The Annunciation: a sermon
A Sermon by Jamie Howison on Luke 1:26-38
This Sunday we are retelling the story of the Annunciation, when the angel Gabriel comes to Mary with news that she will be the one to bear the baby who will grow up to be “the Son of the Most High,” and who will be given “the throne of his ancestor David.” This is all a part of our preparatory lead up to the celebration of Christmas, but what I want to do tonight is reflect on the fact that this is actually one of two annunciation stories in the 1st chapter of the Gospel according to Luke. That can often evade our attention, but the more I thought about it this past week, the more significant it became.
You see, in the section just prior to the story of the angel Gabriel coming to young Mary, we have the story of that same angel coming to Zechariah with news of an impending pregnancy and birth. We’re told that Zechariah is a priest, and that he is married to Elizabeth, who is a descendant of Aaron, the brother of Moses. Luke is careful to note that, “Both of them were righteous before God, living blamelessly according to all the commandments and regulations of the Lord,” and yet they are without a child, and “and both were getting on in years.”
And so there Zechariah stands, in the inner sanctuary of the temple, offering incense to the glory of God, when he is confronted by an angel—literally angelos, which means “messenger” in the Greek—and Zechariah “was terrified; and fear overwhelmed him.” “Do not be afraid,” the angel says to him, which is something angels seem always ready to say when they appear, and then the angel goes on to say that Elizabeth will soon conceive a child, who will grow up to be a powerful voice in the story of Israel. You’ll name him John, Zechariah, and you’ll be filled with “joy and gladness.”
Zechariah said to the angel, ‘How will I know that this is so? For I am an old man, and my wife is getting on in years.’
Now that seems to me a not unreasonable question for the aging man to ask, but then again I’m an aging man, and maybe I’m beginning to think like Zechariah. You know, you’ve accepted some of the things that never came to be, you’ve found a place and a rhythm of life, and you’ve pretty much come to terms with the shape of your life, in all of its ups and downs. “How will I know that this is the case? I’m getting old, and Elizabeth is getting on,” which is another way of saying that she’s well past the age of child-bearing, and for all that the appearance of an angel might be shocking, this suggestion of a pregnancy is beyond the pale.
Well, you can almost feel Gabriel bristle, as he begins to speak:
‘I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to bring you this good news. But now, because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled in their time, you will become mute, unable to speak, until the day these things occur.’
Oh… curiouser and curiouser things become! And presumably Gabriel just vanishes, but there are people outside of that sanctuary in prayer, and when Zechariah emerges they can see that something has happened. He can’t speak, but there is something about his countenance that is different—“they realized that he had seen a vision in the sanctuary,” is how Luke puts it—and after his time at the temple has been completed and he heads home, sure enough he and Elizabeth are able to become pregnant.
Luke will revisit Zechariah a bit further into the chapter, but first comes the story we told this evening, of Gabriel’s visit to Mary. The angel comes to her while she is betrothed to Joseph, so probably no more than about fifteen years of age. The betrothal was a serious commitment, yet the marriage would not come until Joseph had put together a proper dowry and gained some financial stability with which he could support her. Still, she’s as good as married, and when Gabriel comes to her she is at first “much perplexed” by the angel’s arrival and greeting—“Greetings, favoured one!”—and then by this strange word that he shares about her having a baby. “How can this be?” she asks. Joseph and I are not yet married, we’ve not consummated this relationship… what do mean?
The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God.
Well that’s something to ponder then, isn’t it! And then Gabriel proceeds to tell her that her kinswoman Elizabeth is six months pregnant; even after all those years without a child, she is soon going to give birth.
And Mary’s reply? Famously, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”
Now I am just so struck by the artful contrast between these two annunciation stories. Zechariah the priest hears the word and says, “How will I know that this is so? For I am an old man, and my wife is getting on in years,” which to me is another way of saying, “what the heck are you talking about?” Mary, on the other hand, just asks her very simple question of “How can this be?”, and it is asked from a place not of disbelief, but of honest searching and openness. The old man Zechariah is incredulous, most probably because he was well settled in his life and had made his peace with the things he regretted, but this young woman is authentically and honestly searching and open. Zechariah never gets the chance to reply to Gabriel’s answer, because his is struck mute for the duration of that pregnancy. On the other hand, in her exchange with Gabriel, Mary has the final word: “Let it be with me according to your word.” It is a foundational word of assent from a woman too young to entirely fathom what it will all mean, but in this strange story that Luke insists on telling, it is exactly what is needed. “Here am I, the servant of the Lord.”
Of course, dear old Zechariah was a servant of the Lord too, who had toiled through his adult life as a priest at the temple, and accepted how things in his life were to be, including that he and Elizabeth would never have a child. Who can blame him for his reply to the angel, which essentially said, “I’m too old and too set in my ways to ever really consider what you’re saying to me, Gabriel. I can’t bear that disappointment at this stage of my life. I just can’t.”
You see, I understand Zechariah. I understand why it was hard for him to have his whole way of being in the world—as a priest, a husband, a man, a member of his community—turned upside down… or maybe it is more a case of him being hesitant to risk seeing it all turned upside down. He has made his peace with his life, he’s done the best he could in all those roles he was called on to play, he’s got things as sorted as they’ll ever be. And now in this vision this angel tells him that the thing he and Elizabeth had most longed for and had then accepted would never be was about to happen?
No, Gabriel, we’re beyond that, in age and courage and the ability to really hear the message of an angel.
But Mary, at fifteen years of age and without the status that would have come to a man, a priest, and someone of Zechariah’s age; she’s open. Oh my, but isn’t she open! And that’s what Luke wants us to see, is that extraordinary openness. She’ll have to make sense of this with her beloved Joseph, and she’ll have to endure the gossip that will swirl around Nazareth, and after that baby is born she’ll have some serious growing up to do. If you read the four Gospels you’ll see that there are moments where she’s worried that her son Jesus has gotten lost, or fallen off track, or even lost his mind, and ultimately she’ll be there the day that he dies. Yet in this moment in this story, her hands are wide open and her heart is wide open, and anything is possible.
Which is why it is important to tell this story, but also to recall it in relationship to Zechariah’s story. Most days I would like to be like Mary was that day, able to say simply “may it be done as you have said.” And most days I think I’m probably more like Zechariah. Faithful, to be sure, and measured. And maybe just a little too cautious of the ways in which the spirit might blow this almost 61-year-old self.
Oh, and I like that Zechariah was given a second chance, even or maybe especially in his nine months of silence. Because when he spoke again, he sang! And isn’t that a lovely thing to remember?
