Sermons
Even on this day of fullness, we wait. And yet. And yet, even at empty chairs and empty tables, Christ comes. To empty, sorrowing hearts, Christ comes. Even in a miserable year, Christ is born! From his fullness we have received grace upon grace. This is God’s promise. This is our song. This is our hope. Evermore and evermore.
This good news of unmerited favor on us all was announced to Mary by the Angel Gabriel and it echoes for us to hear tonight. Through scripture, song, and sacrament we have been reminded not of our power and privilege over others, but of God’s favor and the Lord’s presence with us all, so rejoice O highly favored, the Lord is with you, and Christ is coming to make all things new.
We are waiting for many things, some of which will come soon, like Christmas, and others that may or may not ever come. Paul's advice helps us to live fully in the present, grateful for all that God has provided for us. We may discover, in a paradoxical way, that we are waiting for what we already have. And yet we continue to sigh, and to beg, “Come Lord Jesus, come.”
Who’s counting? We all are. Who can count the tears shed this year? Alas, we will sing through the tears. We will sing when our hearts are breaking, when the future is uncertain. Even when we can’t sing together, we will sing at home.
For in Christ all things will be made new. With this promise we mark ourselves with a water cross this day. With this promise we share bread and wine as a foretaste of a feast still to come. With this promise we sing, we sing: All of us go down to the grave, but even at the grave we make our song: alleluia.
Mary sings a revolutionary song: God lifts up the lowly. But there is more. Mary sings not of us remembering God, but of God remembering us. God comes to our help, remembering the promise of mercy to our forebears. Even when bitter sorrow pierces our hearts, Mary teaches us to sing the sweet praise of a tender God of mercy. A compassionate One who holds us close, even through our loss, even through our tears.
