I got mixed reviews after not preaching during last week’s midweek worship service. Some of you felt like something was missing. Some of you were thrilled that something was missing.

To be clear, I wasn’t just being lazy or trying to shirk my responsibilities – though it was nice not to have to prepare a sermon and to get to just be here in worship without having much to add. See, the Holden Evening Prayer liturgy doesn’t call for a sermon. It’s supposed to – and I think it does – speak and sing for itself, so I was going to let it just be. A colleague of mine actually suggested it might be a little arrogant and egotistical to presume I could or should try to add something to it, with my two cents. So I was properly convicted and decided to NOT, for a change.

Well, for those of you who wanted a little something else – notice I didn’t say “more,” but something “else” – I decided on a compromise for this evening. This won’t take long.

In my sermon from Sunday, I talked about listening to and learning from voices and perspectives and the life experiences of others, so I thought I would share with you a poem from a woman’s perspective – Kaitlin Shetler – who writes what she calls “Poems for the Resistance.” They are beautiful and sometimes R-rated, which can, in fact go together, in my opinion.

This poem is not R-rated, but beautiful and challenging, just the same. And it’s very much what I was getting at on Sunday about those “voices in the wilderness,” that the likes of John the Baptist, represent for me if I’m willing to listen. It’s called “sometimes i wonder.”

sometimes I wonder

if mary breastfed jesus

if she cried out when he bit her

or if she sobbed when he would not latch

and sometimes I wonder

if this is all too vulgar

to ask in a church

full of men

without milk stains on their shirts

or coconut oil on their breasts

preaching from pulpits off limits to the mother of god

but then i think of feeding jesus

birthing jesus

the expulsion of blood

and smell of sweat

the salt of a mother’s tears

onto the soft head of the salt of the earth

feeling lonely

and tired

hungry

annoyed

overwhelmed

loving

and i think

if the vulgarity of birth is not

honestly preached

by men who carry power but not burden

who carry privilege but not labor

who carry authority but not submission

then it should not be preached at all

because the real scandal of the birth of god

lies in the cracked nipples of a

14 year old

and not in the sermons of ministers

who say women

are too delicate

to lead

Now, I don’t know Kaitlin Shetler so I wonder what she would think about me reading her poem – this poem, in particular, I mean – as a man, in worship. I’m hoping it’s more holy than heretical, from her perspective.

Because I decided all of this is something worth sharing, myself, because men like me would, could, should – and do, believe it or not – wonder about these things, sometimes:

Like, what was it like to be Mary, weak in the eyes of the world, but so strong in ways that too often go unappreciated or accounted for.

Or, what does it mean for men to carry power, but not burden; to carry privilege for which we haven’t had to labor; to have authority, but never having submitted in ways that humble us.

What is the “vulgarity of birth, honestly preached?” And do we hide from that? And when did we start hiding from that? You can start wondering about that by reading the accounts of Jesus’ birth in scripture. To say it’s “cleaned up” there is an understatement.

In Matthew’s Gospel, we hear that Jesus was born, but there’s no mention of labor pains, no water breaking, no dilated cervix, no blood, no sweat, no tears at all.

In Luke’s Gospel, what we just heard tonight, all that is covered and presumed in a single sentence: “she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth and laid him in a manger...,” just like that.

The Gospels of Mark and John don’t even mention Mary or the birth narrative in any way that implies there was ever a baby Jesus – he just appears… fully grown… ready to be baptized, in the river, by his cousin, John.

So, it’s easy to imagine that what mattered to the men who wrote, recorded or decided which versions of the story mattered, might have been different from what a woman would have chosen to include had she been asked.

Which is why I think it’s good for the words of a woman to come from the lips of a man, not only because women have been saying and singing the words of men for so very long, but because men, like me, have so very much to learn from women who wonder differently about the world than we do a lot of the time.

All of that said, let’s hear Kaitlin Shetler’s poem again, mostly because it’s worth another listen. But also, because it’s worth another listen, from another voice, more like Mary’s. And so we can wonder in a new way what “the vulgarity of birth, honestly preached,” might inspire for us about the coming of God, in Jesus, by way of a young girl with more strength and power, more brokenness and beauty than we often give her credit for. (Thanks to Lily Haeberle for being the voice we got to hear from this evening.)