Anna’s Song

Sermon Preached at Frazer Mennonite Church

Based on Luke 1: 46b-55

 

My name is Anna, and I’m the mother of Mary, who is the mother of Jesus.  You probably haven’t heard of me. And I’m not surprised. Women are rarely given a story line in our holy books.  

As we approach the birthday of my grandson, it seems important to tell you a few things about my beautiful daughter.  

But first a bit about me, because my story is connected to Mary’s.  I was named after Hannah, the mother of Samuel. I know that to you, my name doesn’t sound or look like Hannah, but trust me, in the Hebrew and Aramaic, it’s the same name.  Sometimes people will say, “What’s in a name?”–Well let me tell you, there’s a lot to that name. Being named after a distant ancestor has meant that her story has had a powerful impact on my life.  Did you know that the story of Hannah is one of the few places in our Holy Book where a woman plays an important role?

I was married to a wonderful man.  My husband and I tried for a long time to have a child. And it just didn’t happen.  I started to get too old for a child, and I had just about given up hope, when surprise! I was pregnant.  This is a lot like the story of Hannah.  That wasn’t lost on me or any of my family.  

All of the aunties convinced me that I was going to have a boy.  And I believed them. It was all a mother could want–a son to carry on her husband’s family name.  It was the greatest gift I could give my husband.

The pregnancy was hard.  I was sick the entire 9 months.  I am one of the few women that can boast that I lost weight during my pregnancy.  But that wasn’t just because of 9 months of morning sickness. About halfway through the pregnancy, my husband died in a freak accident.  So, I was pregnant, sick, alone and very scared. Having a son was the only thing that was keeping me going.  

In my sixth month of pregnancy, a few weeks after my husband died, I went to the temple.  I fell on my knees–in sickness, in exhaustion, and in deep need of God–and there, I promised God that I would dedicate this child, my only son, to God.  Like my ancestor, Hannah, I was so grateful for this gift of new life that I wanted to give this child back to the giver of all life. I promised that my only son would serve God all of his days.  

And then…I had a girl.  

I was surprised at first, as were all my Aunties.  And once the shock of a daughter wore off, I looked at my beautiful, perfect child, sleeping in her swaddling clothes in my arms and said, “She too is a gift from God.”  So, I named her “Mary”, which means “the child I wished for.” 

This precious gift from God could not serve as a priest as I had hoped or expected, but I knew that God could still use her.  

For 14 years it was just the two of us and the Aunties.  The Aunties and I would tell Mary stories of all the strong women in our history, the women that didn’t get names or speaking parts in our holy books.  

To my delight, it was Hannah’s story that Mary liked to hear the most.  Nearly every night she’d ask me to sing the song of Hannah, which I delighted in, of course. 

Hannah’s song went something like this: 

The bows of the warriors are broken, 

while those who stumble gain renewed strength. 

Those who had their fill sell themselves for crusts of bread, 

while those who were hungry are sated. 

Childless women bear seven children 

while mothers of many are forsaken. 

It is God who gives both life and death; 

it is God who casts people to hell and raises them again.  

It is God who both humbles and exalts;

God lifts the week from the dump and raises the poor from the cesspool, 

to place them among the mighty and promote them to seats of honor. 

That song of praise always made us happy, because some nights we went to bed hungry.  I knew what the longing of childlessness was, and I had experienced God’s hand in Mary’s birth.  We knew what humility and poverty felt like, and we were confident that God would one day raise us up.  

When Mary was 14 she found out she was pregnant.  It was a mother’s worst nightmare. She was 14, and not yet married.  She was a good girl, and I worried that she was pregnant because she trusted someone she shouldn’t, or because someone overpowered her on some back street in Nazareth.  

But she told me that a messenger from God visited her, and told her that God had a plan for her, that she was going to be the vessel for God’s son to come to this earth.

I don’t think Mary realized just how dangerous this pregnancy was for her.  It would bring great shame and embarrassment to our family, and it could lead to some family members taking it upon themselves to end her life and the life of the child in her.  Better a dead Mary than a shamed family, the men might say.  

But sweet Mary did not seem phased by it.  She seemed to have planted the song of Hannah deep within her.  While I was dubious about this angel, Mary knew. While I was worried about Mary’s safety and honor, Mary was confident.  She had been called by God to do this thing.  

And, I had promised my only child, my dear sweet Mary, to God.  So, I had to trust that this infant growing inside her was from God, that this pregnancy was God using Mary the way I had asked God to use her.  

I have to admit my own misgivings about this whole thing.  Mary was on board, as was cousin Elizabeth, far earlier than I was.  But, I was feeling cautious and protective.  

And, then I heard Mary’s song.  When Mary and Elizabeth saw each other, both of them experienced their son’s leaping in their wombs.  There was joy there in the middle of a terribly uncertain time.  

And in joy, Mary began to sing. 

My soul proclaims your greatness and my Spirit rejoices in God my Savior.  

Because you have looked with favor on your lowly servant, and from this day forward all will call me blessed.  

Because you, God, have done great things, and holy is your name.  

Your mercy is from age to age, for those who fear you.  

You have show strength with your arm

And scattered the proud in their deceit, 

You have deposed the mighty from their thrones and raised the lowy to high places.   You have filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty. You have come to the aid of your servant–the promise you made to your ancestors.  

Mary’s song stopped me in my tracks.  It was both familiar and unfamiliar. It was both Hannah’s song and Mary’s own new song. She had taken the praises of Hannah, the song I sang to her her entire life, and made it her own.  

When I heard Mary sing, I won’t say that my worries melted away.  But the worries were smoothed over with the joy I felt for Mary and for this child to come.  I made a promise to God that I would give my child to God. The temple wouldn’t take a girl, but God still would.  And God did. God used Mary to bring this child into the world. This child, our hope for the future.  

Mary wrote to me recently–reflecting on Jesus’ birth–and it was everything a mother would ever want to hear.  In this letter said that it was because of the strong women in her life like me that she had the courage to be strong.  It was because of the stories the Aunties and I told her about her female ancestors, and especially, that she could sing her song.  Those stories, prayers, and songs were rooted deeply in Mary, so that when her time came to be used by God, she knew what was happening, and she knew the song to sing.  

Mary hasn’t stopped singing that song either.  In fact, she’s been teaching it to Jesus. I love hearing him run around the house singing about God’s mercy, and the ways that God will scatter the proud, and crush tyrants.  Those words are being rooted deeply into his heart. Who knows what will come of those seeds planted in him? Whatever it is, I know that all of that is because Mary said yes to that angel of God.  I can’t wait to see what God will do with my grandson.  

 

More than Being Nice

Sermon Preached on 12.1.1019 at Frazer Mennonite Church

Based on Psalm 122

Thanksgiving is my absolute favorite holiday.  Christmas is fine, but it comes with a lot of expectations.  But Thanksgiving is much more relaxed on my family. We all make things we like, and we all eat the delicious, fatty, carb heavy, sleep inducing foods that I otherwise stay away from the other 364 days of the year.  

And after pie, our family pulls out the instruments and we sing and play music, often badly, but usually with with good humor.  

But that’s not to say that Thanksgiving isn’t stressful.  This year, I labored on pies with my niece for hours. We were really proud of them.  They looked and smelled delicious and I could not wait to sink my teeth into that peach pie.  A few minutes before the meal, one of the pies fell off the counter and smashed in its glass pie plate.  My niece was totally fine about it, but I had a little bit of a meltdown. Words were yelled at that pie.  Unkind words.  

We also had–at one point–too many cooks in the kitchen, and I may have directed some forceful energy into getting people out of there so we could open the oven safely.  And, for some of the younger folks in the crowd, overstimulation of the holiday resulted in some bad behavior here or there.  

But we were together with our family and that was all I wanted.  

I am aware that if I was with other parts of my family, the holiday would have been hard.  I have family members who like to get their digs in about politics at holiday gatherings, because they know what I believe. I have family members who will say cruel things to my kids but when called out on it will say, “I was just kidding!  Lighten up!” Or–and this is my pet peeve–will come into my home, and not offer to help with the dishes, or say “thanks” for the meal and the effort put into it. But, they will offer lots of “helpful suggestions” for how I might improve my turkey, or ask “Why did you set the table like that?”  

Holidays are wonderful and difficult and complicated.  

So, for those of you that had a difficult, tense Thanksgiving where words were exchanged that you can’t take back, know that you are definitely not the only one in the room with that experience.  Sometimes time with family is just difficult.  

The Psalmist writes: 

For the sake of my family and friends, 

I say, “Peace be within you!”

For the sake of the Lord our God, 

I will seek your good.

Psalm 122 seems to have been written by someone who’s been to some holiday events with family.  The Psalmist was praising God about heading off to the center of the known universe at the time–Jerusalem.  There in Jerusalem, the Psalmist rejoiced at the whole people of God, and all the tribes of Israel, converging onto the Holy City to praise God.  It was a holiday, a party, where they one could see all the cousins you hadn’t seen since the last holiday. You also see the overly critical Aunt, and that close talking uncle with halitosis.  But they are family, so what are you going to do. 

Here in this holy city all the tribes–all of God’s people–were united.  They probably didn’t all vote for the same candidates in their elections. Some were probably Bernie bros, others were die hard fans of their sitting president, and others were wishing that the last president could run again.  

And there they were in their family home town of Jerusalem–the center of their known universe–together.  

And here, as the extended family gathered, the author of this Psalm blessed the gathering place, saying, “May those who love their hometown prosper! May peace be in these walls!  May your city walls always be secure.” Even as family with differing views and opinions gathered, the Psalmist wished for strong walls. 

And then the Psalmist went from a general well wish to a personal blessing, saying:

For the sake of my family and friends, 

I say, “Peace be within you!”

For the sake of the Lord our God, 

I will seek your good.

I’m intrigued by these words from the Psalmist, because they aren’t the normal way of saying things, now or in biblical times.  

The Psalmist wrote:  For the sake of family and friends, I say, “Peace be within you.”  Not just with you. WIthin you. It’s a bigger blessing than the one we usually give when we pass the peace.  It’s a blessing that the Psalmists family find peace within themselves. Because it doesn’t always happen around the dinner table.  

Peace be within you, family, as we gather here within the strong walls of our beloved hometown.  

This is a peace that goes beyond civil conversations at the dinner table.  It’s a peace beyond keeping it together while you eat with family for three hours.  It’s a deep peace, a wholeness that can only come from God. 

The Psalmist also writes, “For the sake of the Lord OUR God, I will seek your good.”  The psalmist doesn’t say, “For the sake of MY God.” The psalmist doesn’t claim to have God all to themselves, or even say that the other person might not know God because of whatever wacky views they think their relatives might have.  The Psalmist just says, “For the sake of our God”, for the sake of the God we hold in common.  

And then the Psalmist goes on to say, “For the sake of our God, I will seek YOUR good.” 

It wasn’t a mean gesture, it wasn’t a nasty word.  It was what sounds like an honest attempt at seeking the good for all of the family gathered around the table, for all the family gathered within the hometown walls, even if there were disagreements.  

Disagreements is not a modern family invention.  It’s not something that began in this country. Disagreements go back as far as their earliest biblical stories.  God created us, gave us agency, and we dealt with that agency by fighting with our siblings, by splitting up families with bad blood, with words we couldn’t take back.  

So that conflict you have with your family member is nothing new.  Every family has them, going back as far as Cain and Abel. 

What can be new, however, is how we respond to those conflicts.  We can choose for the sake of our common God, our common faith, our common genes, our common humanity to seek the good for each other.  

But know this:  Seeking the good for other people does not always mean seeking the easy thing.  Sometimes seeking the good means we say the hard things, we name those old family patterns, we face the elephant at the dinner table.

And if it is our pattern to be the namer of things all the time, perhaps seeking your family member’s good means just letting something go for once.

What would it mean for us during this season to offer peace within our family members?  What would it mean to work for the good of our family, even those with whom we disagree?  I’d like to think that these simple reframes of our time with family might be transformative.  

And these simple words from the Psalmist apply to us at church too.  Can we seek our congregation’s good, even the good of those in this community with whom we disagree?  Can we pray for peace within the person across the aisle, even as we struggle to shake their hand during the passing of the peace?

Today we begin advent, the season of waiting, and the season of expectation.  The season holds a lot of magic for our younger people, and as we get older, it holds a lot of expectation, anxiety, and frustration.  

This season as Advent, as we wait and prepare for God to do a new thing, we have the gift of family, and the gift of friendship to nourish and sustain us.  These gifts are not always easy. Sometimes these relationships are fraught with conflict and disagreements. But they are still a gift to us. 

Let’s set our minds and hearts towards the good for our family, our friends, our church and community members.  This could be the good thing that God is doing among us–transforming our families and congregations, one gracious act at a time.  AMEN. 

God, Our Parent

Sermon based on Isaiah 43: 1-7; 16-19

Preached at Frazer Mennonite Church

Parenting has been the most humbling experience of my life.  Having worked in child welfare for the first six years of my adult working life, I had seen a lot of bad parenting, the kind of parenting that gets kids taken out of their family of origin and put into other hopefully better circumstances for a time.  In my work–having seen the impact of irresponsible parenting–I had gotten pretty judgey about what I perceived as bad parenting.  

A few years before I became a parent, I was in the craft store with a friend, and a mom was trying to get her kids through the store.  And she was struggling. The kids were being disobedient and she was losing her cool.  

After encountering this mom and her children in the aisle, I turn down another aisle and said to my friend, “Wow.  I’m not going to be that kind of mom.” 

And that poor mom, as it turned out, heard my comment.  She confronted my friend and I about my snarky judgey comments about her parenting.  I don’t remember what she said exactly; in my shame I shut out everything. I knew I was wrong to be judgmental.  Because what did I really know about trying to get hungry or tired or difficult children through a store.  

Fast forward a few years later, and I was sitting in Will’s room with him.  He had just had an epic meltdown, that involved throwing his toys, putting a hole in his door and hitting me.  And I had responded in exasperation with my own adult sized tantrum. I screamed, I threw his toys, I was more forceful than I should have been.  

And, in the heat of the moment, he looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, “I thought you were supposed to be the parent here!”

My son’s words cut right through me.  I could only see my son’s terrified face at he watched me explode, while I also remembered my encounter with that struggling mom in the craft store.   

I had a lot to learn about being a parent.  And I knew that I had to try a different approach–for my own sake, and for the sake of relationship with my children.  I needed to try another way to reach them–an approach that came out of love, not anger. One that built relationship with my kids, not fear of me. 

Today we finish our series on The God of the Hebrew Bible–we’ve seen many of the characteristics of God, some that have been appealing to us, and some that have caused us to wince a little bit.  

And this Sunday, in our final week looking at these characteristics of God, we listen in on a conversation with God speaking through the prophet Isaiah to the people who were enslaved and in exile from their promised land.  The people had been through a lot and God had been through a lot with the people.  

God engaged in relationship with God’s people at their best and worst, rescuing them from enslavement in Egypt, feeding them in the wilderness, and correcting their misdeeds.  

When the people wanted a King to rule them, God said, “That’s a real bad idea” but they persisted, so God relented and gave them a king.  And–as God predicted–it was a really bad idea. The kings were corrupt and abusive, and while the people were prosperous for a time, they eventually began to suffer under the corruption and cruelty of their kings.  

And finally the people were overpowered by the Babylonians.  The folks who had education and training were taken off to serve the Babylon empire, and the remaining folks were left destitute in what was left of a ransacked Israel.  

Here is where we meet God’s people in the Isaiah text.  They were in exile, far from home, many separated from family members.  They were waiting for God to act.  

In today’s text from Isaiah, God recited all the things God had done for the people, and then God said to the people, who were longing for intervention from God:  

Forget the events of the past, 

Ignore the things of long ago!

Look, I am doing something new!

Now it springs forth–can’t you see it?

God said to the people that God was going to do something new.  

We don’t know the mind of God, but this text has me wondering if God, after looking at the history between God and the people, decided that it was time to try a different approach.  Maybe this was the moment that God decided, “I have to do something new. This way of being with my people is not sustainable.”  

Perhaps, here as God watched the people enslaved–again–this is where God hatched the incarnation idea.  

Some theologians have gone as far as to say that God recognized her lack of empathy for humanity, and decided that sending Jesus–God in human form–would be a way to better empathize with our broken, sinful, imperfect human condition.  

I like this idea.  God’s character did not change–God continued to be creative, all powerful, all knowing, and–at the same time very personal.  But God’s approach to humanity changed.  

Forget the events of the past, 

Ignore the things of long ago!

Look, I am doing something new!

Now it springs forth–can’t you see it?

God sent us Jesus so that God could understand our human condition better.  This, perhaps, was the new thing God was doing. It certainly had not been done before.  

And through the eyes of Jesus, God saw the difficulties of human life–not from an outsiders perspective.  God felt the difficulties of living in the bones, sinew, muscle and skin of Jesus. God felt what we felt because God saw life through Jesus’ eyes, heard it with his ears, felt the anger rising in Jesus’ human body, wept tears with and for humanity.  

Look, I am doing something new. 

But, this new thing came at a cost for humanity.  It demanded something of us. Mitri Raheb said of Jesus’ arrival on the scene, that “…the belief in Jesus as the yearned-for Messiah replaced the idea of divine intervention with direct intervention of the faithful.  It was now those who believed in Christ who had to step into this world to engage and to bring change…”

Jesus was the big change for God.  God entered into our humanity in a new way, and in doing that asked us to participate in the reign of God in a new way.  

God changed God’s parenting style.  

It was no longer a God over us, but a God with us.  And it was no longer the people waiting for God, it was God giving the people the tools they needed to be participants in their liberation, participants in the reign of God.  

It’s not a relationship of equals, by any stretch, and neither is parenting.  It became a relationship where God better understood what the people were experiencing, and empathized with their struggle, even while calling them to be God’s hands and feet, God’s mouth and eyes in the world.  

I have been very candid with many of you about my struggles to parent Willem, who deals with anxiety and Attention Deficit Disorder.  And Willem has been candid with many of you about that too. This is no big family secret. I had a moment–many actually–where I realized that I did not understand what it felt like to be in his skin.  And in order to be the best mom I could be to him, I needed to empathize with him, and to understand how difficult life felt for him. And I needed to learn how to challenge him and push him beyond his fears into new opportunities.  

I have failed so many times on this journey of parenting.  I have screamed when I should have empathized, I have given in when I should have stood firm, I have been harder at times, and too easy other times.  It’s been tough to find that balance. 

My experience of parenting has been about finding a new way, trying a new thing.  The way I had been parenting before was not sustainable. 

This week, as we come to the end of our study of the Hebrew Bible; we see God doing a little soul searching.  Perhaps God has wondered if there might be a better way to engage the people. Perhaps God wondered if the way should be one based in love, not fear, in relationship, not domination.  

It gives me great comfort today to think that God’s character remained the same, while God’s approach changed.  And it is a challenge too. Because God’s empathy sent us Jesus, and Jesus–the living, breathing human embodiment of God–taught us and teaches us how to live as compassionate humans in this world.  Jesus’ life and example now means that we are participants in the reign of God. We aren’t just standing around waiting for God to act. God is here. God has shown us how to live. It’s up to us now to live into this vision that God has for us. 

That is the new thing God is doing among us.  Can you see it? AMEN.