Scripture Luke 1:26-38
In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” The angel said to her, “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 now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son, and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.” Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her.
Meditation
For the last couple of years there’s been a kind of mini-trend I’ve noticed among Christian religious types to search for Christmas angel ornaments that are “Biblically correct” or “Biblically accurate.” By which they mean, from various accounts found in scripture: they have six wings, two covering their eyes, two covering their feet, and two for flying. And/ or their wings are covered with eyes, so that no matter what direction they are moving in, they can see clearly. And/ or they take on the shapes of wheels. And/ or they have various heads resembling those of various creatures. (Google “Biblically Accurate Furby” to see the result of some of these inquiries.)
All of which amounts to this: There is a reason why, when angels present themselves to humans in scripture, at some point in the encounter they must say some version of “Be not afraid.”
Today’s story is so familiar to us. It’s the story of Mary, a young Jewish Palestinian woman, and her encounter with the angel Gabriel. But how much do we know about the encounter, really? We know the name and pedigree of Mary’s fiancé before we know her name—he is Joseph, of the house of David. We know that Mary lived in a small town in Galilee called Nazareth. And we know that Mary was not yet married, and that she had never had a child. We don’t know Mary’s age, but the average woman in ancient Palestine was married somewhere between the ages of twelve and twenty. I’m going to take a stand, and say that God, in God’s infinite compassion and lovingkindness, would not ask a child to give birth, so I believe Mary was somewhere in the upper end of that age range when Gabriel was sent with the astonishing news. Be not afraid.
We don’t know where Mary was when the angel appeared. Artists have tended to depict her as being alone in her room, sometimes with a prayerbook, to show her devout nature. But this was a culture that had precious few private rooms, and bookbinding wouldn’t be invented for at least another six hundred years, so we can assume that Mary was not alone in her room with a prayerbook. But we also know that every member of her community would have had some work to do from a fairly young age; Mary would have been no exception. She may have been hard at work of some kind. Mary may have been washing clothes, or planting grains or vegetables in a garden. She might have been heading to the well for water. We simply don’t know. Be not afraid.
We don’t know many of the details, but at the heart of the story is news that changes the course of Mary’s life. However old she was, wherever she was, whatever she was doing, Mary met an angel—which was an experience that must lie somewhere on the continuum between interesting and terrifying. Be not afraid.
The angel greeted Mary with news that she was blessed, that God was with her. Mary had no earthly idea what that meant. Our translation says that Mary was perplexed, but that soft pedals the original language. Mary was troubled. Mary was agitated. What did this heavenly being want? Was Mary was afraid?
Of course, Mary was afraid. An unearthly being had pierced the veil between this world and God’s heavenly realm, and was making assertions that he had news from God, Godself. News concerning her. We don’t know exactly or even approximately what this heavenly being looked like. Even if it was beautiful beyond description, it was still a messenger from the Almighty, and that alone—the weight of it, the power of it… of course it was terrifying.
We don’t need to be confronted by strange angels with heavenly assertions to find ourselves afraid. Fear can strike us in all kinds of circumstances, from a sudden change in cabin pressure on the airplane to a sudden summons to the principal’s office.
There are, of course, different kinds of fear. There is the “the plane might go down” fear, which is all about cortisol and adrenaline surging through our veins—hormones designed to help us run, if that’s what’s needed in that moment. But there are other kinds of fears—some that were named by our readers this morning—the kind that are probably always with us, just under the surface, and which we might not even be aware of until someone pokes or prods us about it. The fear of falling. The fear of global climate change. Fears about our health. So many things about which, when they come to the surface, we can do very little about, except be mindful of their reality.
Each of us responds to fear in our own way. Some of us cry. Some of us shake. Some of us become angry. Some of us get very, very quiet. For some of us, our first instinct is to pray. For others of us, it doesn’t occur to us to pray until the fear is past, and we are overflowing with gratitude.
Some of you already know this story. In January of 1993 there was a Matisse exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City, and my spouse and I had tickets to go. We set out with Joan, who was about four months old, and left Ned with my parents for a day of fun in Vestal. It was a grey day, drizzly, nothing extraordinary about the weather.
About 15 miles along I-81 south, I we passed a mini-van that was on its side, by the side of the road—people were crawling out of it. I gaped as we passed by, and started to say, “Hey, look—“ and then I realized our car was spinning. Everything was in slow-motion and too fast to process at the same time. It felt like the car was spinning and spinning, doing 360s over and over. I was sure we were going to die, the three of us, and all I could think was: poor Ned. My five-year-old boy was going to be an orphan. My heart was breaking for him. Finally we came to rest on the median strip, and we watched other cars speeding by, starting to spin as well. Now we were afraid another car would crash into us, so I took Joan and climbed up the little hill that was the median. Finally, whatever was happened—which, of course, was black ice—seemed to register with all the drivers, traffic was slowing way, way down, and we were able to get back into the car and drive—home. That was the end of our trip that day. I gave Ned a crushing hug when we got home. The fear lingered. Be not afraid.
Mary’s story reminds us that God draws near, God chooses to be with us, even in the midst of our worst fears. This is the kind of thing we sometimes recognize in hindsight, as in those moments when we say to ourselves, “How did I ever get through that?” And then we realize that, of course, we were being supported by something, by someone, by God. God was with us, all along, even when we thought we were all alone, even when we thought the fear itself might just overwhelm us.
This was true for Mary, and it is true for us, all these centuries later. From generation to generation, God chooses to be with us in our fear, to show up for us, to lift us. God invites us to enter God’s story, and sometimes we are terrified to say “yes,” for fear of what that commitment means. But God promises to be with us—as God promised to be with Abraham, as God promised to be with Moses, as God promised to be with Mary. Be not afraid.
Be not afraid, Mary, Gabriel says. You have found favor with God. Gabriel tells Mary that she will conceive and have a child and name him Jesus. That the child will be a great man, the son of God Most High. That the child will be the Messiah, the offspring of David, come to save the world and rule forever.
I imagine Mary was more frightened after Gabriel gave his entire message than before. One scholar writes,
Mary does not know her life is about to be both upended and established forever in the history of humankind. She does not know that her humble beginnings are not indicative of her calling as the mother of the Messiah. She does not know that the favor upon her will not translate to personal gain, or popularity, or privilege. We have the advantage of knowing what is next, but Mary does not know why an angel would disrupt the normal course of her life with the simple words, “Greetings favored one, the Lord is with you.”[i]
But that is the fundamental message, isn’t it. “The Lord is with you.” Whatever other words the message contains, whatever news, whatever promises—those words, that promise, is the only thing that matters. Through whatever joys or sorrows or glories are a part of Mary’s path, it is God’s presence, unshakeable, that makes everything possible. And it is the same for us.
Be not afraid. The Lord is with you. It’s not that we can’t experience fear—of course, we can, and we will. But the steadfast lovingkindness of our God, the God of Abraham, the God of David, and the God of Mary—is also the God of Pat, and the God of Mark, and the God of Mary Ann, and the God of Jim. The Lord is with you—is with us. God meets us in our fears, and lifts us up, and whispers: Be not afraid. I am with you. I am here.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
[i] Courtney V. Buggs, PhD, Commentary on Luke 1:26-38, Fourth Sunday in Advent, Working Preacher, December 20, 2020. https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fourth-sunday-of-advent-2/commentary-on-luke-126-38-5.