Sermon: Why Me? December 22, 2024

The sermon was given at Grace Lutheran Church (River Forest, IL) on the Fourth Sunday of Advent. You can watch the livestream recording and follow along in the bulletin. The image is Visitation by Philippe de Champaign (seventeenth century, public domain).

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace be unto you and peace in the name God the Father and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

1. This may not come as a surprise to you, but I’ve never been pregnant. I’ve been incredibly adjacent to three pregnancies. I’ve participated in the busyness of preparing a home for a new child. I’ve marveled at the mystery of the gift of new life. I’ve stood in awe of Erika’s awesomeness. I’ve driven to the hospital in the middle of the night when labor has begun. And the second and third times I didn’t even take a nap! But I’ve never, of course, been pregnant, or even thought I might one day be pregnant. There is something unknowable for me in all of this, only so far my comprehension can go. Maybe that’s why Mary sets out to see here relative, Elizabeth, during their pregnancies. The men, in fact, are silent. Zechariah is struck mute when he is told that Elizabeth will bear a child, so impossible does such an Abraham-and-Sarah situation seem. And Joseph? He doesn’t have a single word ascribed to him in the gospels. There is no reason to believe these men were not attentive, loving partners. But with the mystery of life growing within them, these women seek each other out. And out of their encounter come words of wonder and a song of praise. Why, they may well be wondering, has such a thing happened to them?
2. Why is a question at the heart of our hurt, our brokenness, our sorrow. Why me, we might ask moments of hurt, in the face of a new diagnosis, or a sudden grief; a long-held emotional wound, or a pregnancy, for that matter, that does not as we’d hoped. Why is there such hate and violence in the world, erupting unbidden this week from Madison to Magdeburg, from schools to Christmas markets? Why are the wealthy accorded so much power, only to maintain systems of injustice and oppression? Why is life so often so hard? And why me? It is an Advent cry of longing, of pain searching for hope.
3. This very hope leaps within Elizabeth as her son, John, recognizes the child in Mary, womb to womb. Filled with the Spirit, her “why” turns to wonder, her “why me” emerging not from pain unwanted but from the sudden surprise of grace beyond measure. In Mary’s appearing, Elizabeth sees the presence of God. Mary must wonder, too, why her. Martin Luther, who was also never pregnant, writes that when Mary “experienced what great things God was working in her despite her insignificance, lowliness, poverty, and inferiority, the Holy Spirit taught her this deep insight and wisdom that God is the kind of Lord who does nothing but exalt those of low degree and put down the mighty from there thrones, in short, break what is whole and make whole what is broken.” The point, it seems to me, is not to emphasize God’s goodness and grace by denigrating Mary, who was remarkable in her faith, but to be clear about how God is moving at and in the margins, working through women who would not have been given pride of place in the halls of power. When the time comes for Mary to give birth, she will not do so in the capital but in little Bethlehem.
4. Mary discerns that what God is doing in her is not only for her. No, God is moving from the margins to bring revolution to this world, to right-side up what we have upside-downed. Like Miriam and Hannah before her, Mary’s witness becomes a song, giving voice to the promises of the God who will not let things remain as they are. The powerful and the full will be sent away empty, the lowly and hungry lifted up and filled. And while we still wait, after 2,000 Christmases, for the final fulfillment of these promises and the second Advent of the Christ, Mary’s song buoys us, gives us hope, calls us to work for a better world even now. God is overturning the old and turning us around.
5. Years ago, I found myself at a Lutheran church in Chippewa Falls, WI, on Christmas Eve. At the close of the service, the lights dimmed as we lit candles against the darkness. The choir began to sing “Silent Night.” The bulletin indicated that the choir would sing the first two stanzas and that we were to join in on the third. But when the time came, we blew our entrance. Completely missed it. So, the organist brought it around again. The exasperated choir director didn’t take any chances this time; when the moment came, she bellowed from the balcony, “Now you! Sing!” And sing we did! How could we not?
6. Mary’s song echoes across the ages, and it is our turn to take up the tune. First as an act of praise but also as a call to action. To work for those on the margins, for the lowly and hungry. As the church, we participate in the revolution of love that was born in little Bethlehem. Why us? Because God loves us, and with God each moment is pregnant with possibility. We do not always get answers to our “whys” in this world where pain is still present, and sin and death still linger. But today we ask with Elizabeth, why has this happened to us, that our Lord comes to us? The answer remains the same. Why you? Because God loves you and will not let you go. In the coming Christ child, we receive God’s answers to sin and suffering, and we see in him the grace and peace of the Lord. In these waning days of Advent, we ponder the mysteries of a God who would go to such lengths to come to us. And we hear the call to no longer accept the world as it is. The song of Mary, faithful and remarkable, is our song now. Sing! Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.

And now may that peace that passes all understanding keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus, this day and forever. Amen.