The Mother
Children's sermon
Illustration
Preaching
Sermon
Worship
Object:
Dear Fellow Pastor,
World-historical events have startled us in this final week of Advent, with the result that this issue of The Immediate Word has a double focus.
Our lead article, by Carter Shelley, is a reflection on the Gospel reading assigned in the lectionary, which includes the Visitation and the Magnificat. Carter allows the young, pregnant Mary to speak of her inner turmoil, her fear of imminent public disgrace, but also of her being chosen of God for a role in the great drama of redemption and the actualization of justice.
Our second focus is on the mighty despot who has been permanently dethroned in Iraq, leaving the world to breathe a bit more easily. James Evans reflects on this event in the light of Mary's song. Dare we hope and pray for a new outbreak of peace and justice?
Team members comment and offer illustrations and worship resources related to both emphases, and Wesley Runk offers a children's sermon on the Gospel for the day.
The Mother
Luke 1:39-55
by Carter Shelley
During the seasons of Advent and Christmas, most ministers and churches celebrate Christ's coming with a variety of special worship services. Christmas pageants, choir presentations, Christmas Eve candlelight services, Christmas day communion services, etc., fill up our calendars in a really nice way. One by-product of this wonderful, joyful season can be the complete exhaustion of the minister trying to keep up with all the services and plans of the season while continuing to engage in standard pastoral matters such as hospital visiting, shut-in and nursing home visits, program planning, administration, and weekly worship and sermon preparation. One way I deal with the overwhelming number of demands and homilies required during the Christmas season is to use one Sunday in Advent as an opportunity to substitute a story sermon for the standard homily.
Sometimes I read an abridged version of a beloved story, such as The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, by Barbara Robinson, or The Other Wise Man, by Henry Van Dyke. At other times I'll select a short story from Katherine Paterson's Angels and Other Strangers collection or something like O. Henry's Gift of the Magi. My favorite thing to do is write a story myself based upon the lectionary text for that Sunday.
My offering for this issue of The Immediate Word is such a story. It deals with Mary's own attempts to explain her pregnancy to someone very close to her. The story takes into account and integrates Mary's visit to her cousin Elizabeth and the Magnificat, which celebrates God's miraculous action to liberate God's people through the child born of Mary. My TIW colleagues offer responses and contemporary examples relevant to the earthly problems Mary cites in her song, problems that continue to resonate for us today, such as poverty, power, pride, and persecution of the lowly by the powerful.
I always introduce any story I am sharing by giving the name of the author and telling folks how they can find a copy of the tale if they want to read it for themselves. When I read a story I myself have written, I say so to avoid confusion or the assumption that it was written by someone else.
The Magnificat
The Song of Mary (Luke 1:46-55) is the first of three psalms Luke includes in the infancy narratives. The other two are the Benedictus of Zechariah in 1:67-79 and the Nunc Dimittis of Simeon in 1:29-32. Mary's song is modeled after Hannah's song of praise in 1 Samuel 2:1-10. The Magnificat expresses the hope of Israel that God's faithful people will be vindicated and liberated from earthly oppressions and simultaneously affirmed in their loyalty to the one true God. This Old Testament message of hope will be fulfilled and realized through the child born of Mary (M. H. Shepherd, Jr., "The Magnificat," Interpreter's Dictionary of the Bible [Nashville: Abingdon, 1962] 3:225-226).
The couplet of verses 46-47 express praise offered to God. Verse 48 expresses the more specific and personal blessing God has bestowed upon Mary as "his servant." By means of the incarnation God begins the redemption of God's people. No longer is this event a hope of the future. The Annunciation to Mary activates events. "The overthrow of the powerful has not come about through the mounting of the weak in rebellion but through the coming of God in the weakness of a child" (R. Alan Culpepper, The New Interpreter's Bible: Luke-John [Abingdon, 1995], 55). Verses 51-55 describe how this promised future reverses the ways of the world. The powerful will be brought low. The poor will be exalted. Thus, the Magnificat serves as both a hymn of praise to God and a declaration of liberation for the children of Israel and for all believing Christians who strive to love and serve God.
While the December 13 capture of Saddam Hussein may ease the fears and offer hope to the people of Iraq, in 2004 power and human ambition outwardly continue to dominate our world. Thus, ministers will have little difficulty in finding contemporary examples of human suffering and injustice that correspond to the examples provided in 1:51-55. Nor is our ongoing need for a God who saves us and a Son who redeems us diminished by the fact that 2000 years lie between us and the events Luke records.
Introduction
This morning I want to look at Luke 1:39-56 through the eyes of Mary as she may have been historically, and not as she has been romanticized by Renaissance painters or deified by centuries of religion. I want us to consider Mary as a flesh-and-blood teenage girl, anxious to do God's will, yet anxious also about her own future. The format I have chosen is not the usual sermon style, but that of a letter: a letter Mary has written to someone very close to her. In this letter Mary is trying to explain what it all means. So try to put yourselves back in time more than 2000 years to a warmer day and another place, when the Prince of Peace has not yet come but remains an eagerly awaited promise.
Dear Mother,
I arrived at Zechariah and Elizabeth's house last night just before the evening meal. I am glad the light is lasting longer, otherwise I never would have found their house. It's much smaller than I expected. Tell Father that priests seem to be as poorly paid as potters.
Cousin Elizabeth has given me a cot off of the central room where cooking and baking take place. It's comfortable, but I shall miss the sound of my brothers snoring nearby.
Zechariah and Elizabeth send their greetings.
The journey here took much longer and was harder than I had expected. Several times I had to ask Ben Juron to stop the donkeys, so I could run into the bushes to be sick. The first time, I cried. I was so embarrassed and I felt so ill. But by the third wave of nausea, I just said, "Sorry, folks. Guess it's the heat."
Of course, you and I know it's not the heat. I felt uncomfortable lying about my condition. I guess not saying anything isn't really a lie, but it feels like one to me. I felt like an imposter saying it was the heat. Who ever heard of a Jewish girl who gets sick from a little sunshine? But don't worry, Mother. I won't tell anybody. I promised you I wouldn't, and I won't. I hope you get used to the idea soon, though. This event can only be kept a secret a few more months. Then Mrs. Yorsef and the Labans will have to know, just like everybody else.
I love you, Mother, and I know it's hard for you to get used to the idea that I am pregnant. "Every mother's worst fear," you said when I told you. I know it is, and I am very sorry for your pain. I did not mean to hurt you. I have tried to be a good and dutiful daughter, but sometimes one has to make decisions for oneself. Your anger and disappointment have hurt me deeply. I am writing because I hate for our parting to have been such an ugly one. I am not a bad girl, a disrespectful child or a slut -- although I know I seem one to you. I am sorry for you that it happened this way. It wasn't what I had expected either, but I have decided that since I am now in an adult situation, I shall be an adult about it.
"Who is the father?!" you demanded to know. Mother, how can I answer that question? It baffles me as much as it may baffle future generations if this child is indeed the Messiah God sends.
"God wouldn't send his Messiah through you!" you said. "You are a stubborn, silly sixteen-year old with no experience, no husband, and no money. God would not choose you."
Mother, I agree. But God has.
Again, I am sorry for you that it happened this way. I know how pleased and excited you were about the coming wedding. I know how much you and Father think of Joseph and how upset you are to think that I have ruined my future as a woman married to a good and pious man.
As I packed to leave, I saw the robe you'd been weaving for me. The colors look so beautiful in the pattern you've chosen. It's some of your best work. I know how much of your love and dreams for me went into those skeins of wool, and I ache to think how much hurt you now feel. I know you and Father scrimped and saved in order to provide a good dowry. I realize you were excited that I was to marry someone of Joseph's stature and promise. And he was a good choice. He's a good man, faithful and kind. He has humor and heart and much skill at his trade.
I was "lucky to attract his interest," you said. Yes, but he was fortunate too. I would have been a loving wife and a hardworking, capable partner and mother. Now I suppose I shall be one without the other.
Mother, I realize you are angry with me -- that you feel ashamed because I have shamed the family and disappointed you terribly. I know you don't believe what I told you, and I am beginning to believe you never will; that perhaps I'll go full term, or a full lifetime without the support of my family. Such thoughts grieve me terribly but, as I said, "I'm an adult now," so I must face adult hurts and hardships.
Trying to talk to you and Father and contemplating breaking the news to Joseph, I keep wondering, "Am I crazy?" But being in the presence of the barren Elizabeth now six months pregnant at an age when most women are grandmothers, I see that it takes a miracle to recognize a miracle. Suddenly, I understood that you or Father or Joseph could not understand, because you haven't been in a position where something impossible happened because God made it happen. But Elizabeth has been in that position. Her gray hair and swelling belly are concrete proof that she knows God's action first-hand, and she could see that God has blessed me and chosen me for something special -- not because I am a wonderful person, just because God has.
After our family arguments and scenes last week, meeting with Elizabeth was an incredible relief. She already knew! I didn't have to tell her. When she heard my greeting, she said the babe in her womb leaped for joy, and that she knew at once that I was pregnant and that the child of my womb was blessed by God. It was such a joy to hear some voice other than my own acknowledge what God has done. I can remember exactly what she said:
"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 voice, 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."
I felt such relief hearing a human confirmation of what the angel had said to me months before. When I'm with Elizabeth and we talk of our pregnancies and our hopes for our children, I get excited and feel so alive. But sometimes, like trying to go to sleep under the stars during the journey, or last night when I was awake and couldn't hear Benjamin and James snoring in the next room, I get frightened. I wonder what will happen to me. What will happen to this child I carry?
I know I cannot depend on you and Father for support. You have other children still to raise and feed. I know my dowry is forfeited, and I am sorry for the senseless financial hardship I have caused.
I also can't help but see your tear-stained face, and the worry behind your anger when you said to me, "The world is not kind to single women with children." I know I shall have to go it alone, and I've been wondering what I shall do. I have so few skills. I can bake bread, garden, weave cloth, make pottery, or clean another person's house.
I've been trying to remember women from home who raised children by themselves. One was Anna, whose husband died and left her well provided. Another was the widow Zephra, who had three young children. She seemed to have a hard, dreary life. I remember her coming to Father that time to have her favorite bowl repaired after one of the children accidentally had broken it. I recall how upset she was and how worried about the cost of the repair. I was so glad when Father told her he'd fix it for free.
Oh, yes, there was one other person. I never knew her name, and you would have been upset if you had known that I had spoken to her. That woman who never wore a veil and had such beautiful hair. I talked to her once in the marketplace. She told me she had a little boy she was raising by herself. I admired her, but I could see from the way the men treated her that her life was very hard.
Well, at least my child will have a mother to provide for him. Mother, at every stop on our journey we were accosted by children. They appeared as if from nowhere asking for money, food, anything. It was heartbreaking to see. They were ragged, dirty, hungry, and parentless. The littlest ones would cry so pitifully. Those old enough to talk would beg.
"Bread, kind lady? Milk, kind lady? Give us food. Lady, we are hungry!"
I've never thought of my life as a sheltered one, but I have never seen such poverty as I witnessed on this trip. It is so demeaning to see -- not just small children of four or five years of age but elderly people and the sick, all begging, all hungry, all in desperate need. People seem to lose a part of their soul when their stomachs are empty day after day. Their eyes have a vacant look as though no one lives there anymore. And the normal courtesies and manners, "Please," or "Thank you," or a friendly "Hello," aren't even possible. There's no energy for being polite -- no thought but how to survive.
It was disheartening to be surrounded by so many of God's children and not to have the money or the food to help them. There I had thought the widow Zephra with her three children was poor, but these people literally have nowhere to go, no place to sleep but the fields, and no guarantee of food except other people's generosity.
Merchant Simon said, "They could get work if they weren't lazy."
Maybe some of the older people could, but what about the children? What would they do? The land in that area is so barren and sandy, no vegetables or grass could possibly grow here. I doubt there's much anyone can do but pray to God and share one's meal as many of us travelers did.
Once while we were getting water at a village well, a Roman chariot came racing down the road without slowing down. It was as though the men, women, and children who had to rush to get out of his way didn't even exist. He must have been a centurion or some other important Roman officer. His bright red cloak was decorated in purple, and his horses' harness was trimmed in gold. The riches of his equipage offered a stark contrast to the dry, ugly landscape and the sunburned, hopeless faces of the people from that village. I doubt they see many horses in this region, since only the very wealthy can afford them.
It occurred to me that selling one of those horses would provide enough money to feed these homeless children for more than a year. Merchant Simon just laughed at me and told me, "It's just like a silly woman to have no head for business. Those who have, get more, while those who don't have, won't ever have anything in this Godforsaken world."
I don't care if I'm impractical. I don't think God has forsaken the world. I don't think God has forsaken us. I don't believe God intends for some people to sit on thrones of gold or race their chariots through a village street while its inhabitants can't even afford sandals. It reminds me of that song of the Anawim Community:
He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
and lifted up the lowly;
he has filled the hungry with good things,
and sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel,
Maybe that is why God has chosen me. Maybe God's preference for the poor means God doesn't want his son born into the family of a king or nobleman. After all, how can a rich man understand what it is to be poor? And how can one defend the poor or defeat the rich if one is oneself rich and powerful? I guess wealth and power are not the things that God most wants from us or wants to give us.
If this son of mine is to be the champion of the poor and the redeemer of Israel, his life will not be an easy one. Men like that man in the chariot will want to kill him. Rich men will hate him and call him a revolutionary. Poor ones will want to use him up in their own need and greed.
And, he won't have time for his mother. I will have to stand aside and say, "He isn't my son. He doesn't belong to me. His work is his own. I am still the handmaid of the Lord and I must not interfere."
Mother, I am having to make a lot of changes in the way I think about the world and how we are to live. I wish you and I could talk of these things without anger and accusations. I want my child to know his grandmother.
Signed with love,
Your daughter, Mary
* * * * *
How the Mighty Have Fallen, and May Fall
Luke 1:39-55
by James L. Evans
The visual images of Saddam Hussein after his capture contrast sharply with the carefully controlled images we had all seen prior to the war. Before the war, we saw Saddam amble regally among his people, larger than life, the very picture of power and control. Now the images are of a bearded and scruffy Saddam, a vagabond refugee, stripped of power and reduced to the status of mere mortal.
There is great hope that with his capture the daily bloodshed will finally begin to subside. Also, with his capture, there is optimism that the Iraqi people will begin to have confidence that the bloody and brutal reign is finally over -- that he is not coming back to power. There is hope that now some sense of normalcy and peace may begin to dawn.
For those of us who follow the Revised Common Lectionary, the capture of Saddam comes at an interesting time. The Gospel reading for this week is the narrative of Mary's visit to her cousin Elizabeth. Mary, we know, has recently learned she is to give birth to the Messiah. Elizabeth and her elderly husband, Zechariah, are struggling with their own birth miracle, as she is pregnant with a son who will become John the Baptist.
As Mary and Elizabeth meet and the significance of what is happening to the two of them begins to sink in, Mary suddenly bursts forth in song. The song has come to be known as The Magnificat, from the Latin of the opening phrase, "My soul magnifies the Lord." The song has become one of our most treasured images for understanding God's purpose in sending Jesus into the world.
As we listen to the song, there is one phrase in particular that seems to immediately connect with the recent events in Iraq. Mary sings: "He has brought down the powerful from their thrones."
This great reversal is present in many forms throughout the Gospel and in the prophetic tradition that preceded it. And it's perfectly understandable why. Israel had been a minor player on the stage of world events almost from its very beginning. They were never a match for the great armies of Assyria, Persia, Greece, or Rome. All these, and more, tramped their way across Israel. Almost all of them stopped and looted and generally exerted power for a while. The people of Israel had in their historical DNA a long memory of being ruled by others.
And so it makes sense that, in their deepest longing for the coming Messiah, one of their hopes would be a reversal of power. It was believed and hoped that one day the mighty would be thrown down. The victims of tyranny longed for the day when those who had gained wealth and influence at the expense of the poor would become poor themselves.
The people of Iraq are certainly in a position to understand the longings for such a great reversal. After many years of deprivation and cruelty, seeing Saddam in custody must surely kindle in the hearts of many of them the hope that a better day is coming. They may have some concerns, certainly, that they have passed from the hands of one powerful regime into the hands of another. But if the United States and Britain keep their word, the Iraqi people will eventually have a chance to govern themselves.
But what about us? Where should we find ourselves in the song? As we watch Saddam tumble from power, and as we hear Mary sing, "He has brought down the powerful from their thrones," where are we? We are certainly not among the millions who have felt the iron heel of Saddam's oppression. We have not tasted the stale bread of the poverty his cruelty made. And even if he was a threat to us, which is now debatable, and had some role in the terrorist attacks on our country, which also is not at all clear, none of that would raise him to the level of having any real power over us.
Consequently, it may not be appropriate for us to sing Mary's song. We are not in a place to put her words on our lips. We are not oppressed; we are not powerless. We sent an army halfway round the world and ended a regime. We have sustained that army of several hundred thousand for many months while building a new regime. These are not the activities of a powerless people; these are the actions of the powerful. If we are not careful we will distort Mary's song by substituting "we" for "he": "We have brought down the powerful from their thrones."
Richard Horsley, in his provocative book Jesus and Empire (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2002), struggles with this problem extensively. How can North American Christians, endowed with so much wealth and power, give proper expression to a message of good news that was aimed at the poor and disenfranchised? In fact, because the language of the Gospel does not speak to our actual situation, we have changed the meaning of the language so that it addresses what we do see as our need. The effect of this, Horsley argues, is that we "depoliticize" Jesus. We have taken what was basically political and economic language (e.g., "forgive our debts") and turned it into exclusively religious language. Debts are spiritual debts. Oppression is the oppressing power of sin. Forgiveness (liberation) is freedom from that sin and the conferring of a blessed state of being with God (righteousness).
If we read the Gospel in its stark political reality we would be embarrassed to discover that much of it condemns our way of life. We are the wealthy who hoard treasures on earth. We are the powerful who exploit (or allow exploitation) so that we may continue to enjoy prosperity.
If all of this is true, what is our response to the Gospel? Horsley, and others, believe that the Gospel does have a liberating force for North Americans. Understanding the stance God has taken for the poor and the disenfranchised challenges us to also stand with them. The Gospel can free us from a spirit of consumerism that drives us to buy and have more and more things. The Gospel challenges us to adopt a simpler and less costly style of life so that we can have more money to use to help others.
The Gospel can do what Mary's song says it can do: It can remove the powerful from their thrones. We can choose to relinquish our place of power and privilege so that others who share the planet with us may share more fully in its bounty: "He has lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty."
The debate over the legitimacy of the Iraq war notwithstanding, it is a good thing that Saddam is out of power. His cruelty and savagery will be put to an end once and for all. What we must be careful to avoid is the belief that power and virtue are the same -- that because our power has removed an evil power that our power is good. We cannot always be sure that will be true. If we allow our power to be used to exploit the weak, then our days are numbered. We will find ourselves in Mary's song after all.
Team Comments
George Murphy responds: Several years ago during an Advent week when I was getting ready to preach on this Gospel text, a Bach setting of The Magnificat was played on public radio when I was in the car. The text was, the announcer said, "a hymn in honor of Mary." Boy, did that ever give me a lead-in for a sermon! Nothing could have been further from Bach's mind -- let alone Mary's. The Magnificat is a hymn in praise of -- well, in praise of God, of course.
Which is not at all to deny appropriate honors to Mary. "Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed," she sings (Luke 1:48). A note on that verse in an old Roman Catholic Bible says, "These words are a prediction of that honor which the church in all ages should pay to the Blessed Virgin. Let Protestants examine whether they are in any way concerned in this prophecy." It is, I think, a legitimate comment that Protestants ought to take seriously.
Mary, as the Council of Ephesus affirmed in the fifth century, is properly said to be the God-bearer (theotokos, sometimes translated "Mother of God"). The hymn "Ye Watchers and Ye Holy Ones" (based on the Orthodox Magnificat) in some of our hymnals calls her "higher than the cherubim" and "more glorious than the seraphim" (e.g., Lutheran Book of Worship 175).
And yet Mary in our text is a poor teenage girl who looks to God as her savior. The honor to be paid to Mary has nothing to do with any intrinsic merit or glory that she possesses. Nor, for that matter does it have anything to do with any abasement and poverty. Luther expounds on this point in his "Commentary on the Magnificat" (Luther's Works, American Edition, 21: 314):
"[S]he does not glory in her worthiness nor yet in her unworthiness, but solely in the divine regard, which is so exceedingly good and gracious that He deigned to look upon such a lowly maiden, and to look upon her in so glorious and honorable a fashion. They, therefore, do her an injustice who hold that she gloried, not indeed in her virginity, but in her humility. She gloried neither in the one nor in the other, but only in the gracious regard of God. Hence the stress lies not on the word 'low estate' but on the word 'regarded.' For not her humility but God's regard is to be praised. When a prince takes a poor beggar by the hand, it is not the beggar's lowliness but the prince's grace and goodness that is to be commended."
Similar things can be said about the social and economic situation that Mary's song speaks to. The powerful are to be brought down from their thrones, and the lowly are to be lifted up -- but that is not because the lowly are more moral or nicer people than the powerful. The so-called "preferential option for the poor" should not be taken to mean that God simply likes poor people more than rich people. The poor can be as greedy, jealous, and mean as the rich, and a revolution that simply reverses their roles may do nothing to bring about justice. But, having little, the poor can see that their hope must be in the divine regard, while it's all too easy for the powerful to think that they can rely on what they have.
"He has brought down the powerful from their thrones" will naturally make many people this Sunday think of the one-time absolute ruler of Iraq found hiding in a hole in the ground. We want to be careful about how we deal with that allusion, but I think we don't need to be so careful that we avoid it entirely.
How are the powerful to be brought down? It would be convenient for God to do that miraculously, but it generally doesn't work that way. Centuries before the time of Mary, a prophet of Israel exulted over the impending fall of Babylon (in present-day Iraq!), using words borrowed from Canaanite myth: "How you are fallen from heaven, O Day Star, Son of Dawn! How you are cut down to the ground, you who laid the nations low!" (Isaiah 14:12). But it was no mythical process or supernatural event that brought this about. It was the armies of Cyrus -- "the LORD's anointed," even though he didn't know the LORD (Isaiah 45:1-7).
Hitler was brought down and the Holocaust was stopped by allied armed forces. It would be nice if such things could happen peacefully, but tyrants seldom go gently. God is apparently willing sometimes to use military force or violent revolution in order to bring down the mighty from their thrones.
But we shouldn't give ourselves too much credit for being the means by which evildoers are removed from power, or imagine that the goal of accomplishing that justifies whatever means we use. After all, one of the major instruments that God used to bring down Hitler was Joseph Stalin! The fact that the United States and its allies removed Saddam Hussein from power does not prove that we are just and virtuous people. We should certainly be glad that he has been brought down. But as the most powerful nation in the world, most of whose citizens are wealthy beyond the dreams even of rich people of biblical times, and certainly of those in the third world today, we should be thinking about how to be involved in the other part of the process that Mary sings about -- lifting up the lowly.
Bringing down the powerful from their thrones often requires only a blunt-force instrument. Being the means by which the lowly are lifted up -- and that without inciting them to envy and revenge -- generally requires more subtlety and perseverance. Again, it is God's work, but it is work that we are clearly called to be involved in.
Carlos Wilton responds: The Mary we know from the Scriptures is a person of great fidelity and courage, but she's rather two-dimensional, psychologically speaking. Carter, you've helped us imagine what anxious thoughts could have been racing through this teenager's mind in that very awkward situation of unforeseen pregnancy during her time of betrothal.
As I read your creative re-telling of Mary's tale, though, I did wonder what happened with Joseph. Since your narrative follows the rough outlines of Luke's account (in which Joseph is a minor figure), you've evidently decided to mention him only in passing, suggesting that -- at least at the time your story is taking place -- Mary doesn't have his support. Perhaps this is the time when, as Matthew tells us, Joseph is pondering whether or not to "dismiss her quietly." Behind those curt words of Matthew's is a world of turmoil and pain, and your story provides us with just a hint of what that experience could have been like from Mary's perspective. Yet I, for one, would have liked to have heard Mary say just a little more in her letter about the status of her relationship with Joseph in these days when she's journeying to the home of her cousin Elizabeth.
We Protestants have a tough time with Mary. The Reformers discarded the extremes of Marian devotion that had come to dominate popular European piety in their day, but they probably went a little overboard in neglecting this important woman of faith. Recently all the Marys in the New Testament seem to be getting good press (see the December 8 Newsweek cover story). A Christianity Today cover story, "The Blessed Evangelical Mary: Why We Shouldn't Ignore Her Any Longer," by Timothy George, posted 12/05/2003 on their website (http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2003/012/1.34.html), is a forthright reassessment of this central figure:
"The New Testament portrays Mary as among the last at the cross, and among the first in the Upper Room. She bridges not only the Old and New Testaments at Jesus' birth, but also the close of his earthly ministry and the birth of the church. It is significant that in Eastern iconography, Mary is never depicted alone, but always with Christ, the apostles, and the saints.
"At the foot of the cross, Mary represents the church as a faithful remnant. Already before the Reformation, Mary was seen as the archetype of the remnant church: her faithfulness alone kept the church intact during Christ's suffering on the cross....
"Today, perhaps more than ever, the image of Mary under the cross speaks to the church, which is increasingly the persecuted church ... the Mary of the Gospels stands in solidarity with all believers in Jesus who also live under the shadow of the Cross, including many whose lives are at risk today because of their witness for Christ."
Related Illustrations
Some may be familiar with the American hymn "How Can I Keep from Singing?" by Robert Lowry. This lovely melody is undergoing a revival of late, and is beginning to make its way into many of our denominational hymnbooks. Like Mary's Magnificat, it speaks bluntly of social justice. The first stanza is the most familiar:
My life flows on in endless song,
Above earth's lamentation;
I hear the real though far-off hymn
That hails a new creation.
Through all the tumult and the strife,
I hear that music ringing;
It sounds and echoes in my soul;
How can I keep from singing?
One stanza of this hymn, however, is somewhat alarming -- so much so that it's not always included in versions meant for congregational singing. This stanza was added to the hymn in the 1950s by a woman named Doris Plenn. She wrote it to honor the witness of friends who had chosen to go to prison rather than cooperate with Senator Joseph McCarthy and his infamous House Un-American Activities Committee. It is, in its own way, as earthy and confrontational as Mary's song about the rich being sent empty away: and in its frank condemnation of tyranny speaks to the events of recent days in Iraq:
When tyrants tremble, sick with fear,
And hear their death-knells ringing,
When friends rejoice both far and near,
How can I keep from singing?
In prison cell and dungeon vile,
Our thoughts to them are winging;
When friends by shame are undefiled,
How can I keep from singing?
***
Mary, did you know that your baby boy would someday walk on water?
Mary, did you know that your baby boy would save our sons and daughters?
Did you know that your baby boy has come to make you new?
This child that you delivered, will soon deliver you.
--"Mary, Did You Know?" words by Mark Lowry, music by Buddy Green, Hope Publishing Company.
***
"For many modern women, the Mary of Christian tradition is at best an irrelevance, at worst one more reminder of the way in which no woman can live up the image of perfection -- perpetual virgin/perfect mother -- created by centuries of male theologians. What can speak to us, though, is her humanity. Mary shares many women's experiences: her early arranged marriage, her struggle to keep the family together after the death of her husband, her love for her son, and her grief at his death. It is the human Mary who reaches across the centuries to women in every age and every culture."
--Dr. Helen K. Bond, lecturer in the New Testament at the University of Edinburgh, "Who Was the real Virgin Mary?" in The Guardian, December 19, 2002
***
"Mary, mother of our Lord, I wish I could be as pure a disciple as you were even from the beginning! ...
"For it was an angel that spoke to you, a sky-strider, an inhabitant of holy heaven whose face caught fire from standing near to God, whose glory darkened all the common world in which you lived.
"Yet you did not hesitate in fear or horror. You said, 'Yes.'
"For history was pouring into your womb the whole history of the Israel backward through David even unto Abraham; yet you were but a single person, one lone woman. How could a vessel of simple human limitation hold twenty centuries of national endeavor -- triumph, failure, sin, atonement, trouble, prayer, and promise -- and not burst open? But you would burst, Mary. You would spew the son of David into Judah again, and he would keep every past promise of God.
"And you said, 'Yes.'
"For heaven itself was swelling within you, and you were the door. Not in terrible glory would he come, this Son of the Most High God. Not in the primal blinding light, nor as the shout by which God uttered the universe, nor yet with the trumpet that shall conclude it, but through your human womb, as an infant bawling and hungry. By your labor, Mary, by the fierce contractions of your uterus, eternity would enter time. The angel said, 'Will you be the door of the Lord into this place?'
"And you said, 'Yes.'.... You, the first of all the disciples of Jesus, said, 'Yes.'"
--Walter Wangerin, Preparing for Jesus (Zondervan, 1999), pp. 68-69
Worship Resources
by Chuck Cammarata
CALL TO WORSHIP, Option 1
In keeping with Carter Shelley's story sermon this week, why not have a first-person liturgist as well? Our first option for a call to worship this week will be a story liturgy. Have someone dressed as Mary come to the lectern or just to the front of the sanctuary. She would say something like the following:
Why me? I can't really say. I don't really question it anymore. All I know is that the angel told me that I had been chosen for a very special task. After I got over the shock of it, I was deeply humbled. Chosen to give birth to our Messiah, the Savior. Who could I tell? Who could I talk to without sounding like a lunatic? So I decided to go to see Elizabeth, my cousin, who has also been chosen for a special birth.
When I arrived, Elizabeth and I both felt great joy. Even the baby in her womb jumped for joy. My soul glorified the Lord. My spirit rejoiced within me. For I knew that these children, mine and Elizabeth's, would be the beginning of salvation coming to all people. I knew that the end of the proud had come, that the beginning of the exultation of the lowly was coming.
I burst out into song, which was not like me. But I couldn't keep the joy inside. And neither should you. Rejoice, mercy has come! Freedom has come! Healing has come! Rejoice!
Mary would then leave as the music for the opening hymn begins; this hymn should obviously be joyful! "Joy to the World" would be an excellent choice.
CALL TO WORSHIP, Option 2 (based on The Magnificat)
LEADER: My soul glorifies the Lord.
PEOPLE: My spirit rejoices in God our savior.
LEADER: For God's mercy extends
PEOPLE: To all who fear him.br> LEADER: God has performed mighty deeds;
PEOPLE: Scattering the proud of heart;
LEADER: Bringing down evil rulers from their thrones;
PEOPLE: Lifting up the humble;
LEADER: And filling the hungry
PEOPLE: With good things!
LEADER: So, come, let us worship God!
PEOPLE: Amen
PRAYER OF CONFESSION, Option 1
You could do this one as a first-person confession as well. Zechariah would be a good choice for a confession. Have the actor come to the lectern and say:
I am Zechariah. I also had an angel speak to me, as Mary did. But I didn't receive the angel's words as humbly as Mary did. I was skeptical. I thought I was just seeing things, or maybe I didn't want to believe in angels and spirits and all that. I'm not sure I even know why I was so skeptical. I mean there was the evidence -- the truth -- standing right in front of me and I was rejecting it. Maybe you do that too. Accept only what you can understand. Well, I just want to say to you that I have come to understand that God and the things of God are so much bigger, so far beyond us, that it is really foolish to believe in only what we can understand. If you still struggle with that -- why don't you let me pray for you this morning? Will you bow your heads and pray with me?
God of all creation, we confess that we have our doubts. We live in a skeptical age and have been infected by this skepticism deep in our spirits. Help us to overcome our culture's belief that the only reality is what we can see. Help us to know that your greatness, glory, and magnificence pervade our world, visibly and invisibly. Help us to accept that there is so much we do not -- cannot -- understand, but that it is all ultimately in your hands, and therefore we can relax. For this truth we thank you, Lord. Amen.
PRAYER OF CONFESSION, Option 2
Let us pray. Father, Creator, the world says that if it is not visible, if it cannot be touched or heard, then it is not real. Forgive us for limiting you to our ability to sense or understand. Forgive us for thinking that if we cannot understand it, it must not be real. Open us to the truth that there is reality beyond our ability to grasp or experience. Teach us to be at peace with this knowledge. We pray it in Jesus' name. Amen.
ASSURANCE OF PARDON
Seek and you will find. Ask and it will be given. Knock and it will be opened to you. This is an assurance we need when it comes to understanding the deep truths of God. But be assured: if you continually seek God's truth, you will find it. God will reveal to you all you need to know to live abundantly, joyfully, peacefully. Amen.
PASTORAL PRAYER
A tyrant has been captured, Lord. One who rejected all your ways. One who placed power above justice. One who lived in luxury while others starved around him. One who brought terror and grief to many. Father, we ask that wisdom be with those who will seek to bring this tyrant to justice. We pray that bringing him to justice will further the process of bringing peace to a strife-torn part of the world. And we pray that in the face of all tyranny -- and it will never be completely overcome in this world -- in the face of all tyranny we, your people, will always rely on you. We pray that we will be so tuned in to your presence with us that no tyranny will lead us to think that you have abandoned us or forsaken us. For you never leave us. Even in the valley of the shadow of death, you are there with us. There is no tyranny, no injustice, no illness, no terror -- nothing that can remove us from your care. Help us to be convinced of this today and, in our confidence of your presence and ultimate triumph, enable us to convince those around us of your sovereignty and compassion. We pray it in the name of our savior, Jesus the Christ. Amen.
HYMNS AND SONGS
You probably don't need many suggestions for music the Sunday before Christmas. Just turn to the part of your church's hymnal where the Christmas and Advent hymns are located. Almost any will do. Especially good for our theme this Sunday would be the following:
O Come, O Come, Emmanuel
Thou Didst Leave Thy Throne
Angels We Have Heard on High
How Great Our Joy
One Small Child
A Children's Sermon
by Wesley Runk
Luke 1:39-45
Text: "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." (vv. 39-40)
Object: A small suitcase, a map and some sandals
Good morning, boys and girls. Today we are going to think about visiting someone who lives in another town. How many of you have a relative like a grandparent or an uncle or an aunt or maybe even a cousin who lives far away? (let them answer) Very good, almost everyone has someone who lives out of town. (let a few of them tell you about their relatives) Do they ever visit you? (let them answer)
How do you get ready to visit your grandpa or grandma? Do you just walk out the door and down the street to meet them? (let them answer) You take something with you when you are going a long way, don't you? (hold up the suitcase) What is this? (let them answer) What do you put in this suitcase? (let them answer) Very good!
And how do you know the way to get there? (let them answer) How do you get out of town and what highway do you take? (ask a few of them for directions) Do you go north, south, east, or west? How many hours will it take? Do you pack a lunch or stop at a restaurant when you are on the road to grandpa's house? (show them the map) You'd better have one of these with you when you travel a long distance.
Finally, are you going in a car, on the train, or flying in an airplane? (let them answer) Most of you go in a car that moves on a road.
But we did not always have cars or planes or trains. What did people use to do when they went a long distance? (let them answer) Some people rode horses or sat in a wagon pulled by horses or donkeys. How else did they get there? (let them answer) That's right, they walked. They walked for several days. (show them the sandals)
I want to share with you the story about a very young woman who went to visit her cousin. Her cousin was a woman named Elizabeth and she was married to a man named Zechariah. It was not an easy trip because Elizabeth and Zechariah lived in the hill country. Have you ever walked up and down hills? (let them answer) It can be a hard walk. And even more than this was the fact that this woman was pregnant. How many of you know what I mean when I say that she was pregnant? (let them answer) That's right, she was carrying a baby, and so walking up and down hills was hard. But the woman never complained, she only kept asking herself one question. The question was, "Why me?" Why did God choose her, a young woman who was engaged but not married, to have this baby?
This was a very good question and one that no one seemed to know the answer to. When she arrived at the home of her cousin Elizabeth and her husband Zechariah, she was greeted very warmly. As a matter of fact, Elizabeth was also pregnant and she felt her baby kind of jump inside of her. She called her visitor a blessed person, special among all women. Do you know who this person was that traveled on hilly roads to reach the home of her cousin? (let them answer) That's right, her name was Mary. Do you know the name of the baby that was inside of Mary? (let them answer) That's right, it was Jesus.
Mary would learn, as would Elizabeth and Zechariah and the entire world, who Jesus was in the days to come but for now it was a secret that only God and Mary shared. In a couple of days we will celebrate the birthday of Jesus and we will give thanks to God for his great gift and for choosing Mary to be the mother of God. Amen.
* * * * *
The Immediate Word, December 21, 2003, issue.
Copyright 2003 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to The Immediate Word service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons and in worship and classroom settings only. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., P.O. Box 4503, Lima, Ohio 45802-4503.
World-historical events have startled us in this final week of Advent, with the result that this issue of The Immediate Word has a double focus.
Our lead article, by Carter Shelley, is a reflection on the Gospel reading assigned in the lectionary, which includes the Visitation and the Magnificat. Carter allows the young, pregnant Mary to speak of her inner turmoil, her fear of imminent public disgrace, but also of her being chosen of God for a role in the great drama of redemption and the actualization of justice.
Our second focus is on the mighty despot who has been permanently dethroned in Iraq, leaving the world to breathe a bit more easily. James Evans reflects on this event in the light of Mary's song. Dare we hope and pray for a new outbreak of peace and justice?
Team members comment and offer illustrations and worship resources related to both emphases, and Wesley Runk offers a children's sermon on the Gospel for the day.
The Mother
Luke 1:39-55
by Carter Shelley
During the seasons of Advent and Christmas, most ministers and churches celebrate Christ's coming with a variety of special worship services. Christmas pageants, choir presentations, Christmas Eve candlelight services, Christmas day communion services, etc., fill up our calendars in a really nice way. One by-product of this wonderful, joyful season can be the complete exhaustion of the minister trying to keep up with all the services and plans of the season while continuing to engage in standard pastoral matters such as hospital visiting, shut-in and nursing home visits, program planning, administration, and weekly worship and sermon preparation. One way I deal with the overwhelming number of demands and homilies required during the Christmas season is to use one Sunday in Advent as an opportunity to substitute a story sermon for the standard homily.
Sometimes I read an abridged version of a beloved story, such as The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, by Barbara Robinson, or The Other Wise Man, by Henry Van Dyke. At other times I'll select a short story from Katherine Paterson's Angels and Other Strangers collection or something like O. Henry's Gift of the Magi. My favorite thing to do is write a story myself based upon the lectionary text for that Sunday.
My offering for this issue of The Immediate Word is such a story. It deals with Mary's own attempts to explain her pregnancy to someone very close to her. The story takes into account and integrates Mary's visit to her cousin Elizabeth and the Magnificat, which celebrates God's miraculous action to liberate God's people through the child born of Mary. My TIW colleagues offer responses and contemporary examples relevant to the earthly problems Mary cites in her song, problems that continue to resonate for us today, such as poverty, power, pride, and persecution of the lowly by the powerful.
I always introduce any story I am sharing by giving the name of the author and telling folks how they can find a copy of the tale if they want to read it for themselves. When I read a story I myself have written, I say so to avoid confusion or the assumption that it was written by someone else.
The Magnificat
The Song of Mary (Luke 1:46-55) is the first of three psalms Luke includes in the infancy narratives. The other two are the Benedictus of Zechariah in 1:67-79 and the Nunc Dimittis of Simeon in 1:29-32. Mary's song is modeled after Hannah's song of praise in 1 Samuel 2:1-10. The Magnificat expresses the hope of Israel that God's faithful people will be vindicated and liberated from earthly oppressions and simultaneously affirmed in their loyalty to the one true God. This Old Testament message of hope will be fulfilled and realized through the child born of Mary (M. H. Shepherd, Jr., "The Magnificat," Interpreter's Dictionary of the Bible [Nashville: Abingdon, 1962] 3:225-226).
The couplet of verses 46-47 express praise offered to God. Verse 48 expresses the more specific and personal blessing God has bestowed upon Mary as "his servant." By means of the incarnation God begins the redemption of God's people. No longer is this event a hope of the future. The Annunciation to Mary activates events. "The overthrow of the powerful has not come about through the mounting of the weak in rebellion but through the coming of God in the weakness of a child" (R. Alan Culpepper, The New Interpreter's Bible: Luke-John [Abingdon, 1995], 55). Verses 51-55 describe how this promised future reverses the ways of the world. The powerful will be brought low. The poor will be exalted. Thus, the Magnificat serves as both a hymn of praise to God and a declaration of liberation for the children of Israel and for all believing Christians who strive to love and serve God.
While the December 13 capture of Saddam Hussein may ease the fears and offer hope to the people of Iraq, in 2004 power and human ambition outwardly continue to dominate our world. Thus, ministers will have little difficulty in finding contemporary examples of human suffering and injustice that correspond to the examples provided in 1:51-55. Nor is our ongoing need for a God who saves us and a Son who redeems us diminished by the fact that 2000 years lie between us and the events Luke records.
Introduction
This morning I want to look at Luke 1:39-56 through the eyes of Mary as she may have been historically, and not as she has been romanticized by Renaissance painters or deified by centuries of religion. I want us to consider Mary as a flesh-and-blood teenage girl, anxious to do God's will, yet anxious also about her own future. The format I have chosen is not the usual sermon style, but that of a letter: a letter Mary has written to someone very close to her. In this letter Mary is trying to explain what it all means. So try to put yourselves back in time more than 2000 years to a warmer day and another place, when the Prince of Peace has not yet come but remains an eagerly awaited promise.
Dear Mother,
I arrived at Zechariah and Elizabeth's house last night just before the evening meal. I am glad the light is lasting longer, otherwise I never would have found their house. It's much smaller than I expected. Tell Father that priests seem to be as poorly paid as potters.
Cousin Elizabeth has given me a cot off of the central room where cooking and baking take place. It's comfortable, but I shall miss the sound of my brothers snoring nearby.
Zechariah and Elizabeth send their greetings.
The journey here took much longer and was harder than I had expected. Several times I had to ask Ben Juron to stop the donkeys, so I could run into the bushes to be sick. The first time, I cried. I was so embarrassed and I felt so ill. But by the third wave of nausea, I just said, "Sorry, folks. Guess it's the heat."
Of course, you and I know it's not the heat. I felt uncomfortable lying about my condition. I guess not saying anything isn't really a lie, but it feels like one to me. I felt like an imposter saying it was the heat. Who ever heard of a Jewish girl who gets sick from a little sunshine? But don't worry, Mother. I won't tell anybody. I promised you I wouldn't, and I won't. I hope you get used to the idea soon, though. This event can only be kept a secret a few more months. Then Mrs. Yorsef and the Labans will have to know, just like everybody else.
I love you, Mother, and I know it's hard for you to get used to the idea that I am pregnant. "Every mother's worst fear," you said when I told you. I know it is, and I am very sorry for your pain. I did not mean to hurt you. I have tried to be a good and dutiful daughter, but sometimes one has to make decisions for oneself. Your anger and disappointment have hurt me deeply. I am writing because I hate for our parting to have been such an ugly one. I am not a bad girl, a disrespectful child or a slut -- although I know I seem one to you. I am sorry for you that it happened this way. It wasn't what I had expected either, but I have decided that since I am now in an adult situation, I shall be an adult about it.
"Who is the father?!" you demanded to know. Mother, how can I answer that question? It baffles me as much as it may baffle future generations if this child is indeed the Messiah God sends.
"God wouldn't send his Messiah through you!" you said. "You are a stubborn, silly sixteen-year old with no experience, no husband, and no money. God would not choose you."
Mother, I agree. But God has.
Again, I am sorry for you that it happened this way. I know how pleased and excited you were about the coming wedding. I know how much you and Father think of Joseph and how upset you are to think that I have ruined my future as a woman married to a good and pious man.
As I packed to leave, I saw the robe you'd been weaving for me. The colors look so beautiful in the pattern you've chosen. It's some of your best work. I know how much of your love and dreams for me went into those skeins of wool, and I ache to think how much hurt you now feel. I know you and Father scrimped and saved in order to provide a good dowry. I realize you were excited that I was to marry someone of Joseph's stature and promise. And he was a good choice. He's a good man, faithful and kind. He has humor and heart and much skill at his trade.
I was "lucky to attract his interest," you said. Yes, but he was fortunate too. I would have been a loving wife and a hardworking, capable partner and mother. Now I suppose I shall be one without the other.
Mother, I realize you are angry with me -- that you feel ashamed because I have shamed the family and disappointed you terribly. I know you don't believe what I told you, and I am beginning to believe you never will; that perhaps I'll go full term, or a full lifetime without the support of my family. Such thoughts grieve me terribly but, as I said, "I'm an adult now," so I must face adult hurts and hardships.
Trying to talk to you and Father and contemplating breaking the news to Joseph, I keep wondering, "Am I crazy?" But being in the presence of the barren Elizabeth now six months pregnant at an age when most women are grandmothers, I see that it takes a miracle to recognize a miracle. Suddenly, I understood that you or Father or Joseph could not understand, because you haven't been in a position where something impossible happened because God made it happen. But Elizabeth has been in that position. Her gray hair and swelling belly are concrete proof that she knows God's action first-hand, and she could see that God has blessed me and chosen me for something special -- not because I am a wonderful person, just because God has.
After our family arguments and scenes last week, meeting with Elizabeth was an incredible relief. She already knew! I didn't have to tell her. When she heard my greeting, she said the babe in her womb leaped for joy, and that she knew at once that I was pregnant and that the child of my womb was blessed by God. It was such a joy to hear some voice other than my own acknowledge what God has done. I can remember exactly what she said:
"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 voice, 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."
I felt such relief hearing a human confirmation of what the angel had said to me months before. When I'm with Elizabeth and we talk of our pregnancies and our hopes for our children, I get excited and feel so alive. But sometimes, like trying to go to sleep under the stars during the journey, or last night when I was awake and couldn't hear Benjamin and James snoring in the next room, I get frightened. I wonder what will happen to me. What will happen to this child I carry?
I know I cannot depend on you and Father for support. You have other children still to raise and feed. I know my dowry is forfeited, and I am sorry for the senseless financial hardship I have caused.
I also can't help but see your tear-stained face, and the worry behind your anger when you said to me, "The world is not kind to single women with children." I know I shall have to go it alone, and I've been wondering what I shall do. I have so few skills. I can bake bread, garden, weave cloth, make pottery, or clean another person's house.
I've been trying to remember women from home who raised children by themselves. One was Anna, whose husband died and left her well provided. Another was the widow Zephra, who had three young children. She seemed to have a hard, dreary life. I remember her coming to Father that time to have her favorite bowl repaired after one of the children accidentally had broken it. I recall how upset she was and how worried about the cost of the repair. I was so glad when Father told her he'd fix it for free.
Oh, yes, there was one other person. I never knew her name, and you would have been upset if you had known that I had spoken to her. That woman who never wore a veil and had such beautiful hair. I talked to her once in the marketplace. She told me she had a little boy she was raising by herself. I admired her, but I could see from the way the men treated her that her life was very hard.
Well, at least my child will have a mother to provide for him. Mother, at every stop on our journey we were accosted by children. They appeared as if from nowhere asking for money, food, anything. It was heartbreaking to see. They were ragged, dirty, hungry, and parentless. The littlest ones would cry so pitifully. Those old enough to talk would beg.
"Bread, kind lady? Milk, kind lady? Give us food. Lady, we are hungry!"
I've never thought of my life as a sheltered one, but I have never seen such poverty as I witnessed on this trip. It is so demeaning to see -- not just small children of four or five years of age but elderly people and the sick, all begging, all hungry, all in desperate need. People seem to lose a part of their soul when their stomachs are empty day after day. Their eyes have a vacant look as though no one lives there anymore. And the normal courtesies and manners, "Please," or "Thank you," or a friendly "Hello," aren't even possible. There's no energy for being polite -- no thought but how to survive.
It was disheartening to be surrounded by so many of God's children and not to have the money or the food to help them. There I had thought the widow Zephra with her three children was poor, but these people literally have nowhere to go, no place to sleep but the fields, and no guarantee of food except other people's generosity.
Merchant Simon said, "They could get work if they weren't lazy."
Maybe some of the older people could, but what about the children? What would they do? The land in that area is so barren and sandy, no vegetables or grass could possibly grow here. I doubt there's much anyone can do but pray to God and share one's meal as many of us travelers did.
Once while we were getting water at a village well, a Roman chariot came racing down the road without slowing down. It was as though the men, women, and children who had to rush to get out of his way didn't even exist. He must have been a centurion or some other important Roman officer. His bright red cloak was decorated in purple, and his horses' harness was trimmed in gold. The riches of his equipage offered a stark contrast to the dry, ugly landscape and the sunburned, hopeless faces of the people from that village. I doubt they see many horses in this region, since only the very wealthy can afford them.
It occurred to me that selling one of those horses would provide enough money to feed these homeless children for more than a year. Merchant Simon just laughed at me and told me, "It's just like a silly woman to have no head for business. Those who have, get more, while those who don't have, won't ever have anything in this Godforsaken world."
I don't care if I'm impractical. I don't think God has forsaken the world. I don't think God has forsaken us. I don't believe God intends for some people to sit on thrones of gold or race their chariots through a village street while its inhabitants can't even afford sandals. It reminds me of that song of the Anawim Community:
He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
and lifted up the lowly;
he has filled the hungry with good things,
and sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel,
Maybe that is why God has chosen me. Maybe God's preference for the poor means God doesn't want his son born into the family of a king or nobleman. After all, how can a rich man understand what it is to be poor? And how can one defend the poor or defeat the rich if one is oneself rich and powerful? I guess wealth and power are not the things that God most wants from us or wants to give us.
If this son of mine is to be the champion of the poor and the redeemer of Israel, his life will not be an easy one. Men like that man in the chariot will want to kill him. Rich men will hate him and call him a revolutionary. Poor ones will want to use him up in their own need and greed.
And, he won't have time for his mother. I will have to stand aside and say, "He isn't my son. He doesn't belong to me. His work is his own. I am still the handmaid of the Lord and I must not interfere."
Mother, I am having to make a lot of changes in the way I think about the world and how we are to live. I wish you and I could talk of these things without anger and accusations. I want my child to know his grandmother.
Signed with love,
Your daughter, Mary
* * * * *
How the Mighty Have Fallen, and May Fall
Luke 1:39-55
by James L. Evans
The visual images of Saddam Hussein after his capture contrast sharply with the carefully controlled images we had all seen prior to the war. Before the war, we saw Saddam amble regally among his people, larger than life, the very picture of power and control. Now the images are of a bearded and scruffy Saddam, a vagabond refugee, stripped of power and reduced to the status of mere mortal.
There is great hope that with his capture the daily bloodshed will finally begin to subside. Also, with his capture, there is optimism that the Iraqi people will begin to have confidence that the bloody and brutal reign is finally over -- that he is not coming back to power. There is hope that now some sense of normalcy and peace may begin to dawn.
For those of us who follow the Revised Common Lectionary, the capture of Saddam comes at an interesting time. The Gospel reading for this week is the narrative of Mary's visit to her cousin Elizabeth. Mary, we know, has recently learned she is to give birth to the Messiah. Elizabeth and her elderly husband, Zechariah, are struggling with their own birth miracle, as she is pregnant with a son who will become John the Baptist.
As Mary and Elizabeth meet and the significance of what is happening to the two of them begins to sink in, Mary suddenly bursts forth in song. The song has come to be known as The Magnificat, from the Latin of the opening phrase, "My soul magnifies the Lord." The song has become one of our most treasured images for understanding God's purpose in sending Jesus into the world.
As we listen to the song, there is one phrase in particular that seems to immediately connect with the recent events in Iraq. Mary sings: "He has brought down the powerful from their thrones."
This great reversal is present in many forms throughout the Gospel and in the prophetic tradition that preceded it. And it's perfectly understandable why. Israel had been a minor player on the stage of world events almost from its very beginning. They were never a match for the great armies of Assyria, Persia, Greece, or Rome. All these, and more, tramped their way across Israel. Almost all of them stopped and looted and generally exerted power for a while. The people of Israel had in their historical DNA a long memory of being ruled by others.
And so it makes sense that, in their deepest longing for the coming Messiah, one of their hopes would be a reversal of power. It was believed and hoped that one day the mighty would be thrown down. The victims of tyranny longed for the day when those who had gained wealth and influence at the expense of the poor would become poor themselves.
The people of Iraq are certainly in a position to understand the longings for such a great reversal. After many years of deprivation and cruelty, seeing Saddam in custody must surely kindle in the hearts of many of them the hope that a better day is coming. They may have some concerns, certainly, that they have passed from the hands of one powerful regime into the hands of another. But if the United States and Britain keep their word, the Iraqi people will eventually have a chance to govern themselves.
But what about us? Where should we find ourselves in the song? As we watch Saddam tumble from power, and as we hear Mary sing, "He has brought down the powerful from their thrones," where are we? We are certainly not among the millions who have felt the iron heel of Saddam's oppression. We have not tasted the stale bread of the poverty his cruelty made. And even if he was a threat to us, which is now debatable, and had some role in the terrorist attacks on our country, which also is not at all clear, none of that would raise him to the level of having any real power over us.
Consequently, it may not be appropriate for us to sing Mary's song. We are not in a place to put her words on our lips. We are not oppressed; we are not powerless. We sent an army halfway round the world and ended a regime. We have sustained that army of several hundred thousand for many months while building a new regime. These are not the activities of a powerless people; these are the actions of the powerful. If we are not careful we will distort Mary's song by substituting "we" for "he": "We have brought down the powerful from their thrones."
Richard Horsley, in his provocative book Jesus and Empire (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2002), struggles with this problem extensively. How can North American Christians, endowed with so much wealth and power, give proper expression to a message of good news that was aimed at the poor and disenfranchised? In fact, because the language of the Gospel does not speak to our actual situation, we have changed the meaning of the language so that it addresses what we do see as our need. The effect of this, Horsley argues, is that we "depoliticize" Jesus. We have taken what was basically political and economic language (e.g., "forgive our debts") and turned it into exclusively religious language. Debts are spiritual debts. Oppression is the oppressing power of sin. Forgiveness (liberation) is freedom from that sin and the conferring of a blessed state of being with God (righteousness).
If we read the Gospel in its stark political reality we would be embarrassed to discover that much of it condemns our way of life. We are the wealthy who hoard treasures on earth. We are the powerful who exploit (or allow exploitation) so that we may continue to enjoy prosperity.
If all of this is true, what is our response to the Gospel? Horsley, and others, believe that the Gospel does have a liberating force for North Americans. Understanding the stance God has taken for the poor and the disenfranchised challenges us to also stand with them. The Gospel can free us from a spirit of consumerism that drives us to buy and have more and more things. The Gospel challenges us to adopt a simpler and less costly style of life so that we can have more money to use to help others.
The Gospel can do what Mary's song says it can do: It can remove the powerful from their thrones. We can choose to relinquish our place of power and privilege so that others who share the planet with us may share more fully in its bounty: "He has lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty."
The debate over the legitimacy of the Iraq war notwithstanding, it is a good thing that Saddam is out of power. His cruelty and savagery will be put to an end once and for all. What we must be careful to avoid is the belief that power and virtue are the same -- that because our power has removed an evil power that our power is good. We cannot always be sure that will be true. If we allow our power to be used to exploit the weak, then our days are numbered. We will find ourselves in Mary's song after all.
Team Comments
George Murphy responds: Several years ago during an Advent week when I was getting ready to preach on this Gospel text, a Bach setting of The Magnificat was played on public radio when I was in the car. The text was, the announcer said, "a hymn in honor of Mary." Boy, did that ever give me a lead-in for a sermon! Nothing could have been further from Bach's mind -- let alone Mary's. The Magnificat is a hymn in praise of -- well, in praise of God, of course.
Which is not at all to deny appropriate honors to Mary. "Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed," she sings (Luke 1:48). A note on that verse in an old Roman Catholic Bible says, "These words are a prediction of that honor which the church in all ages should pay to the Blessed Virgin. Let Protestants examine whether they are in any way concerned in this prophecy." It is, I think, a legitimate comment that Protestants ought to take seriously.
Mary, as the Council of Ephesus affirmed in the fifth century, is properly said to be the God-bearer (theotokos, sometimes translated "Mother of God"). The hymn "Ye Watchers and Ye Holy Ones" (based on the Orthodox Magnificat) in some of our hymnals calls her "higher than the cherubim" and "more glorious than the seraphim" (e.g., Lutheran Book of Worship 175).
And yet Mary in our text is a poor teenage girl who looks to God as her savior. The honor to be paid to Mary has nothing to do with any intrinsic merit or glory that she possesses. Nor, for that matter does it have anything to do with any abasement and poverty. Luther expounds on this point in his "Commentary on the Magnificat" (Luther's Works, American Edition, 21: 314):
"[S]he does not glory in her worthiness nor yet in her unworthiness, but solely in the divine regard, which is so exceedingly good and gracious that He deigned to look upon such a lowly maiden, and to look upon her in so glorious and honorable a fashion. They, therefore, do her an injustice who hold that she gloried, not indeed in her virginity, but in her humility. She gloried neither in the one nor in the other, but only in the gracious regard of God. Hence the stress lies not on the word 'low estate' but on the word 'regarded.' For not her humility but God's regard is to be praised. When a prince takes a poor beggar by the hand, it is not the beggar's lowliness but the prince's grace and goodness that is to be commended."
Similar things can be said about the social and economic situation that Mary's song speaks to. The powerful are to be brought down from their thrones, and the lowly are to be lifted up -- but that is not because the lowly are more moral or nicer people than the powerful. The so-called "preferential option for the poor" should not be taken to mean that God simply likes poor people more than rich people. The poor can be as greedy, jealous, and mean as the rich, and a revolution that simply reverses their roles may do nothing to bring about justice. But, having little, the poor can see that their hope must be in the divine regard, while it's all too easy for the powerful to think that they can rely on what they have.
"He has brought down the powerful from their thrones" will naturally make many people this Sunday think of the one-time absolute ruler of Iraq found hiding in a hole in the ground. We want to be careful about how we deal with that allusion, but I think we don't need to be so careful that we avoid it entirely.
How are the powerful to be brought down? It would be convenient for God to do that miraculously, but it generally doesn't work that way. Centuries before the time of Mary, a prophet of Israel exulted over the impending fall of Babylon (in present-day Iraq!), using words borrowed from Canaanite myth: "How you are fallen from heaven, O Day Star, Son of Dawn! How you are cut down to the ground, you who laid the nations low!" (Isaiah 14:12). But it was no mythical process or supernatural event that brought this about. It was the armies of Cyrus -- "the LORD's anointed," even though he didn't know the LORD (Isaiah 45:1-7).
Hitler was brought down and the Holocaust was stopped by allied armed forces. It would be nice if such things could happen peacefully, but tyrants seldom go gently. God is apparently willing sometimes to use military force or violent revolution in order to bring down the mighty from their thrones.
But we shouldn't give ourselves too much credit for being the means by which evildoers are removed from power, or imagine that the goal of accomplishing that justifies whatever means we use. After all, one of the major instruments that God used to bring down Hitler was Joseph Stalin! The fact that the United States and its allies removed Saddam Hussein from power does not prove that we are just and virtuous people. We should certainly be glad that he has been brought down. But as the most powerful nation in the world, most of whose citizens are wealthy beyond the dreams even of rich people of biblical times, and certainly of those in the third world today, we should be thinking about how to be involved in the other part of the process that Mary sings about -- lifting up the lowly.
Bringing down the powerful from their thrones often requires only a blunt-force instrument. Being the means by which the lowly are lifted up -- and that without inciting them to envy and revenge -- generally requires more subtlety and perseverance. Again, it is God's work, but it is work that we are clearly called to be involved in.
Carlos Wilton responds: The Mary we know from the Scriptures is a person of great fidelity and courage, but she's rather two-dimensional, psychologically speaking. Carter, you've helped us imagine what anxious thoughts could have been racing through this teenager's mind in that very awkward situation of unforeseen pregnancy during her time of betrothal.
As I read your creative re-telling of Mary's tale, though, I did wonder what happened with Joseph. Since your narrative follows the rough outlines of Luke's account (in which Joseph is a minor figure), you've evidently decided to mention him only in passing, suggesting that -- at least at the time your story is taking place -- Mary doesn't have his support. Perhaps this is the time when, as Matthew tells us, Joseph is pondering whether or not to "dismiss her quietly." Behind those curt words of Matthew's is a world of turmoil and pain, and your story provides us with just a hint of what that experience could have been like from Mary's perspective. Yet I, for one, would have liked to have heard Mary say just a little more in her letter about the status of her relationship with Joseph in these days when she's journeying to the home of her cousin Elizabeth.
We Protestants have a tough time with Mary. The Reformers discarded the extremes of Marian devotion that had come to dominate popular European piety in their day, but they probably went a little overboard in neglecting this important woman of faith. Recently all the Marys in the New Testament seem to be getting good press (see the December 8 Newsweek cover story). A Christianity Today cover story, "The Blessed Evangelical Mary: Why We Shouldn't Ignore Her Any Longer," by Timothy George, posted 12/05/2003 on their website (http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2003/012/1.34.html), is a forthright reassessment of this central figure:
"The New Testament portrays Mary as among the last at the cross, and among the first in the Upper Room. She bridges not only the Old and New Testaments at Jesus' birth, but also the close of his earthly ministry and the birth of the church. It is significant that in Eastern iconography, Mary is never depicted alone, but always with Christ, the apostles, and the saints.
"At the foot of the cross, Mary represents the church as a faithful remnant. Already before the Reformation, Mary was seen as the archetype of the remnant church: her faithfulness alone kept the church intact during Christ's suffering on the cross....
"Today, perhaps more than ever, the image of Mary under the cross speaks to the church, which is increasingly the persecuted church ... the Mary of the Gospels stands in solidarity with all believers in Jesus who also live under the shadow of the Cross, including many whose lives are at risk today because of their witness for Christ."
Related Illustrations
Some may be familiar with the American hymn "How Can I Keep from Singing?" by Robert Lowry. This lovely melody is undergoing a revival of late, and is beginning to make its way into many of our denominational hymnbooks. Like Mary's Magnificat, it speaks bluntly of social justice. The first stanza is the most familiar:
My life flows on in endless song,
Above earth's lamentation;
I hear the real though far-off hymn
That hails a new creation.
Through all the tumult and the strife,
I hear that music ringing;
It sounds and echoes in my soul;
How can I keep from singing?
One stanza of this hymn, however, is somewhat alarming -- so much so that it's not always included in versions meant for congregational singing. This stanza was added to the hymn in the 1950s by a woman named Doris Plenn. She wrote it to honor the witness of friends who had chosen to go to prison rather than cooperate with Senator Joseph McCarthy and his infamous House Un-American Activities Committee. It is, in its own way, as earthy and confrontational as Mary's song about the rich being sent empty away: and in its frank condemnation of tyranny speaks to the events of recent days in Iraq:
When tyrants tremble, sick with fear,
And hear their death-knells ringing,
When friends rejoice both far and near,
How can I keep from singing?
In prison cell and dungeon vile,
Our thoughts to them are winging;
When friends by shame are undefiled,
How can I keep from singing?
***
Mary, did you know that your baby boy would someday walk on water?
Mary, did you know that your baby boy would save our sons and daughters?
Did you know that your baby boy has come to make you new?
This child that you delivered, will soon deliver you.
--"Mary, Did You Know?" words by Mark Lowry, music by Buddy Green, Hope Publishing Company.
***
"For many modern women, the Mary of Christian tradition is at best an irrelevance, at worst one more reminder of the way in which no woman can live up the image of perfection -- perpetual virgin/perfect mother -- created by centuries of male theologians. What can speak to us, though, is her humanity. Mary shares many women's experiences: her early arranged marriage, her struggle to keep the family together after the death of her husband, her love for her son, and her grief at his death. It is the human Mary who reaches across the centuries to women in every age and every culture."
--Dr. Helen K. Bond, lecturer in the New Testament at the University of Edinburgh, "Who Was the real Virgin Mary?" in The Guardian, December 19, 2002
***
"Mary, mother of our Lord, I wish I could be as pure a disciple as you were even from the beginning! ...
"For it was an angel that spoke to you, a sky-strider, an inhabitant of holy heaven whose face caught fire from standing near to God, whose glory darkened all the common world in which you lived.
"Yet you did not hesitate in fear or horror. You said, 'Yes.'
"For history was pouring into your womb the whole history of the Israel backward through David even unto Abraham; yet you were but a single person, one lone woman. How could a vessel of simple human limitation hold twenty centuries of national endeavor -- triumph, failure, sin, atonement, trouble, prayer, and promise -- and not burst open? But you would burst, Mary. You would spew the son of David into Judah again, and he would keep every past promise of God.
"And you said, 'Yes.'
"For heaven itself was swelling within you, and you were the door. Not in terrible glory would he come, this Son of the Most High God. Not in the primal blinding light, nor as the shout by which God uttered the universe, nor yet with the trumpet that shall conclude it, but through your human womb, as an infant bawling and hungry. By your labor, Mary, by the fierce contractions of your uterus, eternity would enter time. The angel said, 'Will you be the door of the Lord into this place?'
"And you said, 'Yes.'.... You, the first of all the disciples of Jesus, said, 'Yes.'"
--Walter Wangerin, Preparing for Jesus (Zondervan, 1999), pp. 68-69
Worship Resources
by Chuck Cammarata
CALL TO WORSHIP, Option 1
In keeping with Carter Shelley's story sermon this week, why not have a first-person liturgist as well? Our first option for a call to worship this week will be a story liturgy. Have someone dressed as Mary come to the lectern or just to the front of the sanctuary. She would say something like the following:
Why me? I can't really say. I don't really question it anymore. All I know is that the angel told me that I had been chosen for a very special task. After I got over the shock of it, I was deeply humbled. Chosen to give birth to our Messiah, the Savior. Who could I tell? Who could I talk to without sounding like a lunatic? So I decided to go to see Elizabeth, my cousin, who has also been chosen for a special birth.
When I arrived, Elizabeth and I both felt great joy. Even the baby in her womb jumped for joy. My soul glorified the Lord. My spirit rejoiced within me. For I knew that these children, mine and Elizabeth's, would be the beginning of salvation coming to all people. I knew that the end of the proud had come, that the beginning of the exultation of the lowly was coming.
I burst out into song, which was not like me. But I couldn't keep the joy inside. And neither should you. Rejoice, mercy has come! Freedom has come! Healing has come! Rejoice!
Mary would then leave as the music for the opening hymn begins; this hymn should obviously be joyful! "Joy to the World" would be an excellent choice.
CALL TO WORSHIP, Option 2 (based on The Magnificat)
LEADER: My soul glorifies the Lord.
PEOPLE: My spirit rejoices in God our savior.
LEADER: For God's mercy extends
PEOPLE: To all who fear him.br> LEADER: God has performed mighty deeds;
PEOPLE: Scattering the proud of heart;
LEADER: Bringing down evil rulers from their thrones;
PEOPLE: Lifting up the humble;
LEADER: And filling the hungry
PEOPLE: With good things!
LEADER: So, come, let us worship God!
PEOPLE: Amen
PRAYER OF CONFESSION, Option 1
You could do this one as a first-person confession as well. Zechariah would be a good choice for a confession. Have the actor come to the lectern and say:
I am Zechariah. I also had an angel speak to me, as Mary did. But I didn't receive the angel's words as humbly as Mary did. I was skeptical. I thought I was just seeing things, or maybe I didn't want to believe in angels and spirits and all that. I'm not sure I even know why I was so skeptical. I mean there was the evidence -- the truth -- standing right in front of me and I was rejecting it. Maybe you do that too. Accept only what you can understand. Well, I just want to say to you that I have come to understand that God and the things of God are so much bigger, so far beyond us, that it is really foolish to believe in only what we can understand. If you still struggle with that -- why don't you let me pray for you this morning? Will you bow your heads and pray with me?
God of all creation, we confess that we have our doubts. We live in a skeptical age and have been infected by this skepticism deep in our spirits. Help us to overcome our culture's belief that the only reality is what we can see. Help us to know that your greatness, glory, and magnificence pervade our world, visibly and invisibly. Help us to accept that there is so much we do not -- cannot -- understand, but that it is all ultimately in your hands, and therefore we can relax. For this truth we thank you, Lord. Amen.
PRAYER OF CONFESSION, Option 2
Let us pray. Father, Creator, the world says that if it is not visible, if it cannot be touched or heard, then it is not real. Forgive us for limiting you to our ability to sense or understand. Forgive us for thinking that if we cannot understand it, it must not be real. Open us to the truth that there is reality beyond our ability to grasp or experience. Teach us to be at peace with this knowledge. We pray it in Jesus' name. Amen.
ASSURANCE OF PARDON
Seek and you will find. Ask and it will be given. Knock and it will be opened to you. This is an assurance we need when it comes to understanding the deep truths of God. But be assured: if you continually seek God's truth, you will find it. God will reveal to you all you need to know to live abundantly, joyfully, peacefully. Amen.
PASTORAL PRAYER
A tyrant has been captured, Lord. One who rejected all your ways. One who placed power above justice. One who lived in luxury while others starved around him. One who brought terror and grief to many. Father, we ask that wisdom be with those who will seek to bring this tyrant to justice. We pray that bringing him to justice will further the process of bringing peace to a strife-torn part of the world. And we pray that in the face of all tyranny -- and it will never be completely overcome in this world -- in the face of all tyranny we, your people, will always rely on you. We pray that we will be so tuned in to your presence with us that no tyranny will lead us to think that you have abandoned us or forsaken us. For you never leave us. Even in the valley of the shadow of death, you are there with us. There is no tyranny, no injustice, no illness, no terror -- nothing that can remove us from your care. Help us to be convinced of this today and, in our confidence of your presence and ultimate triumph, enable us to convince those around us of your sovereignty and compassion. We pray it in the name of our savior, Jesus the Christ. Amen.
HYMNS AND SONGS
You probably don't need many suggestions for music the Sunday before Christmas. Just turn to the part of your church's hymnal where the Christmas and Advent hymns are located. Almost any will do. Especially good for our theme this Sunday would be the following:
O Come, O Come, Emmanuel
Thou Didst Leave Thy Throne
Angels We Have Heard on High
How Great Our Joy
One Small Child
A Children's Sermon
by Wesley Runk
Luke 1:39-45
Text: "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." (vv. 39-40)
Object: A small suitcase, a map and some sandals
Good morning, boys and girls. Today we are going to think about visiting someone who lives in another town. How many of you have a relative like a grandparent or an uncle or an aunt or maybe even a cousin who lives far away? (let them answer) Very good, almost everyone has someone who lives out of town. (let a few of them tell you about their relatives) Do they ever visit you? (let them answer)
How do you get ready to visit your grandpa or grandma? Do you just walk out the door and down the street to meet them? (let them answer) You take something with you when you are going a long way, don't you? (hold up the suitcase) What is this? (let them answer) What do you put in this suitcase? (let them answer) Very good!
And how do you know the way to get there? (let them answer) How do you get out of town and what highway do you take? (ask a few of them for directions) Do you go north, south, east, or west? How many hours will it take? Do you pack a lunch or stop at a restaurant when you are on the road to grandpa's house? (show them the map) You'd better have one of these with you when you travel a long distance.
Finally, are you going in a car, on the train, or flying in an airplane? (let them answer) Most of you go in a car that moves on a road.
But we did not always have cars or planes or trains. What did people use to do when they went a long distance? (let them answer) Some people rode horses or sat in a wagon pulled by horses or donkeys. How else did they get there? (let them answer) That's right, they walked. They walked for several days. (show them the sandals)
I want to share with you the story about a very young woman who went to visit her cousin. Her cousin was a woman named Elizabeth and she was married to a man named Zechariah. It was not an easy trip because Elizabeth and Zechariah lived in the hill country. Have you ever walked up and down hills? (let them answer) It can be a hard walk. And even more than this was the fact that this woman was pregnant. How many of you know what I mean when I say that she was pregnant? (let them answer) That's right, she was carrying a baby, and so walking up and down hills was hard. But the woman never complained, she only kept asking herself one question. The question was, "Why me?" Why did God choose her, a young woman who was engaged but not married, to have this baby?
This was a very good question and one that no one seemed to know the answer to. When she arrived at the home of her cousin Elizabeth and her husband Zechariah, she was greeted very warmly. As a matter of fact, Elizabeth was also pregnant and she felt her baby kind of jump inside of her. She called her visitor a blessed person, special among all women. Do you know who this person was that traveled on hilly roads to reach the home of her cousin? (let them answer) That's right, her name was Mary. Do you know the name of the baby that was inside of Mary? (let them answer) That's right, it was Jesus.
Mary would learn, as would Elizabeth and Zechariah and the entire world, who Jesus was in the days to come but for now it was a secret that only God and Mary shared. In a couple of days we will celebrate the birthday of Jesus and we will give thanks to God for his great gift and for choosing Mary to be the mother of God. Amen.
* * * * *
The Immediate Word, December 21, 2003, issue.
Copyright 2003 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to The Immediate Word service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons and in worship and classroom settings only. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., P.O. Box 4503, Lima, Ohio 45802-4503.
