A Meditation on Luke 1:26-38
Sunday, November 17, 2024
The Third Sunday in Early Advent
1.
Saying ‘no’ is always an option. Sometimes saying ‘no’ is even the soul-protecting, spirit-saving thing to do. Sometimes saying ‘no’ is the only life-affirming thing to do. So saying ‘no’ is always an option. But here Mary says ‘yes.’ When a messenger of almost unimaginable hope appears. When she’s invited to join a resistance that will make the first last, and the last first. When her body is the temple within which that resistance will organize and grow. Mary says ‘yes.’
You see, Advent isn’t just four calendar weeks in December. Advent is a spiritual practice. Advent is a way of hopefulness in a hopeless time. Advent is the promise of a ‘yes’—and the Holy Spirit’s relentlessness is setting that promise before us, and within us. Not only in Mary’s body, but in ours. Even though the days seem to be darkening. Even though the warriors seem to be winning. And that’s why—in this Early Advent season—we draw near to Mary. We listen for Mary’s courage, for her faith. We draw life and hope and grace itself, from her ‘yes.’
2.
So Gabriel shows up in Nazareth—a rather nondescript village in occupied Palestine—and he shows up unannounced in Mary’s home and unauthorized by the priests or powers that be. Gabriel’s just there. Face to face with Miriam, with Mary. A young woman, in a culture shaped in almost every way by patriarchy and patriarchal power. But Gabriel doesn’t ask permission of her father, or of any male guardian or would-be husband. Gabriel simply and shockingly enters her home, and the room where Mary’s staying. And Gabriel says: “Good morning!” Or, in other words, “This day is God’s day.” This is gonna be God’s day.
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| "The Annunciation" (Jackie Nourigat) |
And in every other biblical moment—where an angel or a messenger or a prophet announces a pregnancy or celebrates a birth—in every other biblical moment, that news is delivered to a father-to-be first, or a male protector first, or a governing patriarch first. But not now. Not here. Not in Nazareth.
This time, Gabriel steps into Mary’s life, into Mary’s home, into Mary’s imagination—and there is no protector giving him permission or showing him the way; and there is no father-to-be taking credit; and there is no priest, no patriarch interpreting the message for her. And Gabriel says to Mary: “Good morning! You’re beautiful with God’s beauty, beautiful inside and out! God be with you.” Or, in other words, “This is gonna be God’s day.”
Rabbis and scholars through the ages have noted that the very name, Gabriel, means something like the “power of God.” The power of God! So isn’t it possible, then, that Gabriel’s unannounced, unauthorized visit that day intends to engage Mary in God’s own revolution? In God’s own project of blessing, renewal and even redemption among the peoples of the land? Mary’s not simply an ancillary character, a bit player, a useful womb, in another savior’s story. Mary is invited, urged, blessed, loved into receiving Gabriel’s greeting as her own call to ministry, partnership and power. Power! “God be with you.” She’s facing—with her family, with her community—an occupation that stifles the spirit and siphons off resources and bullies indigenous peoples. But Gabriel says, “God be with you.” Mary’s invited, urged, blessed, loved into participating in God’s saving energies, God’s healing purposes, God’s power in the world. God’s power in the world. There is no gospel apart from this moment. There is no gospel apart from Gabriel’s blessing and Mary’s yes.
You see, the power of God is not (and never has been) the same as the power of the fist, or the power of the tyrant, or the power of the bully. If Gabriel is an emissary, or an angel, of the power of God, Gabriel comes with a counter proposal, an alternative offer, a way beyond the coercive ways of empires and armies and patriarchs. Gabriel comes with God’s gospel: “You’re beautiful with God’s beauty,” he declares, “beautiful inside and out!”
