December 15, 2019
Advent 3A
Isaiah 35:1-10, Luke 1: 39-55, James 5:7-10
The last time I was out in the rain without an umbrella on purpose was this past month, when I visited my parents in Brazil.
My hometown is a big island, which means that you’re never too far from the beach. I took advantage of that by running on the beach several times while I was there. From my dad’s apartment, it was a 5-minute jog past residential buildings and shops to a nice running and bicycle trail along the ocean. I enjoyed the sights and it was a great stress reliever, too.
One morning the forecast called for rain. It didn’t look too bad outside though, and I had some time, so I decided to run anyway. Sure enough, as soon as I started running it started to rain. There was no lightning and not much wind, only a steady rain, so I pressed on. As I passed a residential building, a man was coming out of his apartment. The temperature was in the low 70’s, which in my hometown is considered chilly weather. So the man had on a jacket and was holding an umbrella. As I ran by him, he looked at me with a mixture of horror and disbelief, then shouted after me: “You’re going to get pneumonia!!”
Soon I was on the running trail by the beach. While the trail was usually filled with people walking, running and bicycling, that day it was nearly empty due to the rain. A little while into my run I saw someone coming from the opposite direction. He had on exercise clothes, like me, and was riding a bike. When he saw me, he grinned widely, gave me a thumbs up and yelled: “Way to go! Keep it up!!” I understood that he was not only complimenting me for exercising, but more precisely for exercising in the rain. You might say that is because misery loves company, but neither of us was miserable that day. We were both enjoying our workout, and the rain gave us this moment of connection and mutual rejoicing over the simple pleasure of exercising in the rain.
Two very different reactions to the experience of rain: one that implicitly calls on the other to conform to the status quo (put on a jacket like the rest of us!) and utters a curse (you’re going to get pneumonia!); the other rejoices at the mutual experience of being out in the rain and offers a blessing (keep it up!).
For the farmer patiently waiting for the precious crop, rain is life and provision. For the desert and dry land, rain is welcomed relief and renewal. Rain is life-giving and transformative. Rain can be beautiful, soothing and relaxing. Children also know that rain can be delightful, if you let yourself play in it.
Rain, however, can also be disruptive. If you’ve ever been caught in the rain while running errands or while trying to get somewhere fast, you know this. Rain will make you wet, which can be uncomfortable. Have you ever sat through a football game in the rain, or tried walking in soaked tennis shoes? There’s also a dangerous element to rain. In extreme cases, rain has caused people to lose their homes and even their lives.
It’s understandable, then, that the umbrella man I met on my run that day felt some concern or even some judgement for me. He probably felt that he was helping me by issuing a warning, even if it sounded like a curse.
As Mary hastily made her way to see her cousin Elizabeth, I wonder if she thought about whether she would receive a blessing or a curse. After all, she had received some promising but disruptive news. She, who was yet unmarried, would bear a child who was to be the Son of the Most High. She, who held no position of power or honor, was given the message that she had been chosen by God to bear the child whose kingdom would have no end. Who would ever believe her? Who would ever understand this? Whom could she trust?
It turns out that person would be Elizabeth. Mary was tipped by the angel that Elizabeth herself was pregnant, despite being very advanced in age. The angel must have told Mary this for a reason, but we are told the decision to go to Elizabeth’s was Mary’s. She chose to take the risk of traveling alone to her cousin’s house, without any guarantee of safety or welcome. With her heart trembling with the news she received, without knowing if she would be embraced or rejected, she went. Something about her past interactions with Elizabeth must have told her this was a risk worth taking.
She was right. Boy, was she right. As soon as Elizabeth saw Mary; in fact, as soon as Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, she felt the baby in her womb leap and she was filled with the joy of the Holy Spirit. She immediately understood what was happening to Mary and bestowed upon her a blessing in a loud voice: “Blessed are you among women and blessed is the child you will bear!” She did not look at Mary with horror or disbelief. Not only was she not ashamed of Mary but she was elated, enough to offer her blessing without hesitation and in a loud voice!
It was Elizabeth’s unreserved blessing and joy that allowed Mary to fully feel and express her own joy at the news she received. I heard someone say recently that sadness, when shared, is more bearable, and joy, when shared, is increased. We all know this to be true. When someone rejoices with and for us, our own joy is magnified, to borrow Mary’s word.
When God’s rain of vindication and salvation comes, it is also disruptive. It calls us to get out, to get wet, to take risks. Sometimes it leaves us with fearful hearts and feeble knees. It leaves us vulnerable to others who might pressure us to conform to the status quo and who might even utter a curse against us. It can be difficult, finding joy while out in the rain.
Joy was possible for Mary first because of Elizabeth. There are people who, like Elizabeth, are hospitable to us and to God’s movement in our lives. Those who, filled with the Holy Spirit, are moved to rejoice with us and bless us on our journey. At the darkest times, when the rain is unrelenting and our hearts are fearful, we can rejoice in those relationships in our lives — those Elizabeths who welcome us and bless us and share our burdens.
Elizabeth welcomed and blessed Mary, and offered her hospitality and support during those first three months after she received the Lord’s message. Most notably, Elizabeth did so without any hint of jealousy. No one would fault her if she had been a little dismayed that Mary was stealing her spotlight. Elizabeth herself had received the miraculous news that she was bearing a son, after so many years of longing and waiting and suffering. An angel had also come to deliver the message to Elizabeth’s husband, Zechariah, telling him that their prayers had been answered. This was decidedly a special, sacred time for Elizabeth. Others might have expected that a younger cousin like Mary would have come to bless Elizabeth and to serve Elizabeth in her pregnancy. But here comes little cousin Mary, who’s not even married yet, also pregnant — and guess what? With the Messiah. I mean, how can you top that?!
Yet Elizabeth is not concerned with who was first in line. She doesn’t resent Mary or wish misfortune upon her. Instead, she blesses Mary more than once and rejoices with her. Elizabeth could rejoice because she understood that she was also part of God’s redeeming story.
Teddy Roosevelt once said that “comparison is the thief of joy.” Comparison tells us that there’s only so much to go around; if someone else is recognized or receives a favor, that somehow means that we are less. Joy says we are all part of the story of God’s redeeming work in the world.
Joy for Mary was not a romanticized, rose-colored glasses way of looking at the world. She knew full well that the world was not as it should be. She knew there was injustice and cruelty and poverty and need. She knew she was small and vulnerable and, to the eyes of the world, insignificant. Yet she also knew the promises of God in the here now and in the not yet.
Mary’s song of joy and prophetic words demonstrate that she was raised in the stories of the people of God. She was familiar with the Law and with the grace of God. Her words echoed those of the prayer of Hannah some one thousand years before the birth of Jesus, as well as so many other voices of people who witnessed God overturn situations, positions and impossibilities in favor of the kingdom of God.
She knew that having a child while virgin was impossible. Yet down came the disruptive rain of God, saying “nothing will be impossible with God.” She, raised in the Jewish traditions, knew that a woman who bore a child outside of the frame of marriage was to be condemned, possibly even to death. Down came the disruptive rain of God, calling her favored by God. She knew that, based on the law in Deuteronomy, an illegitimate child could never ascend to a position of authority in the house of the Lord. Down came the disruptive rain of God saying this child would be Son of the Most High, and reign forever.
Mary could see the long line of God’s history of choosing the poor and the afflicted, offering grace instead of condemnation, blessing for the lowly. She could see that, once again, God had chosen to act through the humble, her very self, to bring about God’s vindication and salvation to the world. She could see that God would continue to do as God had always done. She, like Isaiah, could see the movement of God in the here and now and in the not yet, making streams in the desert, and a new kingdom where there’s nothing to fear.
Rejoicing in the rain of God’s movement does not mean pretending the world is okay as it is. Joy does not negate our protest against the powers of evil. Instead, joy is resistance; joy is subversive. Mary’s song of joy is so subversive that the government of some countries such as India, Guatemala and Argentina are said to have banned or strongly discouraged the public reciting of Mary’s words at certain times.
Joy dares to look evil in the face and rejoice in God’s final word. As the psalmist says, “The Lord is my shepherd. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows (Psalm 23:5).” Who looks straight at their enemies who are ready to destroy them, and has a dinner party?! People of hope who know the Lord has the final word.
This advent season, let us listen for God’s rain. Let us listen for the movement of the Spirit that calls us to welcome, to bless, to rejoice with those who have been called by God. Let us listen for the movement of the Spirit that calls us to rejoice in the fact that we are all part of the redeeming work of God. Like Mary, let us strengthen our hearts and magnify the Lord — not the darkness. Let us listen for the rain of God that calls us to look at evil in its face and to sing with joy at the promises of God. What a glorious feeling!