I am curious about practically everything I have ever learned. I love to know about the mundane pieces of our lives; it does not take much to amaze me when it comes to the intricacies of how anything in this world works: the water cycle, traffic patterns, Microsoft Excel – I love all of it, especially when I can learn from someone who knows more than me. One such piece of knowledge to which I continually hold, I learned from a yoga teacher. I learned that no matter how quickly or slowly we breathe, there is a microscopic pause between our inhales and our exhales. When we slow and deepen our breath, this restful pause becomes more obvious. What this also teaches us is that woven into our very life breath is a moment of rest. And in the pace of this Advent season that butts right up to Christmas Eve in just a few hours, I began to think of this Advent 4 as our restful pause as we shift from the inhale of Advent waiting to the exhale of Christmas joy.
In our gospel lesson for this morning, we hear the annunciation from the angel Gabriel to Mary that she would bear a child, though she a virgin, and that child would be the savior of the world. Upon hearing from Gabriel that her cousin Elizabeth was sixth months pregnant, though thought to be barren, Mary answered the angel, “Here am I, servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”
When I imagine this scenario playing out, I’m stuck that God didn’t just speak to Mary in a vision as was often the case in those times. I find it interesting that the same angel that announced to Mary the miraculous birth of the Christ Child had visited with Zechariah six months earlier to share that Elizabeth would become pregnant, a miraculous birth in its own way. It’s compelling that Mary answers yes to Gabriel’s announcement once she knows that her relative will be pregnant with her, walking alongside the welcome and unwelcome reactions from the community and those around them. It’s compelling because in the darkness of the unknown and in the fear of all that could go wrong, Mary and Elizabeth have a sacred bond that lays the foundation for the God to become incarnate.
In these last few hours before we celebrate Christ’s birth, I am holding dear the relationship between Mary and Elizabeth. I’m mindful of all the sacred bonds in my own life that have been the foundation for my faith and for all the ways in which I have been and will be able to follow God’s leading. Mary and Elizabeth couldn’t do it alone, and we certainly can’t do it alone either. I can’t really imagine a better use of this very short Advent 4, this restful pause between inhale and exhale, than to give thanks to God for those who know more than me, to those who hold the light better than I do, and to those who are willing to walk beside me, even when I hesitate to go where I need to go.
During Advent and Christmastide, we uphold Mary, the bearer of God, without whom the Incarnation could not have happened. But we a do a disservice to her and to ourselves when we do not consider all those who surrounded Mary and Joseph; our understanding of the advent of the Christ Child is anemic without considering all the ways in which Elizabeth and Zechariah and others like them supported Mary.
On this Advent 4, I want us to pause to consider all the Elizabeth’s and Zechariah’s and Joseph’s in our lives. Perhaps you have seen Mr. Roger’s 1997 Emmy’s acceptance speech as he received the Lifetime Achievement Award where he asked the audience to spend 10 seconds with him in silence, thinking and thanking those who helped get them to where they are. And this morning, I want to follow Mr. Roger’s example and for us all to take ten seconds to really think through the sacred bonds in our lives. Who has helped you at moments when you were afraid and lost or unsure of which direction to go? Who has held up God’s light when the darkness became overwhelming? Who is your Elizabeth? On this restful pause of an Advent 4, we’ll take ten seconds to quietly give thanks to God for these bonds that maintain and uphold us. And just like Mr. Rogers, I’ll watch the clock.
The truth of Christmas is that Christmas will arrive like a child, whether we are ready or not. And the gift of this year’s liturgical calendar with it’s two liturgical days in one is that there is nothing left to do to prepare for the Christ Child. There is nothing left to do other than to be mindful of those who stand in this restful pause with us and to give thanks for their companionship and to give thanks for the sacred bonds that surround us as we try to hold the light of Christ even among the abundant and ubiquitous darkness that fills so much of our world today.
It was the sacred bonds that supported Mary through her pregnancy and through the birth of Jesus that upheld her. It is the sacred bonds that we carry that encourage us to have hope in the darkest of times, and it is our sacred bonds that fill this restful space where we remember that the joy of Christmas is coming, that the light of Christ will not be extinguished, and that we will soon be called to share the Good News that our Savior is born, because, as the angel Gabriel said, “nothing will be impossible with God.” Amen.
Becca Kello 