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Sermon 12/12/2004
Bearer of Light ~ by Tom
Kinder
December 12, 2004, Third Sunday of Advent, Mary
Sunday
First Congregational Church in Thetford, Vermont,
UCC
Luke 1: 26-55
One of the reasons former Christians give to explain
why they no longer come to church is that they
cannot believe the story we just heard.
And who can blame them? It is an impossible story,
absurd and wide open to ridicule. An angel comes
to a girl and tells her that she will conceive
a child and the child will grow up to be the greatest
king in history and will live forever. And the
only question she asks is how she will be able
to have a baby without a man.
Then the angel explains that the Holy Spirit will
come upon her and the power of the Most High will
overshadow her, and not only will she have a baby
who will be the greatest king ever and immortal,
but also he will be called holy and the Son of
God. On top of all that, he tells her that her
cousin Elizabeth has conceived a child in her
old age. And all that Mary says is, “Here
am I, the servant of the Lord: let it be with
me according to your word.”
We can see how ridiculous this story is from the
skeptic’s perspective. First we have the
scientific impossibilities of two miraculous pregnancies,
an angel and a man living forever. But even more
absurd is Mary’s reaction. How can she accept
the angel’s outrageous assertions without
question? What kind of person lets a strange man
tell her all these things and then meekly accepts
and welcomes them? What kind of person reads this
story in the Bible and continues to come to church?
I can understand how this could be a stumbling
block for people. I can understand how they might
not want to be associated with a religion that
includes this embarrassing story. I understand
that, rationally, this story is not understandable.
But I believe that there is a beautiful, necessary
and understandable truth to this story, a truth
that is as essential as it is mysterious. I believe
that it offers a key that opens the way of Christ
to us—and so no wonder that people who reject
it often reject everything that flows from it.
The usefulness of this story comes not in spite
of its impossibility, but precisely because of
it. It is like a Zen Buddhist koan, like contemplating
the sound of one hand clapping. Something happens
to our mind and heart and soul merely from trying
to wrap around this story. The exertion and the
paths it leads us down expand and reshape us beyond
what the rational mind can conceive as possible.
The White Queen told Alice in Wonderland that
she practiced believing six impossible things
every morning before breakfast. This can be a
dangerous practice. If we stretch ourselves to
go beyond the limits of our rational mind we risk
entering the realm of madness. But that madness
can be divine. Divine madness is what Plato called
the inspiration of artists, and it is also a good
name for the unconditional love and nonviolence
and bold justice of Jesus Christ. It takes divine
madness to challenge the powerful on their thrones
and to stand with the poor and oppressed. It takes
divine madness to love enemies and to good to
them rather than hate and attack them. It takes
divine madness to follow a star or listen to angels.
Mary was clearly divinely mad.
The other day I was walking through a hardwood
thicket when a twig slapped my face and woke me
from my distracting compulsive thinking. I looked
around and saw the bare trunks and branches, dark
against the snow, and it occurred to me that I
was looking at solid light. I had just been slapped
by light and water and air and soil. Suddenly
I was struck by the miracle, the absurdity that
seeds might feed on these elements and become
trees. I was moved by the thought that even in
a dark time, here was the presence of light and
evidence of its power.
I might be able to understand the science of turning
light, water, air and soil into trees, but that
does not take away from the miracle of it. The
miracle is beyond understanding. Being open to
the miracles around us and within us is a miracle
in itself, a miracle of divine madness. Just the
act of opening to them expands and reshapes us,
and fills us with something that wasn’t there
before.
Standing in wonder in that thicket I felt filled
with an odd mixture of peace and joy. I felt filled
with light—the light of wonder, the light
of accepting the miracle, the light of being open
to what I could not understand. As with all God’s
gifts, the gift of light is meant for us to share.
Once we have light in us, we become a bearer of
light that God wants us to deliver to a dark world.
We have a calling then, and work to do.
Madeleine L’Engle is a well-known Christian
writer, the author of best-selling books for both
children and adults, books like A Wrinkle in Time
and A Circle of Quiet. She wrote a book entitled
Walking on Water: Reflections of Faith and Art
that is about the creative process of artists,
but really it applies to anyone who has a calling
from God to do any kind of work—anyone who
has any kind of light to share.
L’Engle says that every work comes to us
and says, “’Here I am. Enflesh me. Give
birth to me.’ And the artist either says
[like Mary], ‘My soul doth magnify the Lord,’
and willingly becomes the bearer of the work,
or refuses.” L’Engle asks, “What
would have happened to Mary (and to all the rest
of us) if she had said No to the angel? She was
free to do so. But she said, Yes. She was obedient,
and the artist, too, must be obedient to the command
of the work. And sometimes when we listen, we
are led into places we do not expect, into adventures
we do not always understand.”
I suspect many of us have heard an angel announce
to us in our heart or gut that we had some creative
or loving thing to do, something that seemed impossible
or far beyond our capacity. I can think of some
things like this that our congregation has felt
moved to do in recent years. It is not uncommon,
according to L’Engle. She says that God is
always asking us to do the impossible.
Think how often in the Bible or in the lives of
the saints stories begin with someone heading
off all of a sudden into the wilderness, driven
by the Spirit, completely unprepared. Or a shepherd
hears a burning bush talk to him and marches off
to challenge the Pharaoh. Or a merchant’s
son renounces all wealth and walks naked out of
Assisi to minister to the lepers and birds.
Mary is only the extreme of a pattern that we
see in the deepest, richest spiritual lives, and
in our own. What Mary shows us is that in order
to be the purest, best bearer of God’s light
that we can be, we need to be ready to say yes
to God’s divinely mad propositions. We need
to be free enough of pride to look the fool. We
need to be empty enough of busyness and self-importance
to let God fill us. We need to be in control enough
of our intellect to tell it to sit down and listen
to our intuition. We need to be free enough from
the voices of expectations and shoulds and judgment
to be able to choose the unexpected, the shouldn’t,
the path others will judge as ridiculous.
Is it worth it to live life this way? Is it worth
it to come to church, risking the scoffing of
others? Is it worth it to do that divinely mad
act of creativity or kindness God has been urging
you to do? Well, look around you. Look at all
the evidence of what light has done. Look at the
bearers of light in your world, and judge for
yourself. Look at the beautiful forest that is
this congregation that has taken light and water
and air and all God’s gifts and turned them
into our Calling and Caring program, or the Open
to All addition, or works for peace and justice
or beautiful music. Look at those bearers of light
you know who have brought the love of Christ alive
for you through their kindness or wisdom or healing
touch. Is it worth it to live like them?
Look at what comes of acting like lowly, foolish,
open Mary. Jesus comes with the power to bring
down the powerful from their thrones and lift
up the lowly. Miracles come. Miracles of light.
Believe it or not, it is not a Christmas sin not
to send Christmas cards. It is not a Christmas
sin not to give Christmas presents. But it is
a terrible Christmas sin to limit the power of
God to what our rational minds accept as possible.
Mary restrained everything in her that might feel
self-conscious or skeptical or afraid—everything
in her that might say no—and so she put no
limits on the gift God could give her. She was
open to the fullness of God’s love—a
love that is far beyond our capacity to understand.
God has love and light for you to bear now, for
you to deliver to the world. Jesus Christ is waiting
to be born in you—the Prince of Peace and
Lord of Light that the world so desperately needs.
It can happen only if you believe the truth within
this ridiculous story—the truth that if you
open yourself to it, as Mary did, if you let go
of all in you that says no, if you say yes, you,
too, may be a bearer of light.
Let us pray in silence now, saying to God the
words Mary said: Here am I, the servant of the
Lord. Let it be with me according to your word.
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