An Exchange of Blessings
Clare L. Hickman
St. Luke’s Episcopal Church
Dec 19, 2021—Advent 4C
Micah 5:2-4; Luke 1:39-49
The Lord is with you, Mary. He is also with you, Elizabeth.
Two women, pregnant with fear and wonder, seek each other out: Elizabeth perhaps wanting some of youth’s resiliency and optimism, Mary looking for wisdom and reassurance. Each needing the company of one who shares her strange, miraculous, scandalous situation. They come together, as women do—as people do—to tell their stories, to speak their fears; and in doing so, their load somehow lightens. In the midst of an anxious unknown, hope becomes visible, tangible, edible.
Because they are not alone. Because they walk forward into their future with someone at their side. Someone who knows and cares and understands both the anxiety that cramps their guts and the wild joy that sings their hearts. They are not alone.
The Lord is with you, Mary. … I read once about a child who had his responses down pat in church. The priest would say “The Lord be with you” and he would come right back with “And I’ll sit with you.” I like that: I’ll sit with you. It’s a nice offer. And it reminds us, somehow, of the reciprocal nature of that verse and response. God is with you, we priests say. And God will also be with you, you respond. You are not alone, the priest says. And in return, you offer to come sit with us and bring God along, so we won’t be alone either. It is an exchange of graces, if you will. A reminder and a summoning of God’s presence among us and between us. We need that, we priests. Need you as much as you might need us. Because we all need God, and we summon and remind of God’s presence for each other.
Today’s story of Elizabeth and Mary shows us the strength such an exchange can bring. As Jan Richardson observes: “In response to Elizabeth’s gift of blessing, Mary breaks forth, as if released, into an extraordinary passage that tells of God’s restoration of the world, a redemption that comes in a form no earthly power could have imagined. God has brought down the powerful from their thrones, Mary declares, and lifted up the lowly; God has filled the hungry with good things. In a move that embodies the meaning of hope, Mary describes this restoration as if it has already happened…
“With its vision of a world restored by a God who so often works by reversal, the song provides a certain kind of solace, a reassurance that what now seems so broken and out of balance will, in time, come into wholeness…”
And “this song would have been nearly impossible for Mary to sing without the blessing that preceded it. The vision that she declares, the hope that she enacts—these are rooted in the sanctuary Elizabeth offers and the blessing she gives. They are part of where the song begins.”[i]
It is about a sharing of strength and support. It is not one person giving and the other receiving, one powerful and the other powerless, one exalted and the other humble. The angel’s message to Mary has blown through all those categories, and today we hear Mary singing the great gifts and value of those who had previously been considered worthless.
It is something to remember, when we set out to answer God’s call for us to care for the needy, the poor, and those in prison. When we visit the sick and the lonely. As we go, we might hear Mary’s song ringing in our ears, reminding us that as we bring God to them, they are bringing God to us. We are not called to seek Christ in all persons simply so that we will help them; we are called to recognize the gifts they have to give to us, the ways in which they are saving us. Saving us from our pride and our ignorance, perhaps, or saving us with all of the life and wisdom and hope they might possess. And if we can see that, if we can see they are saving us at least as much as we are saving them, then we are all raised up.
This is the message that Mary sings, the promise she bears within her. That God has reached down to us, being born among us as one of the least, so that we might all be raised up. God became like us, the Eastern Orthodox proclaim, so that we might become like God. But we don’t become like God by making some kind of solitary climb toward heaven. That’s the story of the Garden of Eden, the tower of Babel, and every other time we have grabbed for the power and glory of God. No, we become like God by following God’s example: by walking back down the stairs from heaven, if you will. Back down to those below. To seek out the lowest, and be with them; to recognize their worth and begin walking side by side.
For “God has scattered the proud in the imaginations of their hearts…” she sang. Not shattered, just scattered, just shaken up their imaginations some. And yes, He “has sent the rich away empty…” But who knows, the hungry ones who have now been filled might well remember the ache of an empty belly, and come after those poor souls to offer them a bite to eat. And wouldn’t that just turn the world upside down?
The Lord be with you. And I’ll sit with you. It is a give and a take, an exchange of Grace. And it is the shape of our salvation. Blessed are we among all people, for God is being born in us this day. Like Elizabeth, we have been waiting for this for so long that we had almost forgotten we wanted it to happen. But it is happening, and it is blessing. And (again, with thanks to the inimitable Jan Richardson):
What I Mean by Blessing
is that you are welcome here
is that you are safe here
is that you can breathe here
is that you can speak here.
What I mean by blessing
is that this is a place to question
is that this is a place to dream
is that this is a place to rest
is that this is a place to sing.
What I mean by blessing
is that we hold you in your pain
is that we meet you in your fear
is that we see you in your hope
is that we take joy in you.
May you know God’s eternal ability to find favor in our fragile humanity, and may your soul feel its worth in this holy season. And my friends, may the Lord be with you (and I’ll sit with you). Amen.
[i] Jan Richardson, “Illuminated Advent Retreat: Week 3: Carrying the Song, Reflection 1 (Sunday): ‘Where the Song Begins,’” emailed December 12, 2021.