Strange Blessing
full sermon for the fourth Sunday in Advent .... Micah 5:2-5a, Luke 1:39-55“God bless you, and Merry Christmas,” he said, as he turned and rushed away. He had no time to lose, for there was a plane to catch. He was traveling to Aspen, where he would meet his family for a Christmas-break ski vacation. As the pastor watched him step into his late-model sports car, and zip away, he thought how strange it was to finish worship services on December 23rd, and feel neither blessed nor merry.It had been an especially busy Fall. He had remained vigilant about navigating safely through the ever-flowing stream of details related to worship preparation, sermon writing, member care, and committee projects. In addition to these things, there had been unexpected maintenance and building-repair duties, a request to mediate a conflict in a sister congregation, and a greater-than-average number of funerals. At Thanksgiving, the pastor had talked to his mother who lived one-thousand miles away, who would be gathering his siblings and cousins for the next holiday feast. During that phone conversation, his mother asked the question that had become an annual ritual: “Are you coming home for Christmas Eve?” The pastor’s answer was predictable, but in the heart of a mother, hope springs eternal. His Christmas wishes were modest: a long nap on Christmas day, and a few uninterrupted hours beforehand to shop for presents for his wife and children.But shopping would have to wait. The church member, who had just rushed away for a ski vacation, had paused long enough in the post-worship greeting line to alert the pastor to a crisis. “Pastor, on Wednesday I found out that Bill Jones had a heart attack. I know he hasn’t been to church in years, but he used to be one of my best friends. I should have made time to see him, but I was so busy at work this week, and I have the flight to Aspen today. Bill is having valve replacement surgery in the morning, and I know he’d love to see you. God bless you, and Merry Christmas.”The pastor phoned his wife to say he wouldn’t be coming home for lunch. He grabbed a glazed donut from the nearly empty box on the kitchen counter, and washed it down with a half-cup of lukewarm coffee. Then, he clipped on his clergy identification badge, donned his overcoat, and headed out the door toward the hospital.In some circumstances, words that announce a blessing seem strangely misplaced. That’s one way of describing what happens in the scripture texts for this fourth Sunday in the season of Advent. More than one scholar has pointed out the dissonance between what is said in these texts and what the characters in them are actually experiencing.The prophet Micah, from which our first scripture reading is drawn, wrote in the eighth century B.C., a period in which the economically elite engaged in especially conspicuous consumption. Old Testament scholars tell us it was a time when wealthy landowners accumulated property at the expense of the small farmer. People belonging to the lower classes were evicted from their homes. The courts were infected with bribery.[1]Social disintegration weakened the fabric of society. When Assyria attacked, the northern kingdom of Israel collapsed. Micah, writing from relative safety in the southern kingdom, realizes that if a similar pattern of behavior remains unchanged in Judah, it won’t be long before the gates of Jerusalem fall.In circumstances that drain away all joy, and shake confidence to the core, Micah suddenly shifts to the topic of One who will come from a little clan in a little village as a little child, and begin to change things in a radically positive way. Micah’s announcement of a new blessing is mixed in with a description of a siege against the city, and the bruising blows of enemy soldiers upon the nation’s rulers. In a context like that, the average listener likely had great difficulty believing that God would soon deliver a great blessing.Today’s gospel reading tells us about a visit Mary made to her cousin Elizabeth. If you’re not especially familiar with the story, then it’s important to recognize that Mary is pregnant with Jesus, and Elizabeth is pregnant with John, who will grow up to be the one who baptizes his cousin at the River Jordan. Both Mary and Elizabeth know that something special is going on in the children they are carrying. This is one of the familiar stories we hear at Christmas, and we tend to accept at face value the words of blessing that we hear, and imagine that the characters felt a great sense of joy in all this.We owe a different perspective to a new generation of fine theologians who happen to be women themselves. These theologians encourage us to notice how little freedom Mary seems to have. Nowhere in the text does it ever say that God asked her to be the mother of the Savior of the world. Mary lived in a society in which she was treated as the property of men. She probably was betrothed in an arranged marriage to Joseph, upon whose compassion, mercy, and good judgment she must depend when he, too, discovered her pregnancy. Mary was at the mercy of her changing body, the child occupying it, the men around her who had the power either to help or harm. She would experience an exhausting journey, the pain of childbirth, the fear of an escape from Herod’s soldiers to live in a foreign land. Despite all the unpleasant things that accompany her fate, God through Elizabeth pronounces the words: “Blessed are you among women …. And blessed is she who believed there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” Mary is blessed to be a blessing to the world.One of the implications of the text, I think, is that God’s blessing does not necessarily result in warm, fuzzy feelings, or a Christmas for you or me that is like the one you see on the Hallmark channel. While we gather in this beautiful space with beautiful music on the fourth Sunday in Advent, across town there is a doctor or nurse tending to someone who is very sick: God bless them. A police officer is working with a family plagued by domestic violence: God bless her. An electrician or furnace repairman is working to restore service to a family that needs shelter: God bless him. In these circumstances, and a thousand others like them, God issues a gentle but firm call to his followers: Go! Be a blessing to others! By listening and following, we are called “blessed.”Circling back to the story of the person with whom this sermon began, the pastor had finished preaching the Christmas Eve sermon. Communion had been served. As a bell chimed midnight at another church somewhere in the distance, with perfect timing the gentle refrain of Silent Night echoed through the church’s worship space. Twenty minutes later, Mrs. Rev. Pastor sat in the driver’s seat of the family SUV, parked near the door of the church. The trip that night would be long, but by Christmas dinner, she would see her parents, her brother and sister, niece and nephews. There would be presents and food and music, and that respite after months away from home would make the drive worth it. She waited for her husband to file his sermon, write a note with instructions that the administrative assistant would find on Wednesday morning. At the doorway, one more elder stood waiting for a conversation. As her husband turned off the lights, then exited the building, she rolled down the car window. Through the crisp, cold air she could hear the elder describing a project, a deadline, the need for a meeting soon. “Oh, and don’t forget about Mrs. Smith; she has surgery the day after Christmas. Surely, pastor, you’ll be going to see her. Her husband normally wasn’t lively late at night, but she thought she could see him smile, and, faintly, she could hear him say, in a most joyful tone, “Joe, I have a family in Michigan waiting for me. But I’ve spoken to Mrs. Smith. She knows I’m praying for her. I know she would love to see you. God bless you, Joe. Merry Christmas.”We are, all of us, blessed to be a blessing. “Merry Christmas. May God bless YOU!”NOTE[1]James Limburg, Hosea-Micah, Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching, Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1988, p. 165.