December 21, 2008 | 8:00 a.m.

Mission: Possible

Jocelyn C. Cadwallader
Pastoral Resident, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 139:1–6, 13–18
Luke 1:26-38

Our Scripture lesson today is one that is very familiar. As we are nearing Christmas, this Fourth Sunday in Advent, we are coming closer and closer to the stories we cherish of the Christ child being born in a manger. Today we hear the story as told in the Gospel of Luke of a virgin, of Mary, encountering an angel named Gabriel, who comes to tell her the news that she will bear a child and it will be the Son of God.

Throughout the centuries, theologians, scholars, religious leaders, and parishioners alike have offered countless interpretations of the feelings that Mary must have felt when the angel told her that she would carry a child. Books have been written, films made, songs have been arranged, sung, performed—did you know that there are 1,410 YouTube videos that come up when you search “Mary, Mother of God”? One of the videos is a musical performed by three boys, seemingly friends, in one of their homes. Was that a slumber party game? I have no idea!

There have been countless attempts at getting inside the head of Mary in that particular moment. What was she thinking? What was she feeling? We all want to know and get a sense of her experience. Scripture tells us she was perplexed. She was told not to fear. She was dutiful as a servant of God and would serve God in whatever way she was called, even if meant being pregnant before getting married in a society that readily stoned women for that egregious offense. She was a faithful woman, Mary was, and she would conceive and give birth to the creation that God knit together in her womb. Let’s listen to the story as told in the Gospel of Luke 1:26–38.

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“Greetings, favored one.” Can you imagine? “Greetings, favored one.” What kind of greeting is that? What does that mean? “Favored one”? Mary was perplexed. I can imagine Mary wondering as the angel greets her with these words, that it would feel perplexing. “Who is this that has come to see me, and why am I being called ‘favored one’? What makes me favored?” I can hear her wondering as the angel begins to tell her what is to come.

Can you picture it? Can you picture this woman, this simple woman, young and mild, betrothed to a simple man, faithful and kind, going about life as usual, fulfilling expectations, experiencing the joys and concerns of life that everyone in the community experiences—perhaps much like you and I do—and then being called “favored one.” I can imagine how she may have felt perplexed. I think when we think of ourselves, “favored one” is not often the first title on the list.

Mary was quite a young woman. She was somewhere in the age range of twelve to fourteen, much younger than our standard for marrying age, but her age still triggers in my mind what it is like for a young woman in our time. For a few years, I worked as a youth worker. For a year, in particular, I worked with this group of young women, ranging in age from fourteen to sixteen. They were tough young women, often mean and mean to me, the epitome of hard core. They knew survival, how to not be taken advantage of, how to show others they were not to be messed with. When I started on staff at the youth club, management was thrilled to have me there to take responsibility for the group. The girls were in great need of consistent leadership, someone to love them, someone to care for them. And I was thrilled at the opportunity to get to know them, to love them, to care for them. But I was new, a foreigner in their land that is all they have known since birth. That neighborhood I had never been to before, and I was the interloper in their territory. I had a hard time connecting with them. We had lived different lives and found it difficult to find common ground. Around Christmastime, the level of energy and violence in the area had come to a boiling point. We ended up closing the club early for the Christmas holiday to avoid further damage or hurt. My coworkers and I didn’t know what else to do other than to take a break, take a step back, and let things cool off. I was tired and disturbed by what had taken place. And the girls—well, they felt affirmed in their understanding of their own identity as tough, as hard core, as survivors. You see, these girls were more comfortable out on the street being tough than inside the club being cared for and told they were fearfully and wonderfully made. It was too hard for them to hear that, too perplexing. And isn’t that so with many of us?

The psalmist tell us in Psalm 139 that we are fearfully and wonderfully made. What does that mean? How can that be? Fearfully and wonderfully made? God’s creation within us is wonderful and intentional and at our very core; we are favored by God. But we put layers on top of that identity of being fearfully and wonderfully made, layers that diminish that wonderful core, layers that attempt to negate that claim of beauty, of love; that cover up that which is truly beautiful. What are the layers that have gotten in the way of us not recognizing our creation as being wonderfully made?

For these young women I worked with, their layers are angry and tough. They are survivors who don’t know how to be loved. The “love” they have experienced has hurt them more than helped them. They have been known by their labels, not by their hearts. They have been known by their actions, not their core identity. They have been shaped by the actions of others, not their own claim to being fearfully and wonderfully made. It seems almost easier for us to cover up this identity than to embrace it, doesn’t it? And, it’s perplexing when another recognizes us as wonderful.

I can imagine humble Mary, sitting there, listening to this greeting, being called “favored one.” I can imagine her sitting there perplexed by this. “What makes me favored? I don’t particularly feel favored. I mean, not more so than anyone else. In fact, now this angel is telling me that I’m pregnant in a society that will not look fondly on this. My fiancé will most likely shame me, leave me, and I’ll will be brought before the community and punished for getting pregnant before marriage. ‘Greetings, favored one’? Seemingly not, Gabriel, not right now, but it’s something to think about.” I don’t think Mary would’ve felt too favored in that moment. But the angel says she is; the psalmist says she is; God says she is.

Have you ever revered another person, so much so that you were almost intimidated by them? Perhaps a parent, a grandparent, a teacher, a mentor, a friend? Have you ever felt that sense of reverence? That sense of awe, that sense of wanting to honor them, love them, bask in their beauty, their wisdom, their goodness? When I was in seminary, I had a professor that I greatly respected—well, I suppose I still do! She is a brilliant woman of God, wise and careful, intentional and gracious, knowledgeable and passionate. I took her classes in fear. I was intimidated by her, mainly because I had, and still have, such great respect for her. I didn’t want to mess up. I didn’t want to say something dumb or inappropriate or silly. And as the years went by and we got to know one another more, our relationship developed, friendship deepened, appreciation for the other increased. I’m sure that over the years I have said silly things. Things that were less than brilliant eeked out of my mouth in her presence, it’s true. But our relationship has afforded us the grace and forgiveness to see one another through the layers that we would put on ourselves out of fear, to the core of who we are, fearfully and wonderfully made. I hold her in great reverence out of respect, out of love, out of appreciation for who she is and trust she does the same for me. But why is it so perplexing to think of ourselves that way?

The psalmist tells us that we have been created out of this love, this same reverence. We are fearfully and wonderfully made. But it’s hard for us to remember that, to live into that. We have layers. We have experiences. We have things on our minds, identities to uphold, jobs to carry out, shopping lists to check off, and we carry burdens from past regrets, past hardships, past heartbreaks. Can you picture yourself sitting there in Mary’s seat? Sitting there, listening to this news, wondering about an unsure future, reflecting on these words, this claim of being a “favored one”? Mary doesn’t get wrapped up in hearing that the child she will have will be the Son of God, that the child will reign on the throne of David over the house of Jacob. She doesn’t get wrapped up in that. She asks practical questions: How it will happen? How will I conceive? And she ponders all that has been said. She’s perplexed at this label that has been given to her. She’s pondering what might come in her future. Being pregnant with the Son of God before she’s even married to Joseph could put her idea of “the good life” on the line. “Good women” get married before having children, not the other way around. Layers—layers are building up. So my question is this: if she’s left not feeling clear about next steps, if she’s wading through the layers that might be placed on her, might she, at least, be pondering this greeting, this new awareness of being favored in the midst of that?

She is a servant of the Lord; she will do what God asks of her. Her faith engages with her and reminds her that she is fearfully and wonderfully made, that she is favored by God. She might not know what exactly to do with the news that she has received, but perhaps she could find strength in recognizing the reverence God has for her in the very creation of her being. Mary can do it because she knows that God hems her in, has gone before and will go behind her. She’s not sure what is ahead of her, but she’s thinking about it a little differently now.

And isn’t that true for us too? Sometimes, we are left hanging. We receive hard news from the doctor; we feel our fear rising as our economy continues to struggle; we find ourselves in compromising positions at work, in social communities, in our relationships, and feel pressure, perhaps guilt, perhaps anxiety, and have the desire to be someone or something else until the unsuredness passes. We’re not sure what’s happening, and we’re left hanging. We might be confused, perplexed, but like Mary, we too are favored. Peeling back the layer of needing to know what’s going to happen, the comfort is that in all the hanging places, we can remember that we are favored in our core identity. We are fearfully and wonderfully made. Understanding our very own creation to have been born out of reverence and love could make those moments of unsuredness, those moments where we are left feeling perplexed, feel like we are making Mission: Impossible—could make those seem more like Mission: Possible. The psalmist invites us to raise ourselves to recognize that we are all favored ones.

In this season of Advent, we are waiting, we are hanging on, waiting for that quiet, gentle cry of a child in a manger. In the midst of our waiting, in the midst of our unsuredness of what might come in the meantime, we are reminded by the one proclaimed to be a favored one of God to peel back the layers to see within ourselves and one another that we are fearfully and wonderfully made. Amen.