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My Heart Sings Out
Luke 1:39-55
December 13, 2015
East Congregational United Church of Christ
Rev. Ruth D. Fitzgerald
Up until today, the Advent scriptures have held some sense of dread. Prophecies of judgment, descriptions of the end times. (Who can endure the day of his coming, asks Malachi; these will be the signs in the skies, writes Luke.) But, today we turn the corner from dread to anticipation and light the candle of joy. The readings from Zephaniah call for rejoicing and give words of comfort and hope to the people. “The king of Israel is in your midst. . .do not fear. . .I will remove disaster. . .I will deal with all your oppressors. . .And I will save the lame and gather the outcast and I will change their shame into praise. . .At that time I will bring you home.” And, Mary sings praise.
Today, in joy, there is a shift to a sense of the future, but a future that looks nothing like the past. There is anticipation for us, too, as we move closer to Christmas and marking the coming of our savior in the manger, but there is also the mixed sense of anticipation and mystery held in the events of so many years ago.
Perhaps we can most easily understand a sense of anticipation in our identification with Mary. A young woman is with child. What could be more a part of urging life into the future? Twenty-nine years ago I was anticipating the birth of my first child; due on December 29, Ellen arrived on the afternoon of December 25. Every year at this time, I remember how much anticipation filled our lives then.
The means of Mary’s pregnancy are mysterious with angels bringing the news to her and to her betrothed. There are signs of the significance of this life that she harbors as she visits with an elderly relative (Elizabeth) who honors her as “mother of my Lord.” Elizabeth’s own miraculous late-in-life pregnancy also a sign. And, the life within her recognizes Mary and the one whom she carries, leaping in Elizabeth’s womb.
I’m grateful to Lauren Winner, who, in the most recent issue of The Christian Century suggests that Mary’s response to this truly unbelievable news is that of improvisation. Faced with a mysterious pregnancy in times when that alone was cause for her banishment she acts in remarkable ways.
Mary talks to the angel, Gabriel, and questions him about how this news could be true. She acquiesces, saying: “let it be with me according to your word.” She travels to see a relative, we don’t know exactly why or how. And Mary depends on her Jewish upbringing to find the words to express what she is feeling.
Knowing the words from Hannah’s ancient song, part of the salvation history of faithful Jews, Mary improvises. She takes what she knows and adds to it from her own circumstances. “My spirit rejoices in God my savior.” Knowing that she needed to say something important about a remarkable act of God that will change her own life and the world, Mary improvises with words she already knew.
You know what improvisation is, I’m sure. My dictionary says this: “to compose and perform or deliver without previous preparation; extemporize; . . to make, provide, or arrange from whatever materials are readily available.”
One of the most-referred-to pages in my favorite basic cookbook is the page that lists “equivalents,” suggested improvisations for ingredients not readily at hand. No buttermilk? Use yogurt, or make sour milk using lemon juice or vinegar. Need a low-fat version? Use applesauce in place of oil. Substitute brown sugar mixed with cream of tartar for molasses.
Or, sing a song you already know in different circumstances, to express the inexpressible. Do you watch “The Voice”? I typically don’t watch reality TV, but recently someone told me about a segment on this show—a contest of elimination for singers, promising exposure and (at least a little bit) fame along with prizes.
Last Monday night, one of the contestants sang “Amazing Grace.” His rendition, that included some improvisation, sounded nothing like the version we sang yesterday during the funeral for a beloved child of God, precious to us—Irma Porter. But singer, Braiden Sunshine, sang praise and joy for God’s glory on a national stage. Braiden took the words and the music of the familiar gospel hymn and improvised in order to “wow” the judges. He sang hope into this world.
Never in my lifetime, or at least in my memory, have I felt that love is in such short supply. We are surely much more aware of hateful speech, and anyone can find a platform for angry, violent words on the instantaneous internet media. The filters of editors and shared ideology and simple decency are erased.
Things were looking pretty bad for folks in Mary’s time, too. For her, personally, yes—she’s unmarried, pregnant, on the verge of being ostracized by her betrothed and her entire community. Culturally, she and many others were living under Roman occupation where locals (the indigenous peoples) were required to follow certain rules and obey laws that seemed incompatible with their own beliefs.
Back and forth, in the readings and in life—2,000 years ago, and today—we move from joy to sorrow, from purpose to confusion, from predictability to times unsettled.
God sent the prophets to reassure the people, some hundreds of years before Mary. Perhaps the people have forgotten the promises. Perhaps WE have forgotten the promises.
So, God improvises. Long ago, God called a young woman out of typical circumstances, anointed her with a purpose that is so unusual that it was cause for her to question her safety, her future, her life. God sent God’s Son to the world, not as an angel or as an apparition or something unimaginable. Not as a warrior or a supernatural king. God’s Son comes to the world as a human baby. An improvisation in holiness.
We know what improv is. We improvise with a diagnosis, reorient our sense of wellbeing and the future. We improvise when our jobs aren’t what we wish for seeking another or determining to make the best of it. We improvise when all seems lost, putting the utmost importance on just getting out of bed in the morning.
In improvising, we depend on both tradition and sacred promises. We must do this in these times. Our Christian tradition calls us to learn from the life and teachings of Jesus Christ. To read, not a sweet story of a baby born on a quiet night in a small town surrounded by the warm bodies of animals, but the record of oppression that forced a young woman to travel when her delivery was imminent and the delivery of her baby occurred in a stable because no one could or would find a clean dry space for her to give birth. A document of a family fleeing for their lives when a violent ruler decides to kill even the youngest and most vulnerable just to be sure that he killed the one who might challenge his power and authority.
When we depend on this stark reality of marginalized people and real threats to the life of Mary, Joseph and the baby, we have to improvise our own responses to this world. This is the beginning of the teachings of Jesus Christ—pay attention to what is ugly and terrifying. We cannot simply sing carols and believe that our Christianity keeps us in a place of protection and privilege. We must accept this tradition along with the warm joyous stories of birth and gifts.
Improvise. Look at our past, as Christians, as God’s people. Learn from that. And, improvise the future. Because the love of God is working in this world and in this church, just as it always has, we can be confident that improvisation will be held in God’s hands. Because the love of God is working here, we can be brave in our vision. Because the love of God is here, we can improvise a new song for the future even when it feels like nothing we know—like a young woman unexpectedly pregnant and threatened who sings out in praise.
Pull from deep within our hearts and find the compassion that lets us see a child who needs our help in names on the angel tree, in pictures on television, in desperate folks just trying to get by. Improvise and find joy.
Then, we, too can sing with a spirit that rejoices in God our savior. A familiar tune, but new lyrics perhaps. Carrying the tradition of Hannah, of Mary, and of generations of faithful people.
Amen.