Luke 1:26-38

It's that time of year, the end of the year, and people are looking for a miracle. What can help us move into the New Year, fresh, full of hope, people wonder. It's the longest night of the year; a time of great darkness and people are looking for relief, a miracle. With all that has been going around and among us in the past many months, and some are waiting for the next failure, people are looking for a miracle. Church pledges have yet to be received and we about to put the final touches on the budget, and our finance team is getting anxious; folks are looking for miracle. The weather has put a strain on us while small businesses are looking for miraculous sales to keep them going another year. With Governor Paterson's budget package; state workers, the legislature, and NYS taxpayers are looking for miracle that will make it all go away. As of December 11, financier miracle worker Madoff is now looking for a real miracle; his clients - institutions, nonprofits charities, and individuals stand devastated.

Within this milieu/context, we hear Luke 1:26-38 which leads us toward Christmas Day and causes us to sing this day. This story of the Annunciation: Gabriel's Announcement to Mary is so familiar to us, children recite it pieces of it; it presents us with an extra challenge: that we might really hear it - hear what is being said and hear the miracles within the passage.

But try and hear it with fresh ears and hearts. I want to offer some background information to help us hear it afresh perhaps.

Unspoken but underneath some of the visual setting and verbal exchanges in Luke's version of the Annunciation, is a challenge to Mary's honor. In almost first century Israeli culture, men watched, guarded, and protected young unmarried daughters in order that their virginity would not be compromised. There was an assumption then that once two of the opposite genders were together that it would inevitably lead to sexual relations. So as a precaution, these young, unmarried women were kept in the company of other women or young children, or under the eagle eyes of a parent. The structure of homes was designed so that the young unmarried daughters would be kept safe out of doors while they sat in an inner courtyard, secluded from the outside world.

When a young woman, probably about twelve years old, was betrothed the marriage contract was arranged by the two sets of parents. The mothers would negotiate the details to make sure there was equal status with the two families. For the marriage to be accepted, proof of the female's virginity would also be provided. The fathers, the patriarchs, would ratify the marriage arrangement.

Unlike our contemporary versions of angels, early angels were experienced and depicted as being male, as men. Remember the three visitors who came to visit a home in the Old Testament; remember the advice always to be hospitable for you never knew if you might be entertaining an angel. At first glance, the angel Gabriel's appearance before the solitary Mary was a real threat to her honor, to her marriageabilitiy, and to her very life. In paintings, I have one that hangs above the couch in the church study, depicting the Annunciation, often Gabriel stands in a doorway while Mary who is within the room or courtyard has her arms crossed over her chest. With Gabriel placed in the doorway there's a note of propriety indicating that he has not entered into her space; the position of Mary's arms indicate that she protects herself.

Safe within the confines of her home, how startled she must have been to have a male visitor appear before her. It's no wonder the text says Mary was perplexed and pondered what sort of greeting this one brought in saying, 'Favored one. The Lord is with you!' And then he continues, 'Do not be afraid. You have found favor with God.' And then Gabriel explains further, 'You will conceive and bear a son, and his name will be Jesus.'

I can't help but think that her mind was racing. 'Don't be afraid? How can I keep from being so? How can this be - that I would carry a child? Mary asks. Her mind must have been saying, 'What would Joseph think? Will I be killed, no longer a virgin for Joseph? Can I escape from this Gabriel?'

Gabriel continues, 'This is an extraordinary birth that will transform your lives and the lives of many. This son of yours is the Son of God. Remember Elizabeth; she's about to give birth. Nothing is impossible with God.'

Against common sense, against the arguments in her head, with the threat of being ostracized by her betrothed, her family, stoned to death by the community, something within her gut says, 'Mary give of yourself,' and so she says aloud, 'Here I am.' 'Hinnini.' 'Let it be according to your word.' Here lies the miracle; she accepts the Holy to be a part of her.

We are about to remember Jesus' humble birth. In this text, we are reminded again that God acts through Mary in the outlying territories of society not in the halls of the powerful. God can speak to us also; can ask us to do what might seem impossible. I wonder if we have the imagination and courage to set out on such faith.

So many of the examples I cited at the outset - those looking for miracles - were examples of our suffering because the economy is in recession, because folks have believed in money schemes whereby they'd become unbelievably rich, because we will have less to spend; we're looking for a miracle so we might not have to tighten our belts. We tend to seek miracles to relieve us of pain.

Mary on the other hand miraculously accepted God's invitation to risk all so that something miraculous might be brought into the world. She wasn't looking for the status quo or personal gain in this step; she heard that God would be incarnate through her. Her acceptance, 'Let it be according to your word,' is just one of the miracles in this reading.

How many times, how many years did it take before I finally realized that God was saying to me all along, 'Woman, listen to me. I'm not going to promise you wealth or the right husband. But I will promise that I will satisfy your hunger.' To me it was a miracle that I stopped long enough to hear and then to realize all those other times God had been knocking and I just couldn't open that door.

Miracles do happen through individuals who look beyond reality, beyond what is and dream of what might be. They can occur at the complete unbelieving of those around them. Some years ago I saw a movie, Babbette's Feast. I have seen it several times since it first came out. Do you know that film?

The story takes place in a small village atop a fjord in Norway sometime after the 2nd World War. Doors are closed, windows are shuttered; there's a cold wind that continuously blows. The folks who live in the town are stalwart, reserved, strong, withdrawn, hearty individuals who clearly live a hard life. Their constitution and attitudes developed from the harsh environment in which they lived. In the town is a young French woman who was taken in by a family and has come to work as the house maid for one of the town's families. Her constitution was well - French - different from the townsfolk. She had very little in sustenance and made due in her servant role. But she had resilience about her and lightness in her approach to life's harshness. She spoke often of having put her last bit of money into the lottery. As she lived among this most conservative, joyless folk and as she dreamed of what she would do when she won, she grew to know what she would do. Her desire was to bring joy to this joyless folk. She did win the lottery; she announced then to the folks that she in thanksgiving for the refuge they had provided her was going to prepare a feast for the folks of the town!

'Much better ways to spend one's money,' they muttered. Wooden crates began to arrive; there was china and glasses. Cartons of fine French wines were delivered; game hens; truffles, pigs, delicacies from all over Europe came by post, and ship. The dinner date was set; it would be held in the home in which she worked. She commandeered some townsfolk to help in preparing the foods. A fine six course meal would be served: appetizer, salad, soup, the first course, main course, dessert, aperitifs.

The folks tsked, tsked the extravagance all along the way. What folly!

The evening finally arrived.

Because they were invited, the folks came out of duty. They were none too happy about it though. They arrived sullen faced and silent. It was clear how they felt. They began their appetizers with some wine in the sitting room in silence; the wine was frowned on, the appetizers nibbled. (Oh, this was going to be a long night.)

They moved to the dining room, a bit more wine with soup. There was a forced word or two spoken. Then the guinea hens - squab - wrapped in pastry were brought out. You could hear a quiet Aha; one of them asked, 'Isn't this the specialty of a famous Parisian chef?' Babbette was that chef. The folks, perhaps because of a little wine and admitting their enjoyment of the foods, began to melt their walled in feelings; a few smiles were exchanged, and conversations started. By the time dessert ended, there was laughter. What had started as a dutiful exercise opened into joy. No longer individuals toughing the elements alone, the townsfolk left the dinner conversing with arms linked as they walked toward the center of the village. Singing, they made a ring around the village well, arms all linked. They gazed up at the sky full of stars and promise. They once again held onto the hope and promise and faith they had had once.

A miracle happened the night of Babbette's Feast and it all began with one person who dared to dream of how things might be in that Norwegian town.

May we so dare to accept the impossible God provided through Mary; and may we so dare to dream to help bring about what seems impossible.