Magnificent Resilience in Resistance

Sermon by Rev. Debra McKnight - January 19, 2020

Scripture Luke 1:46-56

Our baptismal vow seems exciting, challenging and even inspiring; when you are just getting started and it looks so friendly and cute when it is printed in rainbow on a t-shirt. But the work of resisting evil, injustice and oppression is exhausting and can leave us tired…so tired it seems better to stay home and take a nap. This work is more of a marathon than a sprint and it seems to be a team sport…like a relay marathon. How do we do it? How do we stay at this exhausting work, particularly when this work is driven by heartbreak and every step that feels like progress seems to uncover more heartbreaking work that yearns for care and demands our attention? Resisting evil and injustice means constantly uncovering the worst of humanity and it can be easy, reasonable even, to grow cynical and to let our hearts harden rather than break. It’s easy to expect the worst in people and to ultimately just give up, stop watching the news, and stay home. So how do we stay at it, how do we keep putting one foot in front of the other and honor our baptismal vow not just one day but day by day and moment by moment?

When I think of this resilience and courage in the face of every reason to give up, I think of Mary. I want to invite you into the Magnificat. I realize it’s out of season but it wasn’t a Christmas song when Mary sang it either. It was a song of thanksgiving that belonged to her people. And she sang it when she had every reason to run and hide. She was pregnant when she shouldn’t be in a world where the danger wasn’t just rude comments and economic disadvantage but ending her life was a real possibility and her best option was a man dismissing her quietly…whatever that entailed. Mary’s story is singular and powerful in so many ways. An Angel appeared to Mary and said, “Do Not Be Afraid.” Which is pretty much what angels are always saying when they are in scripture. Every time they showed up they had to say don’t be afraid or fear not, which raised a question about what they must have looked like! Maybe they looked nothing like the sweet radiance we have made them as they adorn the tree or decorate our space. Perhaps we have done a poor job of depicting these creatures that strike fear at first glance. Of course, I don’t personally know because this has not been a method of communication I have experienced in my own faith journey. 

Anyway, Mary encountered this terrifying creature, was not afraid, asked what sort of greeting is this and then got some really terrifying news… you are going to be pregnant in a world where that is dangerous. And Mary responded, “Here am I.” She is almost singular in this response to God’s big ask, almost all of the other prophets negotiate with God. Jeremiah wasn’t up for it. Jonah said no and then got in a boat going the opposite direction until he ended up in the belly of a great fish. Moses, the hero, went on and on spilling a lot of ink in his objection to being a part of God’s work. Mary responded, “Here am I.” She didn’t negotiate the incursion of God’s call, she didn’t try to arrange it so it would be more palatable or fit her plans. She didn’t say, “sure, can we wait six months until I finish this degree program” or “have you met my cousin…you would love her.” She didn’t ask if this comes with benefits or PTO or if God had worked some things out with Joseph. She just says, “Yes.” How did she do this?

I believe there is a hint and a guide for us in her song. It is a song from her faith. She cultivated a life of faith, a life of reading the scriptures and studying the words of the prophets, singing the songs of her tradition. She learned to look with Moses for the burning bush in a world of shrubbery, she imagined God as a mother bear protecting her young, she read psalms of heartbreak and resilience, and she practiced the song of gratitude and learned to sing it even when things looked bleak. She cultivated a life of faith, she knew her resilience and her strength, and when the world suggested every reason to be afraid, she was not. So she sang this song linked to her tradition; it wasn’t just her song. It had also been on the lips of Hannah at the start of Samuel. Hannah was a woman who longed for a child and dwelled in a world that judged her worth as based only in how many children she birthed - and the more sons the better. She knew her worth, she could say to her husband, “Am I not worth 12 sons to you,” but the answer didn’t stop the hurt hurled her way from the community around her. Hannah sang this song of gratitude, even after all of this and even after having a child and then gifting him to the work of the community - she still sang a song of Thanksgiving. 

I imagine Mary learning that song from her Auntie Elizabeth, which is the second key learning from Mary: take time to be with the people who love you. Mary goes to see her Auntie Elizabeth and commentators for generations have made this about Jesus meeting his cousin John the Baptist. But most of those writers didn’t grow up being terrified by the idea of being a pregnant teenager or the knowledge that when you are scared you might go find your favorite aunt. Mary went to her Auntie Elizabeth and received a blessing immediately. She did not go to the Aunt that said, “Oh your future was so bright…how disappointing” or “this baby is going to be expensive, I’ve clipped you some extra coupons.” Mary went to the one who loved her, who blessed her without conditions. Elizabeth knew Hannah’s story mirrored her own. I imagine her in her years of waiting for a child blessing the little ones in the family around her, teaching them songs and telling them stories. Mary knew Elizabeth was a safe space in this risky time and so she went to be with her, to take refuge and comfort as she prepared for the work ahead. This safe space and deep love, I believe, does wonders for our souls and our resilience. Mary leads by example, with her very life she tell us to take time to soak it in. 

The final learning I want to lift up from Mary and her song is the start. It says, “My soul magnifies the Lord.” I help you see God - this pregnant woman who shouldn’t be pregnant says, “I help you see God.” She was not ashamed she was sacred. She was not alone; none of the work was her work it was God’s work with her. She took courage that the path was one she should take with God’s love in and around and through her. The song she sang is about the present tense: God has lifted up the lowly God has torn the mighty from their thrones. Mary sang a song about God’s justice that was present not future. God’s work in writing the wrongs was not distant. Mary sang this song while Herod was King and Caesar was still on the coins in her pocket, but she sang it anyway. She sang what cannot be seen and she cannot be stopped from singing of God’s work in the world past, present and future. She chose to live into what could not be seen. She was not alone and she saw God at work in and through and around her, even if the world didn’t look perfect. 

Our baptismal commitment isn’t one we make alone. Baptism is an outward sign of God’s inward presence. God is with us and we are not alone in this work of resisting evil, injustice and oppression. We can take comfort and be renewed by the people who love us and we, like Mary, can cultivate a life of faith. This is what we do here, week in and week out. We gather to make space for renewal and reflection, space to challenge and redirect, and space to find a new path forward when all seems lost. I have heard your stories about how people made space for you in this space, how the songs matter and the words matter and the people in community comfort, care and matter. When I was in seminary, one of my favorite books was titled, “Into the Bone.” It was a text about liturgy and how the words we sing and say together, the words we read and study together, become a part of us and seep into us. Imagine, our bones fortified by more than calcium; fortified with love and nourished by courage. 

I knew this was true, academically or theoretically - I believed it. I have read about heart rates reducing when people recite a prayer they have known a long time. I have been in hospital rooms where suddenly the Lord’s Prayer brings people present who were not before. But the moment I was 100% convinced was in October. Some of you may remember we hosted Drag Queen Story Time and had some aggressive protesters. They were big and not just to me. And other than when they bought coffee, they wanted us to feel intimidated by their presence. Unlike the mild mannered protesters, they came in the Abbey and stomped around, moving closer and closer to the children and families listening to the story until one of them shouted two expletives towards the reader surrounded by children. I called the police and told them they had to leave, there was no room for shouting expletives in the Abbey. They continued to march around the Abbey, to harass folks on the street and to yell at the families as they departed. Two hours later on the way home from ballet, Lila asked some questions, like “why were they so angry?” Why were they so scary? What made them so scared? Why did they make a bad choice? We talked and I waited for her next question. But instead of a question, she started to sing. She started to sing, We are Called. “We are called to act with justice. We are called to love tenderly. We are called to love one another; to walk humbly with God.” She sang. I didn’t say, let’s sing a song that makes us feel brave when we feel scared. Let’s sing a song about loving. You gave her this song. Week in and week out you gave it to her when we sing together, and it was hers when she needed it; it was seeded in her soul.

Cultivating a life of faith takes time and requires presence. It means we pay attention to the words we sew into our being and songs that nourish us. It also means that we have tools to dream when the world looks hopeless and the songs to sing when earth seems so far from heaven. May we have the courage of Mary, may we build our resilience and may we remember we are not alone.