Leaping for Joy - A Sermon for a Snowstorm

(Philadelphia, like many cities on the East Coast, is under a snow emergency as I write this, and services at Emanuel Church, like those at many Philadelphia churches, are cancelled for December 20. We will have Christmas Eve services at 7 p.m. Since there will be no services on Sunday, this blog will be my only chance to "preach" this Sunday.)

For the past two weeks, we’ve been hearing from John the Baptist, the wildman in the wilderness whose ministry prepared the way for Jesus’ own. This week, the women finally have a chance to get a word or two in edgewise. And what words they give us!

In our Gospel today (Luke 1:39-56) pregnant Mary sets out to visit her relative Elizabeth, who in her old age is also miraculously pregnant. We don’t hear at this point from Elizabeth’s husband, Zechariah; he was struck mute during his angelic visitation. When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, Elizabeth’s child leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit, and her cry of joy is remembered by the Roman Catholic church in the words of the Rosary: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb.” Mary’s response has been called by the church the Magnificat, from the Latin rendering of its opening line – “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.” And she continues with words that lay out major themes in Luke’s Gospel – “[God] 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.” Mary’s words also recall the song of Hannah in I Samuel 2:1-10, a response to her own miraculous conception of Samuel.

As we count down the final days of Advent, we can reflect on how God has used these simple, human stories – a visit from a relative, companionship during pregnancy, the birth of a child – to change the world. These small, human-scale stories are part of the great story of God’s salvation. We should never doubt that God can likewise use our lives, our stories, to change the world. One of my former pastors always told our congregation at Christmas that when God wants to change the world, he sends, not an army, but a baby.

What about those words of Mary (and of Hannah) about the downfall of the powerful and the uplift of the lowly. Mary’s words are spoken as if these things have already happened, but we who hear these words are still in the midst of seeing them come to fulfillment. The news of the past year has reminded us that the gap between the powerful and the lowly are as stark as ever, and perhaps even seem to be increasing. And yet Mary reminds us that, ultimately, Mary’s baby, and not King Herod (or the Herods of our time), carry the day. I’m reminded of a verse from the familiar carol:
O ye, beneath life’s crushing load, whose forms are bending low
Who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow –
Look now! For glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing.
O rest beside the weary road, and hear the angels sing.
Amid the rush of final trips to the mall, in days ahead may we all make time and space to hear the music of the angels.