“Bearing Christ”

Fourth Sunday of Advent

Sunday December 20, 2009

Micah 5: 2-5a

Psalm 80

Hebrews 10:5-10

My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour,

For he has looked with favour on the lowliness of his servant.

Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;

for the Mighty One has done great things for me,

and holy is his name.

So begins Mary’s wondrous song of celebration in response to the news that she would bear, in her own womb, the promised Messiah, the Holy One of God.   This song of thanksgiving, which is often referred to as the Magnificat, has been prayed and sung throughout the history of the Church as a joyous declaration of God’s faithfulness and of the world-transforming implications of the incarnation of God in the person of Jesus Christ.  As the words of the Magnificat attest, in Christ’s presence, the lowly, the poor and the hungry would be lifted up; the powerful, the rich and the proud would be cast down; and the ancient promises and expectations that had lived in the hearts and minds of the people since the days of Abraham and Sarah would find their longed-for fulfillment.

And all of this would occur because the womb of a young girl would be filled with a child.

Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed…

Even as we read this beautiful passage again in our journey towards Christmas, it is important for us to realize that the relevance and power of the Magnificat is not limited to the lips of the Virgin Mary.  Rather, one of the reasons why this passage has been sung and prayed by the Church throughout the ages is because of its enduring relevance and meaning in every generation, and even to each one of us.

So what is this enduring relevance? 

In his paraphrase of a passage from the writings of the 13^th century mystic and theologian Meister Eckhart, the theologian Matthew Fox reflects upon the importance of exploring Mary’s experience within the context of our own lives when he writes,

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

and if I am not also full of grace?

But, we might point out, Mary’s experience is radically different from our own.  Very few of us are young women who have been visited by angels and told that we are about to become pregnant in most unusual ways.  So how does Mary’s song become our song, and how does her experience become an experience that makes sense upon our lips? 

In order to explore this question, it is important for us to ponder the fact that one of the great themes that is woven through this passage, and through the Magnificat itself, is a celebration of Mary’s blessedness.  Both in Elizabeth’s greeting, and in Mary’s own words, there is a proclamation that Mary’s experience is one of great blessing.

So what, exactly, was the blessing that Mary was experiencing?  What was it that made her blessed? 

At this time of year, it is not uncommon to seek to be aware of the blessings of our lives, and to give thanks for them. 

Consider, after all, how we tend to count and measure our blessings at Christmas time – in the number of presents waiting for us under the tree; or in the volume of Christmas cards that are waiting in our mail slot; or by the size of a Christmas bonus (if such things actually exist this year!); or by the anticipated number of friends and family members with whom we will share meals and times together in the coming weeks. 

But it is also a time when we can be acutely aware of blessings that we do not enjoy.

Those who do not have presents waiting under the tree; or whose mail boxes are bereft of Christmas cards; or who do not have a paycheque this year, let alone a Christmas bonus; or who do not have friends and family members with whom to share the holidays – the absence of those signs of blessing can make the coming days and weeks rather difficult to face.

And, when we are more aware of the absence of blessing than by their presence – when we have those times in our lives when we do not seem to feel particularly blessed -- it is hard to hear Mary’s exultant declaration that “from now on all generations will call me blessed”. 

So does this mean that Mary’s song has no relevance to our lives when we are not experiencing a time of particular blessing? 

Or is there a different way to understand the nature of the blessing that Mary felt – perhaps even a way that every one of us can not only embrace, but experience and celebrate, regardless of the circumstances of our lives?

In order to ponder the nature of Mary’s sense of blessedness, it is important for us to remember her story in its wider context.  Earlier in this chapter from the Gospel of Luke, Mary had been visited by an angel, and had been told that she was about to become pregnant with a child whose very origin was in God.  “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore, the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God.”

And, after that angelic annunciation, Mary had journeyed to the home of her cousin Elizabeth, who was pregnant with the child who would grow up to be John the Baptist.  And, when she saw Mary, Elizabeth had felt her child leap in her own womb.  “Blessed are you among women,” cried Elizabeth, “and blessed is the fruit of your womb….For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy.” 

Elizabeth’s greeting – “blessed are you among women” – and Mary’s own declaration that “from now on all generations will call me blessed” – forces us to pause and to ask ourselves what exactly was the measure or the nature of this supposed blessedness?

Mary’s sense of blessedness, after all, was in no way reflective of any of our common measures of blessedness.  She was not celebrating some level of material wealth, or public acclaim, or joyful holiday celebrations surrounded by adoring friends and family members.  To the contrary, in light of the fact that she was a young woman facing the possible public shame of being an expectant but unwed mother in a society in which such a situation would cause rumour, disgrace and scandal, there were a number of dimensions of her experience that might be described as anything but blessed. 

So what was it that made Mary a blessed woman? 

It was the fact that Christ was alive within her.

Her very body was being used as the vessel, the channel through which the fullest expression of God’s love would enter the world.   

And it is in this that we discover the enduring relevance of the story of Mary, and of the Magnificat, in our lives and in the church throughout the ages. 

That is, even though none of us will bear and give birth to Christ in the same way that Mary did, each and every one of us is called to allow the presence of Christ to be borne in us, to live in us, and to carry the living presence of the risen Christ into this world. 

Again, Meister Eckhart’s reflections offer us an opportunity to ponder how Christmas only begins to make sense if we accept the same invitation that Mary accepted.  Fox’s translation of Eckhart’s meditation continues,

What good is it to me

for the Creator to give birth to [the] 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 Prince of Peace is begotten

                                                 …in us.  [1]

This is our calling, as people of Christian faith – to allow Christ to be born in us, in our time and in our culture.  In times of adversity and in times of celebration; in places of conflict and in places of peace; in moments of hope and in moments of despair; in places of joyful community and in places of abject loneliness, God calls each one of us to allow the presence of Christ to live in us, to grow in us, to be born in us. 

This calling will not always safeguard our preferences nor keep us confined to our comfort zones – it will cause us to journey into places of human need and want; into relationships with people who we might not otherwise choose as friends; and possibly into situations where conflict and human misery are evident – but it is when we willingly undertake those journeys that we not only expose ourselves to the pain and shadow of the cross, but also to the light and joy of the resurrection.  Even as it was with Mary, God continues to choose to use the seemingly ordinary stuff of our mortal flesh and blood to serve as the vessels in which and through which love is made real in this world.

But even as we accept this great and noble calling, we must realize the paradox that rests at its very heart.  And the mystery is this -- though our intention might be to bear the light and love of Christ into those difficult places – when we faithfully and courageously embrace this calling, we begin to realize that Christ is already there before us. 

We may think that we are bearing Christ – and, to a certain extent, we may be – but the One whose love we seek to bear into this world has gone before us, and is already waiting for us.  The One who is alive within us is not confined within us, any more than the One who was alive in Mary could be contained in her – all that we are called to do is to be participants in that great love, and conduits and channels for that love to flow through us.  We reach out in love in response to the One who reaches out in love to us.

We are called both to be bearers of the love of Christ, and seekers after it – both instruments of God’s grace, and witnesses to it; both willing servants of the love of God, and expectant recipients of it.   And in this paradox is the true mystery and the true blessing of Christmas – that the One whose love we are called to bear looks forward to welcoming us in this great journey that is the life of faithful Christian discipleship – so that this world that God so dearly loves might know the blessing of the Almighty God.