First Encounter
Stories
Contents
“First Encounter” by Keith Hewitt
“That’s Weird” by C. David McKirachan
First Encounter
by Keith Hewitt
Luke 1:39-45, (46-55)
Like any good hostess she gestured for her guest to take a seat, then busied herself pouring water and putting some bread on a plate before waddling over to the table and offering it to the young woman who sat there. The young woman’s head bobbed in thanks, but she did not eat or drink until her hostess sat down -- a not-very-graceful process that involved planting her feet and resting a hand on the table to help guide herself to a soft landing on the seat.
Once she was safely seated, the young woman tore off a piece of bread and ate it hungrily, followed up with a sip of water. The older woman watched, smiled, and said, “I knew you must be hungry, after your journey.” She patted her own belly, then. “And surprised, I would guess, to find your old Aunt Elizabeth with child. That’s something you never expected to see, isn’t it?”
The young woman hesitated, bought herself a little time by tearing off another piece of bread and eating it -- slowly. Finally, in a voice almost too soft for her aunt to hear, she said, “To be honest, Aunt Elizabeth, I already knew.”
Elizabeth looked puzzled. “Mary, how did you know?”
If possible, her voice grew even softer, and she lowered her eyes, so she was looking at the table between them. “An angel told me.” She paused for a heartbeat or two, then raised her eyes until she was looking steadily at her aunt. “His name was Gabriel, and he told me that you were in your sixth month, even though we all thought you were…barren.”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed, and she just stared at her niece in silence. When it had become sufficiently uncomfortable, Mary shifted in her seat and added, “There’s more. The angel also told me that I would become pregnant, even though I’ve never—you know.” Her expression changed, her eyes were pleading now as she studied her aunt’s masklike expression.
And then…
Elizabeth burst out laughing, reached across the table with both her hands and grabbed her niece’s hands, held them tightly. “I knew it! I knew you must be carrying a son, because when you showed up at my door, the child inside me leapt, as though he were trying to dance in celebration!”
“Then you believe me?” Mary’s voice betrayed surprise.
“Of course I believe you, my child! You are carrying the son of God in your womb, and my own son leaps for joy. How could I not believe?” She released one of Mary’s hands, then, and fanned herself with her own hand. “This is such amazing news! What did your mother say? She must have been overjoyed!”
Mary’s eyes widened. “Mother? I haven’t told her anything -- are you mad?”
“Dear, how could you not tell her such exciting news? She would be --”
“Mortified? Ashamed? Disgusted? How can I tell my mother I’m with child, when Joseph and I are unmarried?”
“She’s going to know eventually, now, isn’t she?” Elizabeth asked gently.
“My plan is to put it off for as long as I can -- maybe I will figure out what to say.”
“Maybe I can help you?”
“Maybe,” Mary said glumly, and shook her head. “Don’t misunderstand me, Aunt Elizabeth—I am thrilled beyond measure, I am honored as no one has ever been honored before, but I am also frightened. I carry the son of God—can you imagine what that feels like? Knowing that all of God’s promises, all of our people’s hopes and dreams—everything we have been praying for for centuries…is nestled in my womb, defenseless and totally dependent on me.” She took a deep breath. “Of all the daughters of Israel, God reached out to me—the lowest of the low. For the rest of history, people will look at me and see God’s mother, not just a girl of no particular consequence—and I don’t know what to make of that.”
Elizabeth considered all that her niece had said, then smiled, reached out and took her hand again. “This is what you make of it, dear Mary—however humble, however meek…however scared you feel, God chose you because you were the exact, perfect vessel his son required. For your time, you will nurture him as best you can, until your days are accomplished and he is delivered—and then you will nurture him some more, until he has grown to be the young man who changes the world.”
She patted Mary’s hand and said gently, “It’s really very simple—God trusts you. God has faith in you, or you would not have been the one who was chosen--and if God has faith in you, who are you to say you’re not worthy?”
Mary studied her aunt’s face. “Do you really believe that?”
“I do. Look at us—I’m an old woman who should be beyond childbearing, and yet I am blessed with a life within me; and you are a young virgin who has never known a man, and yet you too are blessed with a life within you. God has chosen us, and we will not let him down. Between them, our sons will change history.”
Mary smiled, and for the first time in weeks she felt a sense of calm. Maybe things would work out, she thought, and her hopes turned toward an uneventful pregnancy…
* * *
That’s Weird
by C. David McKirachan
Luke 1:39-45, (46-55)
I’ve been pregnant a couple of times. Well, not me, but my wife has been pregnant a couple of times. One of my most vivid memories from then was her eyes opening wide, she sitting up very straight, and putting her hand to her expanded belly. Then she’d reach for my hand and put it where hers had been. It was a strange feeling. It was one of our kids, tap dancing in there. From out here, it was strange.
After some thinking about it, I came to the conclusion that it would be a totally different experience for her. It would be strange at first but then it would be amazing, full of expectancy and hope, a veritable miracle happening right there inside her.
Mary was carrying a baby, not in her arms, but within her. If that isn’t a miracle, I don’t know what is. The angel’s visitation pales in the face of the miracle of life growing within you. But this pregnancy made of her a symbol of a broken covenant between families. She was an unwed mother, carrying a living sign that her family’s word and bond was no good, demonstrating to the community that she was a sign of shame for them and for her future husband. Most men would not put up with this. They would reject her and the child. She was eligible for public humiliation and punishment. Some would even say she should be executed.
Elizabeth was also carrying a child (under similar but not identical conditions). Both of them were eligible to be on the receiving end of scorn. Elizabeth because she had been called ‘barren,’ a term that placed her in a category of being cursed. So called barren women were considered less than women. They were eligible to be rejected by their husbands, thrown out of the house like the trash they were considered to be. This child was a game changer for her, a miracle that saved her from public scorn and personal torment.
These two got together. A miracle meeting a miracle. No wonder the kid jumped.
I’ve heard people say that they don’t want to push one of their kids into some sort of religion, so they’ll let the growing kid make up their own mind when they want to. But religion can rarely mean anything to someone who has had no experience of a faith community. Faith is something to be experienced not understood. Faith arises from an experience of devotion and tradition and practice in a church setting and in the home. No one can learn to swim without getting in the water.
From the outside our songs, our prayers, our dinners, and mission make no sense. They are like nick knacks of life that rarely fit into the plans and functions of busy families. They don’t make sense. They’re weird.
Christmas is too. It has a sort of sentimental sense, a moment when it’s okay to focus on the family, to give, even to decorate. But the religious stuff is not only useless it’s downright strange.
Well, the Christmas story is a train wreck. Teenaged unwed mother, cuckolded groom, birth in the garage of a motel attended by smelly strangers, and a visitation by the CIA of a foreign empire. Com’on. It takes a lot of embroidery to get that one turned around into something we can swallow.
So, the sentimentalized version that sanitizes the parents, stable, refugee status, dazed and smelly shepherds, makes the Magi into kings who bless the stable instead of showing up at a house two years later. And the new version that excludes the uncomfortable stuff and lets in the fun stuff becomes our plastic gospel.
From the outside all this dancing around makes no sense at all. Whether it is a gritty portrayal of faith in the face of difficulty or a sanguine sigh at our cute traditions, who cares? Let’s get it over and move on to business as usual.
From the outside it’s foolish and downright terrible the way we waste our time and squander our resources acting like fools over nothing more meaningful than Charlie Brown’s Christmas. Not to insult that long suffering dude.
Then there’s the kid jumping.
As weird as that may be to us who are on the outside, for the mother it is a blessing, as uncomfortable as it may be. It is a sign that life will have its way and that that life is growing within her.
We Christians approach this season with stars in our eyes. The carols fill us with a sense of presence that is hard to explain. And in the dark stillness of Christmas Eve there is a sense that God is moving among us, touching the most painful and sad places in our lives and offering a miracle of peace, right here, right now.
The long and the short of it is, let the child be born in you.
And ye beneath life’s crushing load whose forms are bending low
Who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow
Look now for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing.
Oh rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing.
They do you know. Merry Christmas.
*****************************************
StoryShare, December 23, 2018, issue.
Copyright 2018 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. 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., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
“First Encounter” by Keith Hewitt
“That’s Weird” by C. David McKirachan
First Encounter
by Keith Hewitt
Luke 1:39-45, (46-55)
Like any good hostess she gestured for her guest to take a seat, then busied herself pouring water and putting some bread on a plate before waddling over to the table and offering it to the young woman who sat there. The young woman’s head bobbed in thanks, but she did not eat or drink until her hostess sat down -- a not-very-graceful process that involved planting her feet and resting a hand on the table to help guide herself to a soft landing on the seat.
Once she was safely seated, the young woman tore off a piece of bread and ate it hungrily, followed up with a sip of water. The older woman watched, smiled, and said, “I knew you must be hungry, after your journey.” She patted her own belly, then. “And surprised, I would guess, to find your old Aunt Elizabeth with child. That’s something you never expected to see, isn’t it?”
The young woman hesitated, bought herself a little time by tearing off another piece of bread and eating it -- slowly. Finally, in a voice almost too soft for her aunt to hear, she said, “To be honest, Aunt Elizabeth, I already knew.”
Elizabeth looked puzzled. “Mary, how did you know?”
If possible, her voice grew even softer, and she lowered her eyes, so she was looking at the table between them. “An angel told me.” She paused for a heartbeat or two, then raised her eyes until she was looking steadily at her aunt. “His name was Gabriel, and he told me that you were in your sixth month, even though we all thought you were…barren.”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed, and she just stared at her niece in silence. When it had become sufficiently uncomfortable, Mary shifted in her seat and added, “There’s more. The angel also told me that I would become pregnant, even though I’ve never—you know.” Her expression changed, her eyes were pleading now as she studied her aunt’s masklike expression.
And then…
Elizabeth burst out laughing, reached across the table with both her hands and grabbed her niece’s hands, held them tightly. “I knew it! I knew you must be carrying a son, because when you showed up at my door, the child inside me leapt, as though he were trying to dance in celebration!”
“Then you believe me?” Mary’s voice betrayed surprise.
“Of course I believe you, my child! You are carrying the son of God in your womb, and my own son leaps for joy. How could I not believe?” She released one of Mary’s hands, then, and fanned herself with her own hand. “This is such amazing news! What did your mother say? She must have been overjoyed!”
Mary’s eyes widened. “Mother? I haven’t told her anything -- are you mad?”
“Dear, how could you not tell her such exciting news? She would be --”
“Mortified? Ashamed? Disgusted? How can I tell my mother I’m with child, when Joseph and I are unmarried?”
“She’s going to know eventually, now, isn’t she?” Elizabeth asked gently.
“My plan is to put it off for as long as I can -- maybe I will figure out what to say.”
“Maybe I can help you?”
“Maybe,” Mary said glumly, and shook her head. “Don’t misunderstand me, Aunt Elizabeth—I am thrilled beyond measure, I am honored as no one has ever been honored before, but I am also frightened. I carry the son of God—can you imagine what that feels like? Knowing that all of God’s promises, all of our people’s hopes and dreams—everything we have been praying for for centuries…is nestled in my womb, defenseless and totally dependent on me.” She took a deep breath. “Of all the daughters of Israel, God reached out to me—the lowest of the low. For the rest of history, people will look at me and see God’s mother, not just a girl of no particular consequence—and I don’t know what to make of that.”
Elizabeth considered all that her niece had said, then smiled, reached out and took her hand again. “This is what you make of it, dear Mary—however humble, however meek…however scared you feel, God chose you because you were the exact, perfect vessel his son required. For your time, you will nurture him as best you can, until your days are accomplished and he is delivered—and then you will nurture him some more, until he has grown to be the young man who changes the world.”
She patted Mary’s hand and said gently, “It’s really very simple—God trusts you. God has faith in you, or you would not have been the one who was chosen--and if God has faith in you, who are you to say you’re not worthy?”
Mary studied her aunt’s face. “Do you really believe that?”
“I do. Look at us—I’m an old woman who should be beyond childbearing, and yet I am blessed with a life within me; and you are a young virgin who has never known a man, and yet you too are blessed with a life within you. God has chosen us, and we will not let him down. Between them, our sons will change history.”
Mary smiled, and for the first time in weeks she felt a sense of calm. Maybe things would work out, she thought, and her hopes turned toward an uneventful pregnancy…
* * *
That’s Weird
by C. David McKirachan
Luke 1:39-45, (46-55)
I’ve been pregnant a couple of times. Well, not me, but my wife has been pregnant a couple of times. One of my most vivid memories from then was her eyes opening wide, she sitting up very straight, and putting her hand to her expanded belly. Then she’d reach for my hand and put it where hers had been. It was a strange feeling. It was one of our kids, tap dancing in there. From out here, it was strange.
After some thinking about it, I came to the conclusion that it would be a totally different experience for her. It would be strange at first but then it would be amazing, full of expectancy and hope, a veritable miracle happening right there inside her.
Mary was carrying a baby, not in her arms, but within her. If that isn’t a miracle, I don’t know what is. The angel’s visitation pales in the face of the miracle of life growing within you. But this pregnancy made of her a symbol of a broken covenant between families. She was an unwed mother, carrying a living sign that her family’s word and bond was no good, demonstrating to the community that she was a sign of shame for them and for her future husband. Most men would not put up with this. They would reject her and the child. She was eligible for public humiliation and punishment. Some would even say she should be executed.
Elizabeth was also carrying a child (under similar but not identical conditions). Both of them were eligible to be on the receiving end of scorn. Elizabeth because she had been called ‘barren,’ a term that placed her in a category of being cursed. So called barren women were considered less than women. They were eligible to be rejected by their husbands, thrown out of the house like the trash they were considered to be. This child was a game changer for her, a miracle that saved her from public scorn and personal torment.
These two got together. A miracle meeting a miracle. No wonder the kid jumped.
I’ve heard people say that they don’t want to push one of their kids into some sort of religion, so they’ll let the growing kid make up their own mind when they want to. But religion can rarely mean anything to someone who has had no experience of a faith community. Faith is something to be experienced not understood. Faith arises from an experience of devotion and tradition and practice in a church setting and in the home. No one can learn to swim without getting in the water.
From the outside our songs, our prayers, our dinners, and mission make no sense. They are like nick knacks of life that rarely fit into the plans and functions of busy families. They don’t make sense. They’re weird.
Christmas is too. It has a sort of sentimental sense, a moment when it’s okay to focus on the family, to give, even to decorate. But the religious stuff is not only useless it’s downright strange.
Well, the Christmas story is a train wreck. Teenaged unwed mother, cuckolded groom, birth in the garage of a motel attended by smelly strangers, and a visitation by the CIA of a foreign empire. Com’on. It takes a lot of embroidery to get that one turned around into something we can swallow.
So, the sentimentalized version that sanitizes the parents, stable, refugee status, dazed and smelly shepherds, makes the Magi into kings who bless the stable instead of showing up at a house two years later. And the new version that excludes the uncomfortable stuff and lets in the fun stuff becomes our plastic gospel.
From the outside all this dancing around makes no sense at all. Whether it is a gritty portrayal of faith in the face of difficulty or a sanguine sigh at our cute traditions, who cares? Let’s get it over and move on to business as usual.
From the outside it’s foolish and downright terrible the way we waste our time and squander our resources acting like fools over nothing more meaningful than Charlie Brown’s Christmas. Not to insult that long suffering dude.
Then there’s the kid jumping.
As weird as that may be to us who are on the outside, for the mother it is a blessing, as uncomfortable as it may be. It is a sign that life will have its way and that that life is growing within her.
We Christians approach this season with stars in our eyes. The carols fill us with a sense of presence that is hard to explain. And in the dark stillness of Christmas Eve there is a sense that God is moving among us, touching the most painful and sad places in our lives and offering a miracle of peace, right here, right now.
The long and the short of it is, let the child be born in you.
And ye beneath life’s crushing load whose forms are bending low
Who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow
Look now for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing.
Oh rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing.
They do you know. Merry Christmas.
*****************************************
StoryShare, December 23, 2018, issue.
Copyright 2018 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. 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., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
