Luke 1:26-56

“A wise man and his disciples took up residence in a town. Soon thereafter, a wicked person began to circulate false stories about them. This made it very difficult for the wise man and his disciples to earn a living or to teach, as others soon joined the fray and began to heap on abuse after abuse.

One of the disciples said, “It would be better for us to move to another town. There must be friendlier communities elsewhere.”

The wise teacher answered, “But, suppose the next town is like this? Where will we go then?”

“To yet another,” was the reply.

“But there is no end to this,” the wise teacher answered. “It is far better that we remain here and bear the abuse patiently until it ceases. In life there is slander and honor, praise and abuse, suffering and pleasure. Let us not be moved by wicked tongues which fan the flames of hatred. Instead, let us be rooted in compassion to blossom as flowers of God’s delight. In this way, even should our lives be crushed beneath the feet of the wicked, we will respond with the fragrance of love. In this way, our weakness will become strength, while their strength will come to nothing”[1]

Luke’s gospel opens with the stories of Elizabeth and Mary. Elizabeth was on in years, and barren, but Gabriel appears to her husband while he ministers at the altar of God according to his calling, and promises a son who will be named John. Mary, a young girl, receives a similar visit from the angel Gabriel, who says she will bear a son, to be named Jesus. Both women are vulnerable within the social structures of their day. Children are considered a blessing, and Elizabeth’s barrenness would have been interpreted by the community as God’s disfavor. Mary was unwed, and her pregnancy would have been interpreted by the community as a sign of infidelity. Indeed, her own betrothed, Joseph, thought the same.

It is the character of Luke’s gospel to point out the unfit and the unclean in the midst of the world which God has chosen to enter. The twists and the ironies of Luke’s gospel depend upon the idea that God has chosen to use what the world has chosen to despise. The wagging tongues of town gossips will have their day in the sun, standing by the well, relating such events, completely ignorant of God’s workings behind the scenes. Yet, the targets of their slander have stood in the presence of angels, have heard the promise of the Lord, have received the gift of the impossible, and have willingly agreed to bear the burden of abuse in order that God’s blessing might illuminate this dark world of callous judgments with grace and truth.

A famous rabbi posed this question to his disciples: “What should a person strive for most in life?”

“To have a good eye,” answered Rabbi Yacov.

“To be a good friend,” answered Rabbi Yeshua.

“To be a good neighbor,” answered Rabbi Yose.

“To obtain wisdom,” answered Rabbi Simeon.

“To have a good heart,” answered Rabbi Eliezer.

The famous rabbi nodded and said, “The words of Eliezer are most profound, as his answer includes all the others.”

Later, the famous rabbi posed another question: “What should a person avoid most in life?”

“An evil eye,” answered Rabbi Yacov.

“An evil friend,” answered Rabbi Yeshua.

“An evil neighbor,” answered Rabbi Yose.

“An unforgiving person,” answered Rabbi Simeon.

“A bad heart,” answered Rabbi Eliezer.

Again the rabbi said, “Eliezer’s answer is most pleasing, as his includes all the others.”[2]

God’s love has entered the womb of the world that sprang from the womb of God’s love. God’s entry makes the earth, the dust, and the pain and anguish of life all take on a sacramental meaning – a holy communion shared by God with humanity. Yet, God’s means of entry raises the brow of culture and society, like a filthy street urchin slicing the cake at a posh wedding reception. God’s chosen place is “out of place” in the minds of those who claim to know something of God – and yet, God’s place is “in this place” for those who have no other place: the least of these, the poor, and the despised. It is a reminder that God doesn’t come to us in flashy, center-stage ways. Letting God in requires opening the servant’s entrance.

Luke’s gospel brings into question all of the world’s expectations and suppositions about who God is going to visit and who God is going to get. It also brings into question our understanding of God’s blessing – what it looks like, and how it affects us and those around us. More often than not, God’s choosing seems to be accompanied by great pain, great risk, and no script in place for working through the circumstances that beset us. Perhaps the reason that God uses the back door to gain entry into our lives is that the front door is too often barred and locked against intruders – and sometimes, against neighbors. But thankfully, God finds a way in – nothing is impossible with God, for everything is possible where there is love.

What manner of love is it that places at greatest risk the very people who have agreed to serve the God of mystery and love? Doesn’t it seem a strange paradox that the blessings of God are more often accompanied by hardships visited upon the chosen by their neighbors than by the kinds of safety and security in life and in death that we would choose for ourselves? Zechariah, the father of John and the husband of Elizabeth objects to the angel’s announcement about a son in their old age. “How will I know that it is so?” he asks of Gabriel. Mary also objects, saying “How can this be?” In “Letting God In,” they open the door to blessing, but also to hardship. Both will see their sons undertake the ministry of the Lord, only to be murdered.

It is impossible to fully comprehend the grace that strengthens the human spirit, enabling us to say, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.” It is impossible to fully comprehend the love that enters into the darkness of the world, and seems, for a time, to be struck down by it, overwhelmed by it, and cast aside by it. Yet, while it may be impossible for us to comprehend, it is not impossible for us to be willing to wait, to be willing to serve, to be willing to risk, so long as we understand that “Letting God In,” will likely not result in the good life we hope for, but in a life that is no longer our own, beyond our understanding, and beyond our control – a life of faith, with hope, broken and poured out in love.

In Max Lucado’s book, God Came Near, he says, “It all happened in a moment. As moments go, that one appeared no different than any other… It came and it went. It was preceded and succeeded by others just like it. But in reality, that particular moment was like none other, for…a spectacular thing occurred. God became a [human being]. While the creatures of the earth walked unaware, Divinity arrived. Heaven opened herself and placed her most precious one in a human womb.

The omnipotent, in one instant, [became] breakable. God who [is] Spirit became pierceable. God who is larger than the universe became an embryo. [God] who sustains the world with a word chose to be dependent upon the nourishment of a young girl. God as a fetus; holiness sleeping in a womb…

God came, not as a flash of light or as an unapproachable conqueror, but as one whose first cries were heard by a peasant girl and a sleepy carpenter. The hands that first held [Jesus] were unmanicured, calloused, and dirty.”

Lucado reminds us that to think of Christ in such a way feels almost irreverent – a manger, animals, manure, and a dirty diaper – it’s hardly what anyone would expect. “Letting God In” is hardly what anyone would expect – it’s dangerous, it’s uncomfortable, but it’s love, and God makes it possible.