“And the angel left her.” –Luke 1:38
And the angel left her… In the story of the annunciation, the angel Gabriel appears to a young virgin named Mary, in a small town called Nazareth. While the young woman is alone, perhaps working on some chores, weaving a cloth, mending a tunic, or doing the Wordle, the angel comes to her with a startling message, something impossible even to imagine: that she, a young woman with little experience of life, and no particular security or position in the world, will become the mother of God. Mary is young and –like all of us—probably had plans for that day. She may have needed to go to the well and gather water for washing or for cooking, she may have had plans to do some shopping at the market, or to go for a walk and listen to the birds singing in the trees. And—like all of us—she had needs, desires and was disposed to the normal human limitations and difficulties of bodily existence: needing warmth and food and rest and a safe place to sleep at night. But this announcement of an unplanned pregnancy isn’t just some unexpected interruption to her plans to go hang out with friends. This announcement also put her life in peril, made her suspect in the eyes of her world, in the time and place where she lived the angel’s joyous announcement made her vulnerable to accusations punishable by stoning. There is nothing easy or simple about the angel’s announcement. Like an earthquake, it must have shaken the very foundation of Mary’s existence, tipped over any well-ordered plans or expectations she had for the life she was planning, and shattered them like so much clay crockery. And what happens next?
The angel disappears. Leaves Mary alone in a world that must have seemed utterly changed, yet still strangely “normal.” What was she supposed to do next? What would you do? What would I do? What would any of us do? I think most of us would begin to doubt, begin to question? Did it really happen? Did an angel really appear? Or was it just a dream? Did an angel really say that? Or am I going crazy?
The angel leaves Mary, with no assurances of safety, no security against the meanness and hardness of the world. Mary knows that many (probably most) people will not believe her, and certainly she knows what they will suspect, even accuse her of. And yet there she stands, alone with the memory of what has happened, what has been promised.
Many of us can feel especially alone at this time of year. Christmas holds so many memories and expectations for most of us: the lights, the trees, the music, the gatherings. Families getting together, friends throwing parties, going to church, holiday pageants, opening presents on Christmas morning. All of it involves being with others, coming together in groups small or large. And to someone with no family nearby or friends to invite them over for a Christmas dinner, this time of year can feel particularly lonely. All around you others are celebrating and singing around tables crowded with laughter and conversation, while you sit alone watching one more Hallmark movie or one more version of A Christmas Carol. Maybe that is why so many of the best Christmas songs are nostalgic and filled with longing… dreaming of a “White Christmas,” that never comes. (Can I get an “Amen,” Houston?)
But left alone, Mary doesn’t sit pondering her fate, or even questioning her sanity. She gets up and goes “in haste” to her cousin Elizabeth, whom, she has just learned, is also unexpectedly expecting… The gospel reading for the last Sunday of Advent 2024 reminds us of Mary’s haste to see her cousin. And I think that reading is the perfect lesson for how we should “make a straight path” in the wilderness of our world. Mary’s example is our lesson. Instead of worrying about herself and her own safety, she hears of another person’s need and she goes to it. She makes a straight path toward it –in haste, even. I think that tells us something about how we might straighten out our own lives and our own paths.
This Christmas, do you know someone in need? Do you know of someone who will be alone? Give them a call. Write them a letter. Better yet, walk over and knock on their door. Get up and go “in haste” toward that need. Perhaps that need is the gift you will find in your stocking this year. Is there someone you haven’t spoken to in a long time? A family member or an old friend? Give them a call. Have you heard about someone in the hospital? That knowledge is a gift. It is a seed planted—in your heart-- waiting to bear fruit in a visit, or a phone call.
Too often, we miss those gits because we are too worried about what to say, or do, or what will people think of us? Maybe we are even afraid they won’t be glad to see us… Don’t let fear get in the way of kindness. Make haste… Become the love you want to see in the world. And know, that love is always the straightest path to joy, to peace, to renewal, to Christ. And to the certainty that we are never truly alone. Even in our darkest hour, the love that lights the world, is waiting for us—there at our side, like a candle in a window, or a star atop a tree—it is always there just waiting for us to look up and see.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all not just a good night, but a blessed one, too.
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