Sermons from St. Paul’s Episcopal Church
Advent 4, Year B 2005
The Rev. Melissa Skelton
“Peruvian Nativity Set: This signed, collectible, eight-piece set of hand-formed figures by the Sosa family of Peru is a great gift for the holidays. Double firing has created lustrous tones akin to ancient Incan pottery. The process is ritualized, involving the use of special pigments and even the leaf of the mango plant. Arrange these endearing figures on the mantel or the coffee table; the set adds a unique tone to any room, creating a setting of comfort.”
This was the description of a nativity set I read about two years ago on a website dedicated to presenting shoppers with an array of wonderful objects from around the world.
I was reading the description at that time because I had gone nutty for nativities, crazy for crèches.
I’d always loved crèches, but on the Sunday after Christmas when people at my former parish in Maine all brought their crèches from home for viewing during coffee hour—well, this really sent me over the top. I was especially interested in crèches from Peru where the custom was to depict the holy family, the three kings, and the shepherds in native Peruvian dress.
And so I went on line and did a search, ended up at the Eziba website and ordered the nativity set that I just read you the description of. Some weeks later a large box arrived. And this is what I unwrapped.
First came the animals: a cow and a donkey. Then came three wise people. Then came Joseph. Then came Baby Jesus, with wonderful large hands and the small crib he was to lie in. And then came… absolutely nothing else.
At first, I was thunderstruck, unable to wrap my mind around the possibility that there was no Mary in the box! I just couldn’t believe it. So I scratched around looking for her, pawing my way through the Peruvian newspaper the figures were wrapped in. But she was not there. No Mary.
And as I sat there looking at the figures as I’ve described them to you, a theological thunderbolt arrived from on high: Without Mary, there could be no nativity, no infant Jesus, no three wise people bringing gifts. Without Mary, there could be no God being born into the world in the flesh.
And so after Advent readings about cosmic darkness and last things, Advent readings about wilderness and the cry of the prophets to a people to prepare themselves and return; after our reading from 2nd Samuel this morning about God’s choice of the line of David as God’s own forever; after all these accounts of momentous events, we come in our Christian story to a small, climactic moment.
We come to a Jewish teenage girl in an obscure corner of the ancient world standing before an angel and fearfully listening to a startling and strange announcement from on high. And we come face to face with her choice to say yes to such an announcement, and, out of this, with her indispensable role in bringing forth God into the world in the flesh.
Saying yes in small, climactic moments in response to a startling and strange announcement heard from on high.
Yes, this is what we celebrate about Mary this morning. But it’s also something we’re forever exploring and struggling with in ourselves. For though we may not be visited by angels, it seems we’re always being visited by strange and startling news that we had never imagined receiving—news that if we really let it in, would take us down an unpredictable and life-changing path. And we’re forever trying to sort out how to make space for this news in our lives.
Strange and startling news we had never imagined receiving and making space for it in our own lives.
News like:
You’re hired. You got the job but you need to move to the East Coast.
Your sweetheart is having serious doubts about your relationship.
Your child has been caught drinking.
Your mother is dying.
Someone tells you that they love you.
You’re pregnant.
You’re not pregnant.
What is the strange and startling news that you’re hearing in your life right now? And what does the frightened Jewish teenager who assents to news from an angel have to offer us as we wrestle with our strange and startling news?
First, Mary’s story affirms that our first reaction is fear when news arrives that has the potential to make a new claim on us.
Second, Mary’s story illustrates that when real engagement with the news occurs (“How can this be?”) our fear begins to give way.
And, third, Mary’s story confirms that, if we stay engaged with our news, God has a way of expanding our sense of what is possible in our lives.
The story of the annunciation is not the story of a passive, ignorant young woman who was intimidated into letting God have his way with her. Instead, this story is a paradigm of the sticky process of how all of us fear, receive and respond to news from afar, welcome and unwelcome, that promises to claim our lives in a new way. It is through this process that God comes into the world in the flesh.
Voices with the Greek Orthodox tradition put it this way: “The Incarnation was not only the work of God (the Father), of His Power and His Spirit: it was also the will and the faith of the Virgin…All creation held its breath, wondering what her answer would be.”
And so if you ever look at my nativity set and feel as frustrated and confused as I did when I first looked at it, when you ponder how there could even be a nativity without Mary, remember that in that story, you are she and that there can be no birth of a God who comes in the flesh without you there: without your fear, your engagement and the expansion of what you think is possible.
The Medieval mystic, Meister Eckhart expressed it this way:
“We are all meant to be mothers of God … What good is it to me if this eternal birth of the divine son takes place unceasingly but does not take place within myself? And what good is it to me if Mary is full of grace if I am not also full of grace? What good is it to me for the Creator to give birth to his Son if I do not also give birth to Him in my time and my culture. This then is the fullness of time: when the Son of god is begotten in us.”
Works Consulted or Cited
The words of St. Nicholas Cabasilas and others as quoted on a website describing an icon of the annunciation.
Matthew Fox, Meditations with Meister Eckhart, pp. 74, 81.
