A Lectionary Reflection for the people of Thankful Memorial Episcopal Church for worship from home, December 20, 2020, Year B, 4 Advent

2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16
Canticle 15
Romans 16:25-27
Luke 1:26-38

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

“Purify our conscience, Almighty God, by your daily visitation, that your Son Jesus Christ, at his coming, may find in us a mansion prepared for himself.”

Some weeks ago, I shared this story with the Thankful Ones gathered on our Zoom Coffee Hour:

Whenever he sees a cross, my 2.5 year old son Toby points to it and says, “Home in my heart.”  Perhaps unsurprisingly for the child of two priests, Toby associates the cross with the name of Jesus and he associates Jesus with a childhood hymn I often sing with my kids.  The chorus includes these lines:

Don’t you know that Jesus is well and alive today?
He makes his home in my heart.

Thus, for Toby: cross, Jesus, “home in my heart”.

I’m glad that whenever Toby thinks of Jesus he also thinks of Jesus’ belonging in Toby’s own heart.  Would that we all made that connection so easily!  And so we pray on this fourth Sunday of Advent: “Purify our conscience… that your Son Jesus Christ… may find in us a mansion prepared for himself.”

We have been preparing that “mansion” throughout this season of Advent; we have been making a home for Jesus in our selves, that when he comes looking for a place to be “well and alive,” he will find the hospitality of our hearts ready to receive him.  We, like Mary, will be able to say “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”

What must it have taken for that young woman to have said “yes” to God?  How had she been raised, what had she been doing in her childhood that made her ready as a teenager for this eventuality?  She is a bit “perplexed” at first: she has a few clarifying questions for the angel.  But, though this huge divine ask must have been unexpected, Mary assents pretty quickly.  How had she lived her life up until that moment such that when it came, despite the shock, she was ready to say “yes”?  Are we living our lives such that we would be ready to assent to God’s Word should it come to us, seeking a home in our hearts?

In fact, I suspect that many of us are.  We are nine months into this pandemic, nine months into worshiping distantly from one another, nine months into clinging onto the love we have in our community even when we do not see each other in person.  If you’re still reading these reflections every Sunday, if you’re still worshiping faithfully every week, in some form or fashion, even though we are distant from one another, it can only be because you are still trying to prepare a home in your heart for Jesus. 

And perhaps you’re wondering if he will ever actually come.  Perhaps more often than you’d like, you find yourself thinking, what if the Messiah doesn’t show up?  All this time and energy we’ve been spending hoping against hope, waiting in expectation, faithfully following along in prayer even through the darkest days, preparing a home in our hearts – perhaps despite it all, the doubt creeps in: What if it’s all in vain?  What if the Lord never comes, never accepts the hospitality of our hearts?

It is a chilling thought, and a heartbreaking one.  And in the midst of the current hardships, with months of the pandemic still ahead of us, with the anxiety and isolation dragging on, it may feel like all too real of a possibility. 

Last week, a colleague shared with me a poem by Amy Frykholm called “The other annunciation”[i]:

What if there was another girl
To whom the angel did not come,
One who said, every day, “I am ready.”
She woke, she dressed, she went to the well
to draw water.

Still no flutter of wings
No gifts delivered in the dark
No sudden lights.
Just ordinary grit and labor.

She knew the stories – Samuel, Miriam.
The power of, “Here I am.”
She wiped sleep from her eyes.
Readied the day.  Waited.

The truth is, on any given day, but especially during these unprecedented days, many of us may relate more to this girl of “the other annunciation” than we do to Mary, the Mother of God.  Both women have been preparing themselves, making a mansion fit for the Lord within their souls and bodies.  But only one of them is favored with the “flutter of wings.”  Only one of them gets the chance to say, with certainty, “Here I am.”  And the other one?  Well, she just keeps being ready.  The other one continues her preparations and keeps on waiting.

And the truth is, we will nonetheless celebrate Christmas this year.  Whatever happens with the pandemic, whatever happens in our country’s politics, whatever happens in our parochial lives, we will mark the annual Feast of the Incarnation. Whether we gather digitally or social-distantly, in a few more days, we will remember “God is with us” and we will be reminded of the awesome power of God to break into our darkness with the light of Christ, to surprise us in unexpected places and shocking ways with the gift of joy.  The angel did come, after all, to one particular woman two thousand years ago, one young woman who was ready to say “yes” and the Messiah will be, indeed, is already born among us. 

And, the truth is also this: it may not feel that way to many of us this year.  Without the carols and the cooking, the family and friends around our table or the parish gathered around Christ’s table, with heaviness in our hearts and anxiety in our minds, it may be hard to conjure up the experience of the Incarnation as we have done in past years. We may feel like we are still isolated, empty, or alone, like we have prepared a place in our hearts but are still waiting for the Messiah to show up and call it his home.

A week ago, Thankful Ones Randy and Jeanne stopped by my office to drop off a small gift.  As they were leaving, I pressed on them one of our Advent Kits.  “It’s already half way through the season,” I told them, “but take one anyways; they’re probably just going to get thrown away otherwise.”

But Jeanne and Randy stopped me: “Don’t throw them away!” they said.  “You know there’s going to be Advent again next year.” 

How right they are.  There is going to be Advent again next year, and the year after that, and the year after that.  We are always going to be waiting, just like that other girl in Frykholm’s poem.  And we are also always going to be celebrating with Mary, the Mother of God, that we have already been seen, that God has “looked with favor” on us, on you and me, and chosen our hearts to be God’s home.  Our Church calendar is linear and so Christmas follows Advent and is followed by Epiphany and Lent and Easter and so on.  But our experience of God in our lives is so much messier, so much more mysterious than that.  These seasons are simply reminders that we experience God in different ways at different times – and sometimes simultaneously. 

So, it’s ok to still be waiting this Christmas. It’s ok to be disappointed if, having made your heart ready for the Messiah, it feels like he’s still far off.  We can keep going with the preparations for a little longer yet – maybe even our whole lives.  And we can, simultaneously, trust in God’s promises and sing along with Mary in her joyful song: “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.”  Amen.

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[i] This poem was published in The Christian Century, July 28, 2016: https://www.christiancentury.org/artsculture/poems/other-annunciation