What If It Had Been You? - A Homily for Advent IV, Year C

Homily for Advent IV, Year C
Sunday, December 20th, 2009
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Luke 1:39-55

What if it had been you? What if in the days of your early adolescence an angel had spoken to you in the silence of the night and prophesied that you would be the mother of the saviour? What if as a young man, in the depth of your dreaming you received an angelic vision that the woman to who you were betrothed, but with whom you had had no sexual relation, was about to bear a son who would save his people. What if it had been you – you or I who had received this message, heard the awesome and frightening message for not only our future, but the future of the world? What if it were you or I?

Would our response have been Mary’s “let it be unto me according to your word?” Would our response have been “my soul magnifies the Lord,” or “My spirit rejoices in God my saviour?” Or would the shame of an illegitimate pregnancy bring fear, and shame, and loathing? Would our response more closely resemble the response of Joseph in Matthew’s Gospel, to put away the woman of shame? Could we have borne the shame or faced the judgement of those around us.

But the angel did come to Mary, and it did come to Joseph, and despite their initial fear, astonishment, and shame, both Mary and Joseph said “yes.” Joseph did not put away his future wife, nor did Mary hide her face in shame. Instead, Mary went immediately, with haste into the Judean hillside, into the country, to her relative Elizabeth, who in her old-age had also received a visitation from the Lord – Elizabeth who six month’s pregnant was destined to be the mother of the Baptist.

Mary went – a young girl, barely a woman -- to Elizabeth, an elder, a mentor, a wise woman. She faced not the burden alone, but in the company of this holy mother who was herself a vehicle of God’s grace. And there she stayed for some time, sharing her both her fears and her dreams with the one, who in a remarkable way, could understand her sacred calling. For when she saw Elizabeth the words from the elder woman’s mouth were not words of judgment, nor words of condemnation, but words of blessing. Even within her own womb, the baby leaped for joy. Elizabeth, who had also been touched by God, greeted the one who others may have shunned, with reverence, respect and admiration: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb,” and she wondered aloud, “why has it happened that the mother of my Lord comes to me?”

And so her son likewise wondered aloud many years later, when the same Lord approached him on the banks of the Jordan river and asked him for baptism. Like his mother he evinced his own unworthiness, “I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal – it is he who should be baptizing me.” And yet, the timeless son of God was baptized by John.

He comes to us again in these latter days – again and again. It shall not matter whether we are rich or poor, of low or high estate. He comes to us – again and again. And it is in our weakness and our brokenness that we meet him and he meets us. He comes to the scared and frightened child in each of us as he came to a trembling adolescent girl in Nazareth. He comes to us in our false pride and vanity, in our fear of shame and judgement as he came to a young man who actually considered abandoning his bride to be. He comes to us in our aged brokenness, in our regret and disappointment about what might have been for our lives if only things had worked out differently, as he came to an old woman whose womb had been barren throughout the decades of her life. He comes to us in our world of darkness, sadness, violence and anger, as he came to middle-eastern land so long ago, disappointed by failed hopes and foreign domination.

He comes to us today not with words of judgement or condemnation for who we are or what we might have been. He comes to us not with anger or wrath for the mistakes we have made or continue to make. He comes to us not with punishment for the sins in which we inevitably participate. He comes to us with great love, with words of hope, with healing in his wings with these words: Greetings favoured one. He comes to us with the promise to be born within each one of us, to turn our fear to hope, our sadness to joy, and our sorrow into laughter. He comes to us, to you and me, with the same message that came to Mary and Joseph, and Elizabeth and Zechariah, greetings favoured ones. They were not great and powerful people, but people like you and me – and they were favoured by God; favoured to birth the Christ to a hurting world.

We are favoured, for the Christ has been birthed in each of us, and continues to be born again and again in our hearts with purpose of transforming not only our lives but transforming the world and bringing hope to a people that walk in darkness. Hide not your light -- that is, his light -- under a bushel, but let it be unto you according to his word, that each of us might sing the words of blessed Mary this Christmastide and always, “My Soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord and my Spirit rejoices in God my saviour!”

c. 2006 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

The Mighty One Has Done Great Things

Homily for the Visitation of the Blessed Virgin Mary to Elizabeth
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Lay Anointers’ Refresher Workshop
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: the Magnificat

“The mighty one has done great things for me.”
--Luke 1:49

To gather as lay anointers and those who share in Christ’s healing ministry on this Feast of the Visitation is a most appropriate and fortuitous convergence events, for in the words of that ancient hymn, Magnificat, we sing words that speak of the healing power of the Gospel. What can be more central to our understanding of the healing ministry than the proclamation that “the mighty one has done great things for me?” As partners with our Lord in the healing of the nations, we seek mighty works day-by-day. Thus, it would do us well to follow the ageless wisdom of the Church and make this hymn part of our daily pattern of worship and prayer. For if we do, we will hear of a God who not only cares for the lowly, the broken, the hungry, the disposed of the world, but we hear of a God who lifts them up, fills them, offers them good things. And lest we forget, we ourselves are amongst the broken, the lowly, the weak, who are in constant need of God’s loving care.

These words are both words of hope and words of a promise fulfilled. He has looked with favour on his servant, he has lifted up the lowly, he has filled the hungry. And most importantly, these promises are from generation to generation. These promises endure from age to age and his might works are known from one generation to the next. When we pray these most ancient words, when we sing this most ancient hymn, we extol a God who in Christ Jesus has changed the way we look at our own brokenness and the brokenness of the world. We extol a Lord who is ever present in the midst of brokenness and struggle.

While it will be important for us as caregivers never to minimize the pain, loss, sadness or grief experienced by anyone in need of healing; while it will be important for us to affirm that brokenness and illness are real; while it may be important for us to realize that in some cases the body is going to fail; we must never lose sight of the reality that regardless of our degree of human frailty, God continues to work mighty deeds in the lives of all God’s children. From complete physical cure on the one end of the spectrum to, on the other end, the passing from this life into the next, the Christ whose human body was formed in the womb of Mary journeys with us and lifts towards wholeness. As partners in the healing ministry it is our task to faithfully proclaim this Gospel. For at the end of the day, we are not healers in and of ourselves, we are but messengers, as was Mary, messengers of a gracious God who never leaves or abandons any of his children in times of trouble. In our act of journeying with another in their pain, be we healthcare professionals, psychotherapists, pastoral counselors, lay anointers, lay visitors, or clergy, we proclaim simply by our presence and companionship that no one is ever left alone. As Elizabeth journeyed with Mary in what should have felt like a time of abandonment, we journey together with those who are weakened by the changes and chances of their lives, and there in the midst is the Christ, the one who heals the wounds of our souls and comforts our troubled spirits. If we can simply share in this ministry of presence then indeed God will be glorified and the hungry will receive good things and a mighty work shall have been done.

He Comes to Us

Sermon for Advent 4, Year A
Sunday, December 23rd, 2007
Holy Trinity, Thornhill
Daniel F. Graves
Text: Matthew 1:18-25

“…He did as the angel of the Lord commanded him.”
--Matthew 1:24

What if it had been you? What if in the days of your early adolescence an angel had spoken to you in the silence of the night and prophesied that you would be the mother of the saviour? What if as a young man, in the depth of your dreaming you received an angelic vision that the woman to whom you were betrothed, but with whom you had had no sexual relation, was about to bear a son who would save his people. What if it had been you – you or I, who had received this message, heard the awesome and frightening news? News that would not only affect our future, but also the future of the world. News of a son who would save his people. What if it were you or I?

Would our response have been Mary’s “let it be unto me according to your word?” Would our response have been “my soul magnifies the Lord,” or “My spirit rejoices in God my saviour?” Or would the shame of an illegitimate pregnancy bring fear, and shame, and loathing? Would our response more closely resemble the response of Joseph in Matthew’s Gospel, to put away the woman of shame? Could we have borne the shame or faced the judgement of those around us.

But the angel did come to Mary, and it did come to Joseph, and despite their initial fear, astonishment, and shame, both Mary and Joseph said “yes.” Joseph did not put away his future wife, nor did Mary hide her face in shame. Instead, Mary went immediately, with haste into the Judean hillside, into the country, to her relative Elizabeth, who in her old-age had also received a visitation from the Lord – Elizabeth who six months pregnant was destined to be the mother of John the Baptist.

Mary went – a young girl, barely a woman -- to Elizabeth, an elder, a mentor, a wise woman. She faced not the burden alone, but in the company of this holy mother who was herself a vehicle of God’s grace. And there she stayed for some time, sharing her both her fears and her dreams with the one, who in a remarkable way, could understand her sacred calling. For when she saw Elizabeth the words from the elder woman’s mouth were not words of judgment, nor words of condemnation, but words of blessing. Even within her own womb, the baby leapt for joy. Elizabeth, who had also been touched by God, greeted the one who others may have shunned, with reverence, respect and admiration: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb,” and she wondered aloud, “why has it happened that the mother of my Lord comes to me?”

And so Elizabeth’s son likewise wondered aloud many years later, when the same Lord approached him on the banks of the Jordan river and asked him for baptism. Like his mother he evinced his own unworthiness, “I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal – it is he who should be baptizing me.” And yet, the timeless son of God was baptized by John. He came to John. He comes to us.

He comes to us again in these latter days – again and again. It shall not matter whether we are rich or poor, of high or low estate. He comes to us – again and again. And it is in our weakness and our brokenness that we meet him and he meets us. He comes to the scared and frightened child in each of us as he came to a trembling adolescent girl in Nazareth. He comes to us in our false pride and vanity, in our fear of shame and judgement as he came to a young man who actually considered abandoning his bride to be. He comes to us in our aged brokenness, in our regret and disappointment about what might have been for our lives if only things had worked out differently, as he came to an old woman whose womb had been barren throughout the decades of her life. He comes to us in our world of darkness, sadness, violence and anger, as he came to a middle-eastern land so long ago, and a people disappointed by failed hopes and foreign domination.

He comes to us today not with words of judgement or condemnation for who we are or what we might have been. He comes to us not with anger or wrath for the mistakes we have made or continue to make. He comes to us not with punishment for the sins in which we inevitably participate. He comes to us with great love, with words of hope, with healing in his wings. He comes to us with these words: Greetings favoured ones. He comes to us with the promise to be born within each one of us, to turn our fear to hope, our sadness to joy, and our sorrow into laughter. He comes to us, to you and me, with the same message that came to Mary and Joseph, and Elizabeth and Zechariah, greetings favoured ones. They were not great and powerful people, but people like you and me – and they were favoured by God; favoured to birth the Christ to a hurting world.

We are favoured, for the Christ has been birthed in each of us, and continues to be born again and again in our hearts with the purpose of transforming not only our lives but transforming the world and bringing hope to a people that walk in darkness. Hide not your light -- that is, his light -- under a bushel, but let it be unto you according to his word, that each of us might sing the words of blessed Mary this Christmastide and always, “My Soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord and my Spirit rejoices in God my saviour!”

Copyright 2007, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This post may not be reproduced or redistributed, either in whole or part, without the express, written permission of the author.