Luke 1:39-45
In those days, Mary set out with haste and went to a Judean town in the hill-country where she entered the home of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard the sound of her greeting, the child leaped in her womb. Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb! And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord has come to me? For when I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy! And blessed is she who believed there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”
When David Brooks talks about what it means to see others deeply and to let ourselves be more deeply seen, he leans pretty heavily into acknowledging the significance of a person’s family tree, history, and culture, in order to do that. And he asks this really great question: How Do Your Ancestors Show Up in Your Life?
He quotes the novelist and poet, Robert Penn Warren, who said, “You live through time, that little piece of time that is yours, but that piece of time is not only your own life, it is the summing-up of all the other lives that are simultaneous with yours. …What you are is an expression of history.”
And we forget this, don’t we? …about ourselves, about each other, and about the strangers we meet and see in the world? When someone upsets or angers us on any given day – by cutting us off in traffic, or acting selfish or unkind at the grocery store, by talking behind our back in the church parking lot, or by not pulling their weight on that group assignment at school – it’s worth wondering what else might be going on in their life at the moment, don’t you think?
We’ve all seen that meme or heard the notion that “Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about, so be kind. Always.” Well, I think David Brooks takes this to another, more meaningful level, when it comes to really seeing and knowing a person.
We don’t just land here, showing up out of nowhere – so unique, individual, special, and in control of our own respective destinies. Like it or not, we are beholden to or influenced – in some way – by those who came before us; by all of the culture, history, and baggage – good, bad, and ugly – that come along with us. All of the good stuff we’d like to claim about ourselves and be most proud of – isn’t all or only of our own creation. And the hard stuff we work so hard or wish we could change about ourselves – isn’t … always … either.
And the same is true about our neighbor.
Which is to say – what we’ve been trying to show throughout these Advent days – is that seeing others deeply and being deeply seen takes time, work, effort, energy, and faith. And as Christmas draws ever nearer, my hope is that we see this work as ours, because it is and was God’s, in the coming of Jesus. God showed up to see us more fully, completely, deeply … And so that we might take the time and do the work to see Jesus – and each other, through him – more fully, completely, and deeply, too.
What child is this? What child is this? What child is this, and this, and this, and this?
And, perhaps the most human thing about Jesus, is that he had a family tree, ancestors, and a rich human history of his own. And the Gospel writers – heck the whole of the Scriptural narrative – reveals this for us.
I was tempted, but decided to spare you the reading of Jesus’ genealogy from the first chapter of Matthew’s gospel to prove this point. But you know – or I suspect you’ve heard about – all of those old-school “begats” – Abraham begat Isaac, and Isaac begat Jacob, and Jacob begat Judah and so on down the line – 77 times, until you get to Jesus. The point of that litany of names, speaks to the power of ancestry, the impact of a person’s family tree, and the meaning behind all that comes before us and that is poured into our identity and personhood.
Well, for generations, theologians and professors, pastors and preachers have used Matthew’s genealogy of Jesus for nothing more and nothing less than proving Jesus to be the fulfillment of God’s plan for salvation; to establish his credibility as the Messiah; to prove his promised, prophetic pedigree, if you will, as the offspring of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, King David, and so on.
And that’s not nothing. It may very well have been Matthew’s point. And it serves its purpose. But there’s more to it than that. It’s subtle, surprising, beautiful and impossible to miss once you see it – and I think it comes to a head in this morning’s meeting between Mary and Elizabeth, in Luke’s Gospel.
See, buried in Matthew’s account of Jesus’ genealogy … hidden almost among the names of all those men – the well-known patriarchs, the faithful fathers, and the powerful kings – are also listed the lesser-known names of five women: Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, Bathsheba, and Mary, the mother of Jesus, herself.
And because we know that women – generally – weren’t held in high regard in first-century Palestinian culture, if they were regarded at all, it is profoundly noteworthy to understand, just briefly, who these particular women were; to know their own history as part of this mix, and to acknowledge why their participation in the lineage of Jesus matters.
First, there’s Tamar, who saved her own life and livelihood by surreptitiously sleeping with her Father-in-Law, Judah, becoming pregnant, and thus preserving the family line that led to Jesus.
Rahab was likely an owner/operator of the best little brothel in Jericho, who used her wisdom, hospitality, faith, and bravery to save some Israelite spies once, insuring a victory for God’s chosen ones in battle, and securing for herself a worthy branch on the family tree of Jesus.
Ruth was a Moabite – an outsider of the highest order as far as God’s people were concerned at the time – but, by way of her steadfast faithfulness to her mother-in-law and some sexual self-preservation of her own, she ingratiated and grafted herself into Jesus’ genealogy, too.
Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah, was the – likely unwilling – sexual conquest of King David. Though it’s rarely described as such, she survived a sexual assault by the most powerful man in the land people, who then had her husband killed to cover up the indiscretion, so that she could be kept, by the king, as his wife.
And then there’s Mary, who shows up to Elizabeth this morning with some insane news about a baby on the way.
And Mary and Elizabeth, good, faithful, Hebrew women that they were – would have known every bit of this history, tradition, and genealogy. Which is why it’s not hard to see or imagine how a.) Elizabeth could believe such a thing, and b.) why Mary breaks into song in the verses following what we just heard – that little ditty we call “The Magnificat.” And it’s a song that sounds strikingly similar to a song Hannah, a different ancestral sister from way back in the day – was known to have sung, as well.
And this song is one about a God who scatters the proud, remember; who brings down the powerful from their thrones, who lifts up the lowly, who fills the hungry with good things, who sends the rich away empty. This song, from a Hebrew woman, in the presence of another Hebrew woman, was an anthem of joy, rebellion, prophecy, and hope … that the world was about to turn, with the coming of this Jesus.
And do you think that was the last time Mary ever sang those words, or expressed those desires, or proclaimed that kind of hope? I find that hard to believe. I like to think she sang that song as a lullaby to a nursing baby Jesus. I bet she taught him well about the source of those sentiments from her sisters in the faith. I imagine Mary whispered that good news to her little boy every chance she got … over breakfast, on their way home from synagogue, when he walked out the door to go play with the neighbors, and certainly on his birthday, don’t you think?!
And I think that’s why Jesus knew how to see people more deeply. It’s why I think Jesus knew how to look beneath the surface of another’s suffering; to forgive the choices they made, when necessary; to love an enemy; to turn the other cheek; to treat others the way he would want to be treated; to love the God of his creation; and to love his neighbor, as himself, in every way.
Jesus knew about the battles people were fighting, he had compassion for them because of it, and he came to fight those battles with love, mercy, and grace. When we learn to see him more clearly and understand the source of his compassion and love for the least and most lowly among us … we might get better at seeing them, and each other more clearly, too.
And when we ask and wonder about “What Child this Is?” for whom we’re waiting, we might find him, more often, already in our midst – and live differently because of it.
Amen
