Gaudete! You are blessed

Readings here

From this day all generations will call me blessed: the Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is his Name. Amen. 

Today is one of my favorite days of the year: Gaudete Sunday! Here at Good Shepherd, it also happens to be “Rise Against Hunger” Sunday. (After the service, we will pack 10,000 meals for communities with food insecurity.)

Gaudete, which means “Rejoice,” references an ancient chant used on the third Sunday of Advent. But more broadly, it ties together the theme of today’s readings: JOY! Because we worship a God who “looks with favor on his lowly servants.” 

Joy is abundant throughout Mary’s Magnificat, which we read in place of the Psalm this week. After Mary receives the news that she is pregnant with Jesus, she visits her cousin Elizabeth, who affirms that she has been blessed by God. Moved suddenly by the literal presence of God within her, Mary bursts out in poetic verse. She rejoices, because she recognizes that God is now fulfilling his promise to bring about a just and merciful society – the very one her people had longed for since the world began. 

For Mary, you might say that “the personal is political.” Her individual experience of being blessed by God has expanded her perception of God’s blessing in the world. 

As scholar Luke Timothy Johnson puts it: 

“In the Magnificat, Mary’s praise for what God had done to her personally widens out to include what God does for all who fear Him in every age, including what God is doing for Israel by the birth of its Messiah. As God “showed power in his right hand” by His mighty works in the past, so does he “now take Israel by the hand.’” (Commentary on Luke, Sacra Pagina)

God calls Mary – a poor and powerless woman – to birth the Salvation of the world. In doing so, God shakes up the world, tearing down our assumptions about what blessedness looks like. 

While some of Mary’s words don’t sound like good news to everyone—for example, “the rich he has sent away empty”—God’s activity is actually a great equalizer. No more will some people have too much and others have too little. Everyone has been brought to a level place. 

Mary declares that, in God’s kingdom, blessedness is measured not by power or wealth, but by proximity to the Creator. 

But Mary’s is not the only proclamation of God’s blessing in today’s scripture readings. Our other readings use a framework of physical healing to arrive at the same point. 

In Isaiah, the prophet continues his description of the Kingdom of God, describing both the environment and its people. The scorched desert will be transformed into a never-ending oasis. 

There will also be a physical transformation for humanity. He says: 

“Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy.” 

In Matthew, Jesus uses similar language to reveal to John that he is the fulfillment of the prophecies in Isaiah. As evidence, he describes his healing miracles:

“the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear…” 

It’s important for us to understand that ancient people understood this kind of “healing” as a great equalizer, in the same vein as God’s equalizing action in the Magnificat. 

Then, as today, many people with disabilities lived on the margins of society. Often, they couldn’t work. And if they had a particular disease, they couldn’t even live in town. Over time, these disabilities came to be understood as a consequence of someone’s sin. 

But, when Jesus healed them, he declared before the entire community that disability was not a barrier to following him. He made clear, instead, that disabled people were blessed. 

Many Christians today still read these passages and think that a disabled person is somehow less righteous than them. But we know that’s wrong. 

Because we are a community made up of Deaf people, we know that Deafness is not a thing to repent from. It is not a sign of sin or brokenness. It is simply one way of being human; and it shapes people, culture, and language in ways that reveal God’s blessing. 

And this is where the Magnificat comes back in. In Mary’s telling, the Kingdom of God rejects the world’s narrow understanding of blessedness.  It’s not about accumulating wealth or status, acquiring peak physical fitness, avoiding difficulty, or pretending to be anything other than human. 

In fact, acknowledging that we are human is the most important part. The only thing asked of us in the Magnificat is that we “fear God,” and all that means is that we trust and accept the powerful, life-altering love of God in service of our own unfettered joy, and the joy of the whole world. 

By choosing a poor and powerless woman to fulfill his promises, God makes clear that being imperfect by human standards is not a barrier to entering the Kingdom of God. In fact, being an outsider – whether poor, disabled, or otherwise – is a sign of blessedness in the new world that Christ is ushering in. 

Today, we will work together, shoulder to shoulder, as a response to Mary’s joy, and our own. We will measure, sort, and pack meals in an effort “fill the hungry with good things.” 

We do this not out of obligation, but because our scriptures and experiences make clear that proximity to the poor is proximity to God’s blessing. In acts of care for one another, we are reminded that everyone is equal in God’s kingdom, and that the blessings we have received are God’s desire for the whole world. 

Gaudete! Rejoice! 

Surprise, Inspiration, Bold Proclamation: Advent 4

Five years ago, I journeyed to the diocesan offices in Richmond, Virginia to undergo several hours of interviews for “postulancy.” Postulancy is the first step, of many, on the path to ordination in the Episcopal Church.  

I have heard some people call postulancy the “narrow gate.” Because, for many people, this is the most critical step in an ordination process. In these interviews, the aspiring priest is compelled to describe their call with clarity and conviction to a roomful of strangers. 

That day in Richmond, I was finally at the end of my interview, and they asked the closing question: “Is there anything else you’d like to tell us?” 

To everyone’s surprise – including my own – I blurted out some garbled sentence about Mary. Whether compelled by the Holy Spirit or by the delirium of anxiety, in that moment, I needed to talk about Mary. It suddenly felt urgent to tell them that Mary’s call by God to mother the Savior of the World meant a whole lot to me. 

As a kid growing up in churches that didn’t let women teach or preach, Mary had become my friend. She was a reminder that women could also be a part of God’s story. And not only that: in the story of Jesus, especially Luke’s telling, women are the first to be called. 

Mary, and her cousin Elizabeth, are prophets and apostles in the first chapter in the story of Jesus. In the most literal terms, they grew, nurtured, and birthed good news into the world, Elizabeth, as the mother of John the Baptist, and Mary, as the mother of Jesus. 

Jesus’ ministry with and for us on earth occurred, because Mary took the risk of saying, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord.” 

I told the committee all of these things as I pondered them in my heart. I pondered a little too hard, because I started crying from the beauty and weight of it all. 

My rector, who had accompanied me to the meetings, had an amused expression on his face. Later, we laughed together as he recounted how I had made myself cry during an optional question at the very end of a long interview. But, I’m glad Mary showed up during that intense moment in my life. 

Because, in many ways, she is the template of the life of faith, not one defined just by having the will to believe, but by moments of surprise, inspiration, and bold proclamation that lead to sustained trust in God. 

In today’s Gospel reading, Mary is inspired by Elizabeth’s Spirit-filled blessing to view her strange and miraculous pregnancy within the whole history of God’s persistent goodness. As soon as Elizabeth calls her “blessed,” she starts up with an original song we now call the Magnificat… 

He has mercy on those who fear him
in every generation. 
He has shown the strength of his arm,
he has scattered the proud in their conceit. 
He has cast down the mighty from their thrones,
and has lifted up the lowly. 
He has filled the hungry with good things,
and the rich he has sent away empty. 
He has come to the help of his servant Israel,
for he has remembered his promise of mercy. 

Though her words are spoken with the boldness of a prophet, Mary is not foretelling the future. With sudden urgency, she is actually sharing what has already, and always, been true about this loving, generous, just, and merciful God.  

She says: God has already fed the hungry; freed his people from slavery; dethroned tyrants; sustained orphans, widows, and refugees; and brought the lost back to their homes, back to the flock, and back into the arms of God. 

Maybe Mary surprised herself when she blurted all that out. Maybe God’s promises had felt far away for awhile. Maybe on that long journey to visit Elizabeth, the initial joy of her miraculous pregnancy had given way to fear, confusion, and even doubt. 

But then, the Holy Spirit prompted Elizabeth to say exactly what Mary needed to hear: “Blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” 

Elizabeth’s words rang true. They hit her like a bolt of lightning that illuminated the dark night of Mary’s strange circumstances. It helped for someone else to say, out loud, that she had already been called, and that meant she could rise to the challenge of God’s continued call on her life, no matter where it took her.  

This realization compelled her to sing! She had professed God’s goodness, she had seen the proof of that goodness throughout time, and now it was time to trust it.  

This is how she embodied the life of faith: as a cycle of memory, inspiration, and bold proclamation, with each one necessary to reviving and sustaining the other. 

This week, New York Times columnist David Brooks, wrote a piece on his own life of faith, entitled The Shock of Faith: It’s nothing like I thought it would be (gift link). In it, he shares the non-linear path that led him from atheism to whole-hearted participation in Jewish and Christian communities.  

He talks about coming to faith, not as single moment of conversion, but as “an inspiration” that occurs at various times throughout life. He says that the first time he felt this inspiration, it was “as though someone had breathed life into those old biblical stories so that they now appeared true.” 

In particular, Brooks shares a story about being startled by God on a hiking trip, as he read a Puritan prayer: 

Let me learn by paradox that the way down is the way up,  
That to be low is to be high,  
That the broken heart is the healed heart,  
That the contrite spirit is the rejoicing spirit,  
That the repenting soul is the victorious soul. 

Suddenly, it hit him that these paradoxical sayings were true. He says he was “seized by joy” and suddenly aware of the beauty all around him. 

In a paragraph that recalls Mary’s Magnificat, Brooks goes on to say: 

“That contact with radical goodness, that glimpse into the hidden reality of things, didn’t give me new ideas; it made real an ancient truth that had lain unbidden at the depth of my consciousness. We are embraced by a moral order. What we call good and evil are not just preferences that this or that set of individuals invent according to their tastes. Rather, slavery, cruelty and rape are wrong at all times and in all places, because they are an assault on something that is sacred in all times and places, human dignity. Contrariwise, self-sacrificial love, generosity, mercy and justice are not just pleasant to see. They are fixed spots on an eternal compass, things you can orient your life toward.” 

Brooks suggests that faith may be born in the will to believe, but it is sustained in transcendent moments of awe, in nudges from the Holy Spirit that lead us to recall God’s faithfulness in history, and trust in his goodness, in all times and places. 

Through the witness of their lives, Mary and other people of faith remind us that goodness is intrinsic to God’s nature, and that love, generosity, mercy, and justice are God’s intended order of the universe. 

Yet, even as we will ourselves to believe, we cannot guarantee that the life of faith will prevent fear, confusion, or even doubt. We may not always feel like a part of God’s story. We may need someone to bless us and remind us of how God sustained his people in the wilderness. We will need to be inspired, in quiet moments and lightning bolt shocks, over and over again. 

My hope in these last days of Advent is that we take heart and find moments of joy in our life of faith, unburdened by worries that we’re not holy or good enough to be called by God.  

Like Mary, we can embrace this journey with God as a cycle of memory, inspiration, and bold proclamation, with each one necessary to reviving and sustaining the other. 

God calls us, and God will come near to us again. Amen.