorrow is the shortest day – from then, whether we look backwards or forwards we’re walking towards the light – to longer days. Our ancestors chose this time of year to celebrate the birth of Jesus – the light of the world; the day when, cleverly, they were able to work out that the light was returning.
It’s been a rotten year – life has been a struggle. People have died, people have been isolated and lonely, people have lost their jobs and thrown into poverty, there’s been a sharp rise in domestic abuse: likewise in people suffering from mental illness.For whatever particular reasons It’s been really tough for all of us. In such circumstances we do right to have a go at God. We have questions to ask. Why have you allowed this to happen, God? Why this suffering? Why have you not intervened, God? Why do you allow so many to suffer? What do you think you’re doing? Are you sitting on your throne up there, twiddling your thumbs while everything around us is caving in and collapsing?
In the midst of all this, steps this young woman, Mary. She too lived in hard times; an occupied country where violence was an everyday occurrence, and, just at the worst time, when the baby’s due date was near, a government census meant that she and Joseph found themselves on the road heading for Bethlehem. Bethlehem really is in the hill country; the roads are steep and difficult, even now. That journey must have been a real struggle. We don’t know whether she really had a donkey to ride on – if she did, it might have been a little easier. But, donkey or not, each step of the way must have been hard, tiring, a struggle.
Maybe she too gave God a hard time – ‘Look God, when I said ‘yes’ I expected your cooperation and help. Why are you making it all so difficult for me? Why are you putting me in danger? At this rate I may have to give birth by the side of the road?’
We know that Mary reached some kind of safety before her baby was born – but it was touch and go. But at the time, she wouldn’t have known whether she would reach shelter and safety – it’s easy to look back and feel that everything worked out ok, but you don’t know that at the time. And to be honest, things don’t always work out OK. For millions of refugees on the roads and seas this year, like Mary, victims of political upheaval, it has not been alright.
Being a Christian isn’t a guarantee of an easy life. In fact, rather the opposite. If you stop to think, our faith was born out of chaos and trauma – a pregnant teenager on the road, giving birth in less than ideal circumstances, her son an itinerant preacher scorned by the religious authorities of the time, and being kept a close eye on by the Romans, a cruel death, a missing body and many of the first Christians practising their faith secretly for fear of coming to violent deaths. Our faith isn’t one that avoids trauma – it is a faith born out of trauma. It’s an earthy faith – not something otherworldly.
In the next week we will celebrate the birth of Jesus, the Messiah – the incarnation. This is to do with humanity, with our bodies, with God becoming one of us. So our faith is played out in the here and now, in the current mess and uncertainty. It is from within this earthy faith we catch glimpses of glory: Mary, visited by an angel, the shepherds catching the sight and sound of angels, the kings bringing their shiny gold and beautiful fragrances into the darkness of a smelly stable, and, as John’s gospel reminds us, Jesus, the light, shining always in the darkness. And Mary, who pondered these things – the stories of shepherds and angels – she pondered these things in her heart.
Being a Christian isn’t a passport to an easy life. That’s one thing we’ve learned this year. It’s as if all the frills have been stripped away and we’re left with something quite stark and unsentimental. In many ways this has enabled us to see quite plainly what is truly important and what is simply enjoyable but not essential. For some, what is left has been nothing – wealthy and successful people have discovered that friendship and love are worth infinitely more than high wages and status. But for some with few resources to start with, life has fallen into a void and they have lost hope. This Christmas, and into the new year and beyond we must watch out for people who have nothing left – we can be the bringers of hope, the gold amongst the hay, the angel choir. And we need to look for these things ourselves – when was the last time you saw something that made you smile or laugh? Often these things are there but we don’t notice. If there really is nothing – nothing to make you smile or hope, you need to find someone to help you out of the darkness. To do this is a step into the dark – but it’ really is a risk worth taking.
Mary, in being the mother of our Saviour, is the mother of hope. To bring hope to birth will always be costly, will never be easy or comfortable. To be a hope bearer is risky, challenging and inconvenient. To be a hope bearer is to live in that uncomfortable place between suffering and glory – and to point always to glory, in the darkest of times. To be a hope bearer you have to seek out glory and love and bear witness to them while everyone else shakes their heads and says ‘there is no God’. And this is our calling – as followers of Jesus, and those who tread in Mary’s footsteps, all the weary way to Bethlehem.
Amen
Rev’d Dr. Anne Morris
Vicar St. Oswald’s, Knuzden, Blackburn