TWO BIRTHS
Luke 1:39-45, 57-58

A sermon given by the Rev. Richard H. Taylor
December 21, 2003 / Christmas Sunday (Fourth Sunday in Advent)

Christmas is, of course, about the birth of Christ.

But the writers of the New Testament start their stories by interplaying two births: that of Jesus, and that of John the Baptist. Luke, in our text this morning, even goes so far as to tell us about the meeting of the two mothers: Mary and Elizabeth.

John’s life and birth seem necessary to get the entire picture. Even Mark and John, who do not mention Bethlehem, shepherds, or Magi, introduce John quickly, each in their first chapter.

Yet these two births are very different. John's father, Zechariah, is one of the priests in the Temple in Jerusalem. At the start of the birth story he is even selected as the one priest for the whole year who gets to enter the Holy of Holies, the special place in the Temple built for the Ark of the Covenant, the Holiest place in the nation. During this period, when Herod was still King, there was still an interplay between the power of the Temple and the government. The concerns of the priests had heavy sway in the next door palace, what they did got attention.

Recent archaeological discoveries in Jerusalem have suggested that the High Priests, such as Caiaphas and Annas at the time of Jesus' death, were among the wealthiest people in the City, and lived in the best parts of town. They had gold, beautiful homes, power, and influence.

And they had tradition. When Zechariah and Elizabeth take John to be circumcised it is a big public event. People debate the name "John," because it is not a traditional name in their powerful family. Everything about Zechariah and Elizabeth's family is in public view.

The contrasts couldn't have been greater. Mary is young, poor, and not married. Elizabeth has become pregnant in her old age, and its considered a miracle. Philip Yancey reminds us how their meeting "so poignantly highlights the contrast between the two women: the whole countryside is talking about Elizabeth's healed womb even as Mary must hide the shame of her own miracle."

"In a few months, the birth of John the Baptist took place amid great fanfare, complete with midwives, doting relatives, and the traditional village chorus celebrating the birth of a Jewish male. Six months later. Jesus was born far from home, with no midwife, extended family, or village chorus present." 1 Jesus would soon be chased and hounded, and end up as an illegal immigrant. John would grow up in one of the more powerful households in the country.

Christmas was very different for Elizabeth and Mary. Elizabeth was filled with joy and lavished praise on her young relative. Mary had an inner joy. But her life was a scandal and her experiences difficult and frightening.

Yet Elizabeth and Mary are related, and their children share the same fate.

And Christmas will be very different for the people in this room.

Some of us are about to have an Elizabeth Christmas. We can't imagine a greater joy. The best presents are bought. The neighbors are excited. The company is coming. Many years of waiting are about to be fulfilled. There is even a sense that the impossible is happening, miracle is real. We rejoice with every Elizabeth Christmas that God gives us.

But some of us are in for a Mary Christmas. Some of us feel that there is something going on inside of us that we have no way of explaining to anyone. Some of us have the person closest to us – like Joseph was to Mary – being kind, but looking askance, feeling betrayed, wondering – and if not sullen, then at least solemn. Some of us are having a Mary Christmas, where things have gone wrong, and people are looking down their noses at us. Some of us are having a Mary Christmas – in a strange place with few friends nearby, some of us – like Mary – are homeless, some of us – like Mary – are undocumented aliens.

In this room are both Mary and Elizabeth. Which are you? Or are you parts of both?

Not everyone experiences Christmas the same way. We may be having a Mary Christmas, while the person in the next pew is celebrating their Elizabeth year. Or we may be planning an Elizabeth party on Thursday, yet one of the people who might show up, might be a shy, overwhelmed Mary. Do we have enough compassion to understand each other?

And yet everyone of us – Mary or Elizabeth – everyone of us is related to each other. Our fates are intertwined. All of humanity is interrelated.

A few years ago I saw a young man who had been a parishioner of mine when he was a teenager. I had taught his confirmation class. Even though he had grown up in modest middle class circumstances, he was now living the high life, with a high paying job related to the insurance and utility industries, a well scrubbed family with Little League connections, and a trophy house in the suburbs.

I began to talk with him about the many poor in the city where he worked. He became very huffy and condemned the poor of that city in no uncertain terms, blaming their poverty on what he called their laziness. I tried to suggest to him that his growing wealth and their poverty were interrelated. To me it seemed that the wealth of the insurance companies was related to the fact that they did not have to provide health insurance for the poor. And obstinate and fickle utilities were often the bane of the poor. He not only felt that his company's profit had nothing to do with the lives of the poor, he also made it clear that he had nothing to do with the lives of the poor, and intended to keep it that way.

I was sorrowful that I had not been a better confirmation teacher.

But whatever we believe, Luke believes that the lives of the rich and the poor are intertwined. In their twenties John would be come some type of a hippie radical wearing outlandish clothes and eating a strange diet. Jesus would be the height of respectability, trying to make a decent wage in the carpentry business. They are almost archetypal of other young people from their social class. Until Jesus wanders out into the Jordan valley, to see John at the riverside. Jesus was born of Mary. But at that riverside there is a baptism. There are clouds and sunshine, and doves, and heavenly voices, and someone suggests that a new spiritual life has begun. A physical birth has been followed by a spiritual birth.

But – whatever – the two births belong together. They are intertwined.

Those of us who are happy this Christmas are linked inseparably to those who are sad. And those of us who are sad are eternally joined to those who are happy.

Those of us who have had a spiritual birth are intimately connected with those who are waiting for that revelation. Our lives are intertwined.

Those who toil beneath a crushing load are being sung to by angels. We are not alone. We are born into each other. And this new community, this new agape, this new connection is what God planned.

For is there any other message that comes to this little swirling planet lost out here in the stars, any other message to our lonely existence than this: you are not alone? Creation is born among you. You are together. Everyone is linked to everyone else, and we are all joined to God? Incarnation bespeaks unity. We are all one.

Amen.

1 – Yancey, Philip, "The Visited Planet," in Watch for the Light, (Plough Publishing House, Farmington, PA, 2001), Unnumbered pages.