Here we find ourselves on the fourth Sunday of Advent, the Sunday when we light our Advent wreath and celebrate love. Our Scripture today comes in Luke’s narrative when Gabriel has visited Mary, and Mary answers “yes” to this call from God. Mary is to be a part of God’s plan of bringing goodness and light into the world through the life of a child. This promised child will bring joy into a world of uncertainty, of oppressive governmental rule, of spiritual and material poverty. The parallels between Roman Israel and today seem a little too obvious to me in 2020.

Several years ago, my spouse and I had saved our pennies for years to pay for a trip to Europe over the winter holidays to celebrate the completion of my commissioning paperwork (the step before provisional ordination in the United Methodist Church) and to use up a few years of banked vacation days, my husband and I traveled to Rome, Florence and Paris to experience Christmas abroad. We had an incredible trip (I have approximately 700 pictures, if you’d like to see any or all of them) – we went to Christmas Eve mass at the Vatican with the Pope, we spent Christmas morning with a group of English speaking Methodists gathered in a tiny church, we saw art I’ve studied in my many, many history courses. One thing about our trip I never anticipated was all the different types of nativity scenes that graced the altars and chapels of all the churches we visited.

There was one nativity scene in particular that I go back to over and over again in my pictures and in my heart. This scene was placed in a side chapel in Santa Maria sopra Minerva, and it was very simple. It was lit by a couple lights on the floor (in the otherwise dark chapel), and it was only the manger, Mary and Joseph. Surrounding the holy family was rubble – broken stones, broken ceramic, all strewn about the scene. Admittedly, upon a quick first glance, I thought the scene was incomplete and that the chapel must be closed off for renovations. Maybe the ceiling caved in during the church community’s preparations for Advent. Then, I noticed a sign on the railing closing off the chapel. It read: “It is Christmas. Jesus is born among the ashes and the rubble. Jesus is born through men and women of good will, who live in solidarity amidst what remains after the destructions. Every day, in the midst of the ruins, thanks to them, it will be Christmas.”

Every day, in the midst of the ruins, thanks to them, it will be Christmas. Even in the rubble of civil unrest, of a never-ending cycle of violence and oppression and hurt and broken relationships, Christ is born anew. Christ is born to a young woman, who believed in the promises God made to her – the promises God makes to us. I guess it would provide an interesting challenge to preach this text over and over again throughout the year, but I wonder how we – the faithful – do a disservice to ourselves but relegating this story of defiant hope and steadfast love to these last few weeks of December How different would we be if we rested in this hope of Jesus’ coming every day?

I’ve spent a lot of time studying this story – it’s one I just can’t get out of my head or my heart, and I’ve thought about the legacy of this woman has planted itself into our churches, and lives. I’ve marveled at the incredible scope of God’s request to Mary – say yes to being a part of this huge plan. Say yes and become a mother. Say yes and give of your body to bear and care for a child – a child upon whom the history and future of God’s people depends. Say yes and agree to be the caretaker of a child who will never be only yours but instead belong to the heavens and the earth and all the people therein. Say yes and be the guardian of this precious gift, a gift that will be bigger and greater than this world can truly conceive. Say yes and agree to live into hope, even when there are many more question marks than answers.

Then, just after our text for today, Mary sings a song of praise to God, som