[Midrash] Waiting for the Impossible sermon

4th Sunday in Advent December 18, 2005 Waiting for the Impossible by Patricia J. Raube-Wilson
Luke 1:26-35 “How can this be?” How can this be? This powerful question from the mouth of a young girl goes to the heart of our gospel reading this morning. “How can this be?” asks Mary, wondering how in the world she can be pregnant without the bare minimum requirement of intimate knowledge of a man. Writer Madeleine L’Engle expresses the girl’s inner turmoil, as well as her wonder, in the poem “Young Mary”: I know not all of that which I contain. I'm small; I'm young; I fear the pain. All is surprise; I am to be a mother. That Holy Thing within me and no other is Heaven's King whose lovely Love will reign. My pain, his gaining my eternal gain. My fragile body holds Creation's Light; its smallness shelters God's unbounded might. The angel came and gave, did not explain. I know not all of that which I contain. Despite the angel’s words, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you,” Mary is left reeling. “How can this be?” She is left waiting for the impossible to occur. Mary would have been justified in asking, “How can this be?” for reasons other than her youth and virginity. How can it be that God bothers to send a heavenly messenger to a young girl in a Judean backwater town like Nazareth? We know that those outside the early Christian community commented upon the unusual manner of birth of Jesus, and insinuations were made questioning his mother’s virginity. How can it be that God uses a scandalous pregnancy to usher the Messiah into the world? What is God thinking? How can this be? A number of us from this congregation have been studying the women listed in Matthew’s genealogy of Jesus, in our class on “The Female Ancestors of Christ.” Anyone wondering about the impossible method God chooses in singling out Mary for the birth of the Messiah can be further amazed and even perplexed by studying his female ancestors. In the ancient world, genealogies were extraordinarily important, and were carefully designed to tell us all about the person whose family background was being described. If you know the family tree, you know the person. Jesus’ family tree includes Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, and Jacob and Leah, the great patriarchs and matriarchs of Israel. His lineage includes David, the greatest of the kings of Israel. Now let me tell you a bit about the only four women named in describing the lineage of Jesus. Tamar, a Canaanite, was a daughter-in-law of Judah, one of the twelve sons of Jacob and the namesake of a tribe of Israel. When Tamar’s first husband died, Judah followed the law and tradition of Israel by giving her his second son to be her husband. When that husband died, Judah did not follow the law and the tradition, and withheld his third son from Tamar. In order to bear a child, Tamar disguised herself as a prostitute, stationing herself in a place where her father-in-law would visit her, thus fathering her child. This is one of the female ancestors of Christ. How can this be? Rahab, another Canaanite, was really a prostitute, who lived in the wall of the city of Jericho at the time of Israel’s conquest of Canaan. In order to save her extended family and herself Rahab made a deal with the Israelite spies, whereby she hid them under bundles of flax, thus betraying her own country and people and swearing her allegiance to the God of Israel. This is another of the female ancestors of Christ. How can this be? Ruth the Moabite has a less colorful story, and she is known chiefly for her undying devotion to her mother-in-law Naomi. Still, she did obtain a husband, in part, by waiting until Boaz was a little tipsy and lying down beside him on the threshing floor at the barley harvest celebration. This is another of the female ancestors of Christ. How can this be? Bathsheba, wife of Uriah the Hittite, is typically thought of as a willing participant in adultery with King David. However, she may well have been the victim of rape by him, a powerful man who saw what he wanted and took it without regard to the law or morality. In either case, Bathsheba, too, is a female ancestor of Christ. How can this be? When we consider the stories of these women, the image of young Mary demurely asking the angel “How can this be?” takes on new depth and richer color. The four women Matthew names do more than hint: together they scream, “Sexual Scandal!” Mary, however she has been portrayed in art, music, literature and popular imagination, was originally a scandalous figure. Her pregnancy did not follow the normal course of action for a young Judean girl. She was one whom people pointed at and said, “That can’t be the mother of the Messiah! It’s impossible!” And yet here we are, with the young woman, as she is told she is not sure what, and as she is left to wait for the impossible to happen. It helps for us to remind ourselves: everything in the gospel happens for a reason. This is the story of the birth of the Savior. These particular women are all listed in Jesus’ family tree for a reason. They are there to tell us something about Jesus, just as the way in which he is conceived tells us something as well. What it tells us is this: In the words of the angel Gabriel, “Nothing is impossible with God.” Is it possible that Jesus could count among his ancestors a woman who tricked her father-in-law into fathering her child, a prostitute, a woman who set out to seduce a man into becoming her husband and a woman who was a party to the most infamous case of adultery in the Old Testament? Nothing is impossible with God. I believe that all the stories of Mary and of all these women combine to make a huge theological point to us. That point is that everyone, everyone is welcomed into the beloved community. In a few verses from now, Mary will sing, My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. …He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. Luke 1:46-48, 51-53 Mary sings that God looks with favor upon the lowly, and lifts them up. God scatters the proud and tosses kings from their thrones. God fills the hungry with good things. God welcomes everyone, whether we are talking about the followers of Jesus or about his family. Here is the Good News. We are welcomed. We are invited in. We don’t have to have an exclusive pedigree. All these women are foreigners, outsiders to the covenant, and they are all welcomed in. We don’t have to have the right job. One of these women practiced the oldest profession, and she was welcomed in. We don’t have to be wealthy. Ruth gleaned for her life, one of two poverty-stricken women trying to eke out a living together, about as low on the social scale as you could get. And she was welcomed in. As for Bathsheba, let’s assume the sin was not hers, but that she and her murdered husband were the victims of David’s sin. Bathsheba, in all her brokenness and misery, was a part of the beloved community. She was welcomed in. And so are we. What is the nature of our brokenness? Do we feel like outsiders, like these foreign and marginalized women? Do we feel like outsiders by virtue of our looks or our intelligence or our abilities? Do we feel like outsiders because of our age, because our society doesn’t seem to value people much out of their twenties, much less into the years beyond retirement? Do we feel like outsiders because with age we have lost some of the abilities we had when we were younger? Do we feel like outsiders because of poverty or class distinctions? Do we feel like outsiders because we have been the victims of violence, sexual or otherwise, with scars that leave us alienated and even questioning God’s love for us? I tell you, in the name of Jesus Christ, we are not outsiders. We are welcomed. We are loved. How can this be? Nothing is impossible with God. This is as confusing to us as it is to young Mary. We are used to the idea that we have to be good enough, smart enough, pure enough. We are schooled to think we must come from the right families and practice the right religion. We are trained to believe that, on our own, we are pretty much unacceptable. And yet, here is the story of Jesus’ family, filled with great, great grandmothers whose reputations made everyone squirm and blush. Here is the story of Jesus’ mother, who managed to be pregnant, as far as her neighbors knew, at entirely the wrong time and by the wrong father. There is room in such a family tree for us. There is room for us, too, to welcome in the Savior with a grateful and wonder-struck “yes.” There is room for us to say: We know not all of that which we contain. We’re small; we’re young; we fear the pain. All is surprise; we are to be a mother. That Holy Thing within us and no other is Heaven's King whose lovely Love will reign. Our pain, his gaining our eternal gain. Our fragile bodies hold Creation's Light; our smallness shelters God's unbounded might. The angel came and gave, did not explain. We know not all of that which we contain. Amen. (Comments to Pat at magdalene6127@yahoo.com.) First Presbyterian Church, Oneonta, NY