From Generation to Generation:
God Meets Us in Our Fear
Luke 1:26-38
December 4, 2022
Emmanuel Baptist Church; Rev. Kathy Donley
Image: Mary’s Golden Annunciation by Carmelle Beaugelin
©A Sanctified Art LLC sanctifiedart.org
Note: A recording of the worship service in which this sermon was preached may be found here: https://youtu.be/pqidfHhcGUk
Of course Mary was afraid. To begin with, an angel had just appeared out of nowhere. She was startled like you are when someone suddenly speaks from a dark corner of the room that you thought was empty. But this was not like the momentary jolt you get which fades as soon as you recognize that unseen person. This was an angel, who kept being there, no matter how many times she blinked or wiped her eyes. Of course she was afraid. Her heart was racing. Adrenaline was pumping. Maybe she thought to run or to stand super still and pretend nothing unusual was happening. Nothing at all.
But something was happening. Gabriel was talking - - To her. Her life had not necessarily been easy before he appeared. Mary is a poor young woman in a small village in one of the farthest corners of the Empire. Her homeland is under the control of Rome. Living under occupation tends to increase everyone’s anxiety. Mary undoubtedly has the worries of any bride-to-be in her time – will the wedding celebration uphold her family’s honor and that of Joseph’s family? Will she and Joseph do well as married couple? Is he as kind and protective as she believes him to be?
Mary knows the popular folk tale about a jealous angel who visited on a bride’s wedding night and killed the groom. It’s just a story, isn’t it? But now an actual angel has shown up. Maybe there is more to the story than she knew. Maybe something evil is threatening her marriage.[1]
And even though Gabriel says not to be afraid, she is, and the rest of his message only amps up her fears. She is afraid of the reaction of her family. Joseph will never believe this. She doesn’t even believe it. She is afraid of the scandal that will spread when everyone else realizes she is pregnant. Nazareth is a small place, home to maybe 150-200 people. It is impossible to keep a secret in a place like that. She might be stoned for adultery. Joseph might abandon her. And if he doesn’t, she might die in childbirth. And maybe, later, when Gabriel is gone, she will start to be afraid to bring a baby into the poor and violent world in which she lives.
Mary is afraid. We all carry a mental image of Mary. Maybe for some of us, that image is of the serene, wise one who simply says “let it be.” Some of us may remember her as the one who jump-started Jesus’ ministry, getting him to turn water into wine for some family friends. Others may think of her in anguish as her son dies on the cross. But here, the first time we meet her, Luke says that she is “perplexed” or “greatly troubled” at Gabriel’s words. Other appropriate translations are agitated, confused and terrified. If we are to understand Mary, we must not minimize the intensity of her fear. She is very afraid, and with good reason.
I recently discovered a young woman named Cole Arthur Riley. She serves as the spiritual teacher in residence with Cornell University’s Office of Spirituality and Meaning Making. She is a writer and poet, the creator of a resource called Black Liturgies, which she describes as a project that seeks to integrate the truths of dignity, lament, rage, justice and rest into written prayers. In her book This Here Flesh, she reflects on the stories of her grandmother and father and what their lives revealed to her about life and faith. This book is one of the best gifts of this season to me.
In her chapter on fear, she writes “I’m told the most frequent command from God in the Bible is Do not fear. Some have interpreted this as an indictment on those who are afraid, as if to say fear signifies a less robust faith. This offends me, God is not criticizing us for being afraid in a world haunted by so many terrors and traumas. … I hear Don’t be afraid and hope that it is not a command not to fear, but rather the nurturing voice of a God drawing near to our trembling. I hear those words and imagine God in all tenderness cradling her creation against her breast.”[2]
When Mary hears the angel’s words Do not be afraid, perhaps she recognizes the voice of God drawing near to her trembling. Gabriel says “The Lord is with you.”
How does she know that is true? How does she know that God is with her? How do we know it?
Sometimes we don’t. Not for sure. The very idea, the calling to which we are being summoned may be preposterous, even to us. Like Mary we may be perplexed, deeply troubled or terrified. Like Mary, we may have questions. “How can this be?” she asked the angel.
We may have to feel the fear and do it anyway. We may know on a deep level, that God is with us, in spite of the facts on the surface. Sometimes, along with the fear, there is another energy, a conviction, an internal urgency that it really is God prompting us.
Speaking of a time when she needed her father’s help to get through a very scary situation, Cole Arthur Riley writes “I didn’t conquer a fear. I rose to meet it. This is rare in me.”[3]
And sometimes we know that it is God because there is confirmation along the way. For Mary, confirmation comes from Elizabeth. We’ll return to that part of the story in a couple of weeks. But I want to recognize that confirmation may come in the form of another person who joins us or who strongly supports us. It might come in the form of providential timing or opportunities opening that didn’t exist earlier. Sometimes we recognize God in the confirmation we receive only as we rise to meet the fear.
Finally, this story might suggest that we know God is with us when it is not all about us. When the summons is not something that will bring wealth or popularity, not something that makes our lives easier or more secure. We can more readily trust God’s presence when the calling is to embody, to make real, the goodness of God for the well-being of others and ourselves.
Somehow, Gabriel’s message gets through to Mary, past her wildly beating heart, through the worries piling up in her mind. Without receiving any clear answers to her question, without knowing what will happen next, she rises to meet her fear and says “ Here am I, the servant of the Lord.” It is a profound moment.
“We without God, cannot and God without us, will not.”
Augustine of Hippo first said something like that and others have adapted it. “We without God, cannot and God without us, will not.” It means that God has chosen to share power with human beings, to work with and through people who are willing to participate in God’s reign on earth. God comes to us, to call us to faithfulness, to love and compassion and generosity. God comes and asks us to be brave, to release our tight grip on certainty, and security, and to risk ourselves, in trust and faith.
Cole Arthur Riley writes “I believe fear has the holy potential to draw out awe in us. To lead us into deeper patterns of protection and trust. To mold us into people engaged in the unknown, capable of making mystery of it instead of terror.” [4]
We are all afraid, you and me. But we can rise to meet our fear and God will meet us there also, to draw out awe and wonder, to mold us into people engaged in the mystery of the unknown. Here we are, servants of the Lord. Thanks be to God.
[1] Alan Culpepper, The New Interpreter’s Bible, Vol. IX, (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995), p. 51
[2] Cole Arthur Riley, This Here Flesh, (New York: Convergent Books, 2022), pp 83-84.
[3] This Here Flesh, p. 84
[4] This Here Flesh, p. 86