Insignificance, Redeemed

Luke 1:39-45
Advent 4
December 19, 2021

In those days Mary set out and went with haste to a Judean town in the hill country, where she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”


When I was younger, I tended to tune out whenever women talked about their pregnancies. I am the wrong gender and knew pregnancy could never happen to me. Or I regarded the entire process of childbirth as a mystery, particularly after it’s been initiated. Certainly, I grew up in a family where biological matters were never discussed in mixed company; we could learn a lot in high school health class, but never discuss these things at the family supper table.

So I’ve always marveled at this brief account of Mary and Elizabeth. It’s out there in the open. The angel Gabriel had announced to Mary that she would bear a child. After she gulps and nods acceptance, she rushes off to another town in the hills to visit Elizabeth, who’s related to her somehow. Even though Elizabeth is up in years, she’s six months pregnant. She and her husband kept it quiet. Now the pregnancy was far enough along that it couldn’t be hidden any longer. That’s when Mary knocks on the door.

The Bible story tells of two generations intersecting. The first was pregnant Elizabeth, wife of a Jerusalem priest. Not only was she old – she was old enough to step out of the Old Testament. The Jewish scriptures tell one story after another about barren women who were surprised by a pregnancy. When we hear Elizabeth is bearing a child, the Bible is waving a flag to say, “God is doing this again.”

Like Hannah, who also lived up in the hill country. One of the two wives of Elkanah, her rival taunted her because she was barren. This happened “year after year” – as the years started piling up. One day, the priest at the local chapel tried to shoo her out of there. Hannah protested, said she was praying, and Eli the priest said, “OK, may God grant your prayer. Now, go in peace.” In time, she conceived and bore a son (1 Samuel 1:1-20).

Before that, there was the unnamed wife of Manoah. An angel of God appeared to say, “Even though you have no child, you shall conceive and bear a son. Just one thing: don’t ever cut his hair.” She told her husband. He said, “I didn’t hear any angel. Maybe God will send the angel again.” And God sent he angel again – to the wife, not to the husband, so she had to introduce him to the angel. Manoah was impressed and said, “Let me cook you up a goat.” While he lit up the fire, the angel rode the smoke back up to heaven. Soon after that, Manoah and Mrs. Manoah had a child. His name was Samson, and they never did cut his hair. (Judges 13:4-24).

Before that, Rachel, the wife of Jacob was barren – until after years of stress, God opened her womb. (Genesis 30:22). 

Before that, Rebekah, the wife of Isaac, could not have a child. And then God granted the prayers of father and mother (Genesis 25:21)

The quintessential story was that of Sarah, unable to create a child with her husband Abraham (Genesis 11:30). God promised them more children than they could ever count – but now they were well up in years. And you remember what happened: Sarah conceived in her advanced age. She gave birth to Isaac and Medicare picked up the tab.

This was a recurring story in the history of Israel. It became the sign that God could do what we could not. After the Babylonian Exile, the prophet Isaiah surveyed his desolate country. Filled with the Holy Spirit, he lifted his head to cry out,

Sing, O barren one who did not bear.

burst into song and shout you who have not been in labor.

For the children of the desolate woman will be more

than the children of her that is married, thus says the Lord.

Enlarge the site of your tent…

for you will spread out to the right and to the left.” (Isaiah 54:1-3)

The point of these recurring stories is that God alone gives life. God can populate what seems like barrenness. God can fill what appears empty. And there is no expiration date on the grace of an eternal God.

And so, Elizabeth was old, incredibly old, and she conceived a son. She never gave him a haircut, either.

By contrast, Mary was young. Very young, barely old enough to produce a child. The angel Gabriel surprised her and the rest of the world by announcing her pregnancy. She didn’t know how that could be; no man had ever touched her. He mentioned the mystery of the Holy Spirit “overshadowing her” – she didn’t know what that meant either. Yet conceding all of it was possible, agreeing God is the source of life, she nodded a quiet “yes,” and then said, “Let it be.”

In the account for today, Old and Young coincide. Young Mary bursts into Old Elizabeth’s house. The baby in Elizabeth’s belly is startled. Filled with the Holy Spirit, she determines that means the mother of the Messiah has entered her home. Then she fills the air with three beatitudes – three blessings:

Blessed are you among women!

Blessed is the child that you are carrying!

Blessed is she that believes the promises of God!

Now, let’s pause here for a minute This is no longer a story merely about pregnancies. This is a story about blessing, about the unexpected but very real presence of God. It happens in a house, not a temple. And it happens in conversation, not during a speech. And it happens between two women. Blessed, blessed, blessed!

In a way, this will not surprise us. Luke is the gospel write who gives us this story. Of all the documents in the Bible, the one most affirming of women is the Gospel of Luke. Luke repeatedly sees women in the shadows and brings them into the spotlight.

When Matthew tells his version of the Christmas story, he never says much about Mary, and never mentions Elizabeth. The Gospel of Mark mentions her only once (6:3), and says her son was a carpenter. When John tells the story of Jesus, he never actually mentions Mary’s name; she’s merely called “the mother of Jesus,” as if his birth is what defines her.

But not so Luke. Mary is the first Christian believer, trusting what God promises through her son. When Elizabeth overflows with the Holy Spirit’s blessings, she is the first prophetess in the book. It is Luke’s book where we meet Martha and Mary, the sisters of Lazarus. It is Luke who says faithful women financed the work of Jesus out of their own purses. And it is Luke who says the male disciples tried to dismiss the women’s report that Jesus had been raised from the dead – yet the women still persisted.

In Luke’s second volume, the Book of Acts, he names Mary as a key figure in the resurrection community. And when he begins all of it by reporting how he had chased down accurate information to get the story straight, we have every reason to assume that he listened to Mary. Who else could have told him mangers, angels, and shepherds – but the mother who was there?

All of this fits the grand view of how Luke understands the Gospel: God’s work is about redemption. It’s about buying back what has been set aside. It’s about reclaiming what has been lost. It’s about bringing into the light of glory what was dismissed to the shadows. It’s about perceiving the saving work of God in household conversations, every-day routines, and the rhythms of pregnancy.

One of Luke’s most revealing stories gets overshadowed by the story that follows it. In chapter 15, we hear Jesus tell about a man with two sons, often titled the parable of the prodigal son. It’s a powerful story, large and explosive.

A much smaller story precedes it. Jesus said, “The kingdom of God is like a woman who lost a nickel.” Picture all those Pharisee men, rolling their eyes and poking one another with their elbows. “She lost a nickel? That’s it? A nickel?” And one of them bursts out, “Of course she did. She’s not one of us. Good thing she only had a nickel.”

Jesus winces and continues, “The kingdom of God is like a woman who lost a nickel. And she turned over all the furniture and swept the floor until she found it. Then she called out to her neighbors, ‘Come on over. I’m throwing a party. What was lost is found.’ And I tell you (said Jesus), there is more joy in heaven over one lost soul who turns around and is found by God.” (15:8-10)

The point is in the finding. God pays attention to what the world dismisses as insignificant. God magnifies what seemed so small that nobody was paying attention. God has been busy in our midst doing what others have overlooked.

And Elizabeth said, “Blessed are you, the young unwed mother, for you are the mother of our Lord.”

This is one of the scandals of the Gospel. God is working in a pregnancy, two pregnancies in fact. God speaks up to put blessings in the air when others would be quick to dismiss. God evokes a song from women silenced by their culture, their community, their religion. God declares the priorities of heaven are to remember those forgotten are now remembered and to cast off the proud and obnoxious from their thrones. This is the work of God, revealed in a conversation between two pregnant women, one old, one new.

We sing this truth every Christmas. In a minute, we will sing the words of the prophet Micah: “O you, little Bethlehem, little sleepy town where nothing significant happened for a thousand years: you are the hometown of our Savior.”

At our best, we translate our Christmas energy into gifts that reach those otherwise forgotten. Our Deacons delivered over forty poinsettias this week. Two teams of our church volunteers packed 656 boxes of food to distribute to our hungry neighbors. Pajamas were donated to children. Gifts were offered to strangers. These are just a few ways God offers light to the world through us.

That is the continuing work of Christmas – to shine light into the dark corners, to call out the obscure and the overlooked, and to announce through word and deed that God has found us. And blessed are you, if you believe and do.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.