Fourth Sunday of Advent
December 24, 2023

Can We Go Over That Part Again?

Tom Are Jr.
Interim Pastor

Psalm 126
Luke 1:26–39

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The Christmas story gets started with an angel. A holy messenger that brings a word from beyond us, a word from the heart of God. Because it is a word from God and not our own word, it can be unsettling, it can be joyous, it can be confusing, or all of these. The messenger tells Mary that she is favored, graced, chosen. God is with you. Knowing that God has chosen to be with you can be unsettling, joyous, and confusing. Why would God choose to be with us?

The messenger says, “Mary you will have a son. I know your families have arranged for you to marry Joseph, and I know that hasn’t happened yet. And I know children come after one has been married, but the love of God will be born in you. And apparently God can’t wait any longer.”

It’s a risky word. There would be absolutely zero social acceptance for a child born before marriage in those days. The social consequences of this heavenly news would have been enough to scare Mary to death. Because angels always bring such surprising words, they have to continually remind us, don’t be afraid. But Mary’s response is less fear and more confusion.

She says, “Can you go over that first part again, the part about me having a baby?” You know I’m a virgin, right? So can you just run through how this is going to happen?”

It’s not uncommon in our house for Carol to bring food to the table and I take a bite and it is delicious. So I ask, “How did you season this?” “Oh, I don’t really remember.” What spices did you use?” “There’s some garlic and that chili lime from Trader Joe’s and some other things.” “How much did you use?” “Oh, enough. I don’t really know. I didn’t write it down.” “Can you make this again, just like this?” “Oh, I doubt it. I just tossed in what seemed good. Enjoy it while it lasts,” she says.

I do. And I’m grateful. But sometimes it would be nice to know how it came together. To have a recipe

Mary begins by asking for the recipe: “Can you go over that first part again, about how I’m going to have a son?”

Mary is not the only person to ask that question. More than a few through the years have had a question or two about how this virgin birth stuff works. When I was in seminary, I had a theology professor, Dr. John Leith. A rather gruff man with a commitment to precision. A classmate asked him, “Dr. Leith, do you believe in the virgin birth?” to which Dr. Leith responded, “I don’t believe there are as many as people claim there are.”

More than a few through the ages have had Mary’s question. How exactly does this work? So today, if you think I’m going to explain it to you, well, you are going to be very disappointed.

Mary says, “I’m sorry, I need you to go over that first part again—how am I going to have a son?

To understand Gabriel’s response, it’s helpful to remember the creation story—the first verses of scripture, where it says there was chaos and life was not possible. But the spirit of God hovered over the waters, came over the chaos, and life emerged … creation.

Gabriel’s response echoes the creation story. Gabriel, almost jumping up and down with excitement, says the spirit of God will come over you and work a new creation in you. And as if the angel could see Mary’s raised eyebrows saying, “What?” Gabriel says, “Look, I don’t really know, but I know with God all things are possible, and I know this: God has chosen you. You are graced. God wishes to do this work with you, because you belong to God.”

And that seems to be enough for Mary, because she stops asking her question about logistics and says, “I’m in. I’m all in. I want to be who God wants me to be.”

Mary begins by asking questions so that someday she could explain Christmas. But Christmas doesn’t work that way. The truth of this birth is not something we explain; it is something that claims us.

Author and theologian David Ford has said these words don’t convince us, they change us. He writes: “This truth … cannot be adequately taken in unless we begin to be transformed. … It has the urgency of the most relevant news — like someone shouting “Fire!” or whispering “Will you marry me?” (David Ford, The Shape of Living, p. 10).

If I understand the text, this is what happens to Mary. She began with questions of logistics. But as she realizes that the love of God will be born in the world, she is less concerned how this will happen and more changed by the fact that it happens. And once she trusts that she is indeed graced by God, logistics seems secondary. “Let it be with me according to your word.” That will be enough.

During COVID my dad had a stroke and was dying. I jumped in the car and drove from Kansas City to Atlanta to say goodbye. It was a good visit. We said everything we needed to say. And we remembered some things together. We remembered what he called the “ahhh Dad” years. He called them that because it’s about all I could say during that season in my life. I was an early teen, and I was unfortunately the son of the world’s most embarrassing father. I have been on both sides of that equation, and when you happen to be the world’s most embarrassing father, it can be quite fun. But when you are the son of the world’s most embarrassing father, it is torture.

This is that period of time when dads take a nose-dive in intelligence. They go from almost being omniscient to knowing, well, nothing. When my son was going through this experience, my brother told my son, “Oh, trust me, your father has always been this dumb. It is only now that you realize it.”

The “ahh Dad” years are so named because it was the only way to address my father. He would say something, and all I could say was “ahhh Dad.” He would do something … “ahhh Dad.”

He couldn’t help it; he was just limited. He would pick me up from school. He would get out of the car and wave “Over here.” “Ahhh Dad. What are you doing getting out of the car? Can’t you see I have friends here?”

Danny Martin, Frank Chambless, and I were playing basketball in the driveway. Dad decided that he would join us. This is a man whose athletic skills were stretched when playing … I don’t know … checkers. He came out of the house wearing a T-shirt. I don’t mean one that had Chicago Bulls plastered on it. I mean a Fruit of the Loom V-neck T-shirt. He had plaid shorts. His legs looked like they had not seen sun or even bright lights for a decade. He looked like he was walking on florescent light tubes. And these glowing legs disappeared into black socks and wingtips. He asked, “You guys want to play some hoops?” My friends looked at him. They looked at me … “ahhh Dad.”

Of course times change. After I entered college he got better.

We remember the phone call in March of 1987. I had taken an overnight train from Charleston, South Carolina to Richmond, Virginia. Carol, my girlfriend at the time, was in school in Richmond. Carol didn’t know I was coming; I was planning to surprise her for her birthday. I had made reservations at a restaurant called the Tobacco Company, an old repurposed warehouse that served entrees that were way over budget for an associate pastor. The reservations were for 7:30 that night. Train arrived about 4:30 in the morning. I took a taxi to the school. I called her using a pay phone (remember those?), waking her. I convinced her to go to breakfast. I had an omelet. She had a pancake with an egg over easy. I realized as we finished our breakfast that I was far too nervous to wait until dinner to propose, so as we walked down a main drag with a wide median, right there in the midst of morning traffic, I proposed.

She laughed, which was not what I was looking for.

Recognizing that, she said yes.

We decided we should tell our families.

I called my dad.

I said, “Dad, you remember Carol Wells?” “Of course. She’s wonderful.” I agree.

I said, “Dad, I asked Carol to marry me.”

He said, “Just come on home.”

“What?”

“Just come on home. You don’t need to be by yourself at time like this. Just come on home.”

“But Dad, she said yes.”

“She did?”

“Wonderful. But she’s so smart…”

As he lay in that hospital bed set up in his condo, I thanked him for that. I told him he didn’t have to be so surprised that she said yes, but I knew that he knew better than anyone in the world the reasons she might have said no, and he still said come on home; you are always welcome here. He was not always an angel, but in that moment he was saying to me you are favored, you are loved, you belong. Just come on home.

I suppose, knowing the ins and outs of fathers and sons, I suppose I could wonder how that happens, how it is that a father or a mother or friend knows the whole truth of us and still says you are at home with me. But how that happens doesn’t really matter, does it. It just matters that it happens.

I think Mary had to have experienced something like that. The angel says you are going to be a mom because God has chosen you, and that is because God loves you. And that love alive in you is the love the world needs.

And Mary said, “I’m all in.”

Neither Mary nor we can fully explain how God’s love breathes in this world, but we can confess it to be true, for this love has transformed us. We have been transformed by the birth of this child “born of woman as is every person, and yet born of God’s power as is not other person” (A Declaration of Faith, Our Confessional Heritage: Presbyterian Church US, chapter 4, lines 10–14).

I don’t understand how all of this occurred, and I don’t need to. What is life-changing is that God chooses to come to us. Evidently God can’t bear to be away from us. And the only possible reason is love. A love that says to you, “You are favored. You are loved.” God says, “You will always belong because I am your home, so just come on home.”

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Sermon © Fourth Presbyterian Church