“Are you ready?” It’s a question we hear a lot at this time of year. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve heard it just in the last few days, whether it’s been in the seemingly endless stream of emails I get from retailers warning me that there are only so many shoppin g days left before Christmas, or in the efforts of store clerks at checkout stands to be friendly to the frazzled shoppers in their long lines. Ready for what? I feel like asking. Ready for Christmas, of course. Well, I have a confession to make. I’m not ready! It’s still Advent, the season of expectant waiting. Yes, I know—it’s also December 24th, Christmas Eve. This is one of those liturgical years in which we observe the Fourth Sunday of Advent just hours before our first service of Christmas. That means it takes even more work than usual to tune out—or to at least lower the volume on—the myriad cultural cues around us that focus on Christmas Day long before it arrives.
Actually, we’ve been navigating this tension for a while—the first Christmas displays hit the stores months ago. Even our sanctuary is already decorated for Christmas—it looks beautiful, doesn’t it? But right now, I invite you into the spiritual discipline of focusing on Advent for just a little longer. In these final hours of the season of Advent, in the words of our opening collect, “let it be our care and delight to prepare our hearts and minds for the mystery of the Incarnation and the coming of our Savior, who was and is and is to come.”
On this Fourth Sunday of Advent, the appointed Gospel reading is the story of the Annunciation, when the angel Gabriel greets Mary and announces that she is greatly favored by God and will bear God’s son. I want to highlight three important lessons for us in this story.
The first lesson is that God works in very mysterious ways indeed. I think it is safe to say that no one expects an angel to appear before them and announce that something unexpected, miraculous, and even terrifying is going to happen to them. In my experience—both personally, and in the years I have served in ministries of discernment at the parish and diocesan levels—calls from God often come when we least expect them, and usually when it is least convenient for us. They break into our lives, utterly disrupting our carefully crafted plans.
The second lesson is that when God calls us to a new thing, it is not only okay, but indeed good, to wonder, to ponder deeply, to ask questions. The author of the Gospel According to Luke tells us that Mary was “much perplexed” by the angel’s words and “pondered what sort of greeting this might be.” Mary had questions. She asked them. She waited for answers. And her consent to God’s action—”let it be with me according to your word”—did not immediately follow the angel’s initial pronouncement. It only came after the angel’s assurance that her kinswoman, Elizabeth, was also experiencing an unexpected pregnancy.
This brings me to the third lesson. There are times in life when we have to do hard things. When that happens, we need each other. In his commentary on the Annunciation, New Testament scholar and theologian Raj Nadella suggests it was the knowledge that her kinswoman, Elizabeth, was also experiencing a miraculous and problematic pregnancy, that gave Mary the courage to say “yes” to God’s plan.[1] It was the assurance she would not be alone in her experience that mattered most to Mary, not the grand promises of an angel.
No one gets through life without having to do hard things. Some of you are doing hard things right now. Perhaps you are saying goodbye to a loved one who is dying or has died. Perhaps you are taking on a new responsibility that you did not seek and do not want, but cannot avoid. Perhaps you are releasing a long-held, deeply cherished hope or dream for yourself or for someone you love. What makes doing hard things especially painful and challenging is the sense of isolation, the feeling that you are utterly alone and that no one understands what you are going through. Knowing you are not alone can make a hard thing doable. That’s why when you have to do a hard thing, it is best to have someone to walk with you and support you. Someone who understands.
Last Monday, a group gathered here in the sanctuary to view a livestream of the memorial service for Mark Allen, our former rector. I’ve been thinking a lot about a song from that service—“You’ll Never Walk Alone,” by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II. It’s a show tune from the 1945 musical Carousel that has been recorded by a wide range of artists over the years. I think that this song speaks to so many people because of its assurance that, no matter what hard things we have to face in life, we will never face them alone. The song’s refrain goes, “Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart, and you’ll never walk alone.”[2] And that’s the feeling I had after the service—that I wasn’t alone, that a hard thing had become easier because I was with others who understood.
As people of faith, we know that we never walk alone—Jesus walks with us, even when we can’t feel His presence. The Feast of the Incarnation we are about to celebrate reminds us that God came to be with us and experienced all that a human being can experience, including some very hard things indeed. That’s the meaning of “Emmanuel”—God with us. In this season, we are called to make room in our hearts for Christ to be born in us. And we are called to be Christ to one another—to be Elizabeths for the Marys we encounter, walking with them so that the hard things of life become doable. May it be so. Amen.
[1] https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fourth-sunday-of-advent-2/commentary-on-luke-126-38-6, accessed on 12/23/23.
[2] https://rodgersandhammerstein.com/song/carousel/youll-never-walk-alone, accessed on 12/23/23.
