Fourth Sunday of Advent, December 20, 2020        (today’s lectionary)
Body of Christ
I will raise up your heir and make his kingdom firm. I will be a father to him, and he shall be a son to me, and your throne, King David, will stand firm forever.
We gather together to ask the Lord’s blessing, yesterday in Urbana with Marc and Chris and families, Tuesday in Austin with Andi and Aki and family. Christmas rolls in with a touch of snow and the sound of reindeer bells. Mary brims with birth, as Jesus waits inside her. She sings simple lullabies, and he rests again.
The Holy Spirit will come upon you and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. And the child to be born will be called holy, Son of God. Nothing is impossible with God. And the angel departed from Mary.
While Mary’s muscles ache from riding Joseph’s donkey, the baby inside her seems soothed by the rolling of the road, the breathing of the rider, and Mary give silent thanks. Joseph walks beside them, holding the donkey’s rein, his eyes clear but tired. Clearly, he is worried about this baby coming. When will he come? Where will they be? What will they do? Who will help them with the birth?
May it be done to me according to your word.
Men don’t help birth babies in 1st century Palestine. Will they find a midwife somewhere, dozens of miles from their home? The holy family is about to encounter direct intervention by the Holy Spirit, the midwife of the Lord, but they don’t know this now.
Our family’s problems seem so slight, as I think about Mary and Joseph. We sort out what to take to our new Austin apartment and what to leave in Urbana. Our family cars require minor maintenance. Some of us are unemployed, all of us feel our aches and pains. As T. S. Eliot wrote of his grandfather, “I grow old, I grow old, I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.” Yes, indeed, I am now shorter than either of our two sons. Perish the thought … oh, well.
You are my Father, my God, the rock, my savior. Your covenant stands firm.
Then there is Mary and Joseph, far too concerned with their immediate future to consider aches, pains, employment, repairs, or anything beyond the next few steps of the donkey. We sing, “O come, o come Emmanuel” and they do too, then almost in a whisper they add, “But not yet!” The road to Bethlehem stretches before them, up one desolate desert hill and down, through an empty valley, and up again. Sometimes the path grows faint, and Joseph studies the sun, studies the stars, moves forward tentatively until the path once again appears.
Do they hear strains of heavenly celebration as their journey nears its end? Can they realize that absolutely nothing’s gonna stop what’s happening? I think not, but I am so filled up with joy as the sun rises the day before Solstice and Advent draws to a close, as the little town of Bethlehem waits with a mysterious longing for they know not what.
I will sing of the Lord’s great love forever. Throu gh all generations my mouth shall proclaim thy faithfulness. I will declare, his love stands firm.
The pink candle has burned down, but God’s grace, mercy and peace still glow bright. Our last purple candle is lit and we consider again our sins and receive God’s forgiveness. The body of Christ – that is to say our brothers and sisters, along with the bread and wine become God, and most of all the baby rolling around within the safety of Mary’s womb – the body of Christ sings and sings.
Brothers and sisters, to him who can strengthen you, to the only wise God, through Jesus Christ be glory forever and ever.
(2 Samuel 7, Psalm 89, Romans 16, Luke 1)
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