We See God In Each Other

Luke 1:39–45 NRSV

39 In those days Mary set out and went with haste to a Judean town in the hill country, 40 where she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. 41 When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit 42 and exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. 43 And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? 44 For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. 45 And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”

Luke 1:56–58 NRSV

56 And Mary remained with her about three months and then returned to her home. 57 Now the time came for Elizabeth to give birth, and she bore a son. 58 Her neighbors and relatives heard that the Lord had shown his great mercy to her, and they rejoiced with her.

Seeing the joy in Asher’s life at Christmas

The verdict is in, at least in our household: Being 8 years old at Christmastime is the absolute best thing in the whole wide world ever!! All the wonder, all the noise, all the excitement, all the hope — it’s all there in the 8-year-old body of our son, Asher. I thought he was pumped for Christmas last year…oh, Seth, you ain’t seen nothing yet.

First, you have to know that this is very much a physical thing. By that, I mean that the 8-year body of my son is brimming with movement, energy, and chaos! He wanted to learn how to set an alarm about a week ago, and since then he has bounded in to jump onto me each morning, growing, skinny body squirming all over the bed, filled with boundless excitement. (And, uh…good job Dad about teaching him he can set a 6am alarm!)

Next, each morning, even during these last couple weeks of the school term, is filled with lego building and story telling — all the ideas, all the new models, all the dreamscapes of imagination, all full speed ahead.

We usually like to aid in his joy by making hot cocoa, tasty treats, and watching funny Christmas movies as a family. As I mentioned earlier this month, Asher has watched Home Alone far beyond the requisite number of times so far this year. Kyle Anderson made the astute observation that Asher is the exact age as Kevin McCalister when he was left home alone, so of course Asher loves these movies!

And it’s not just the hype of the season that has captivated my wonderful child. He also has a deepening sense of the story of Jesus’ birth and the importance we place of practicing the season of Advent in our house. Each Sunday night, we gather around our little Advent wreath, say a short prayer and sing a song. Asher shifts from hyperactive 8-year old to a more somber, reflective little person, offering heartfelt prayers for the people he loves, searching for the meaning of the season as we await the Christchild’s birth.

I watch him and remember what it was like to feel this way. Yesterday, he convinced me to build Legos in our basement with him and I turned on the Nutcracker Suite for background music. I was immediately transported back to the years when I was 8, 9, 10, listening to the Nutcracker, working on puzzles or reading or drawing in the evenings with my parents, growing up. My son and I are so alike. I get how he feels.

Now, maybe you and I don’t feel all these things in the same way today. I know my appreciation for this time of year has softened, smoothed out in a way, not any less, but different, more familiar and well-worn. But even still, there is a spark in me, and I know there is a spark in you, that lights up with the hope and joy of this time of year. It’s knit into us, this practice of remembrance and longing that we abide in these special days.

How does this spark feel in you, today? And can you see it in each other, a glimmer, a thrill of hope (as the song says)?

Mary and Elizabeth

We’ve heard in our Scriptures today the song of Mary and the story of her time with her relative, Elizabeth.

Let’s back up and remember last week, where we find the faithful Joseph tending to the needs of his pregnant wife-to-be, Mary. We remember that she was not disgraced or shamed, but that he would stand beside her. In Luke’s gospel, we hear that the angel announces the birth of the child to Mary, and then she leaves to spend time with her relative, Elizabeth, away from the eyes of judgement and familiar community.

So Mary is early in her pregnancy, but even in this moment, Elizabeth feels their connection, feels the spark of hope that lives in Mary.

Our text tells us that Elizabeth is filled with the Holy Spirit and cries out, blessing her young relative, proclaiming God’s goodness as it lives in Mary.

The spark in Elizabeth sees the spark in Mary and lights up!

Butterflies

Do you know the feeling of butterflies in your stomach? That ever-so-brief flutter, somewhere deep in you, that rises up in moments of excitement, attraction, hope, joy. Maybe you don’t feel it all that often, but when you do, you know it.

Does it come when you see the face of your beloved? Do you feel the tickle when you jump off into a new endeavor? What about when you notice the package under the tree with your name on it? Or the delight you experience when a card from an old friend arrives in the mail?

I get the sense that these butterflies are akin to what Elizabeth and Mary experienced in that moment. That delight of the depth of understanding they share, as pregnant women.

Remember, as well, that Elizabeth’s pregnancy is remarkable in its own right. She is older than typical birthing age. She and her husband Zechariah have received a promised child, as well. God is using them and their son, John, to prepare the way for the Messiah, Jesus.

So, what is this spark, what are these butterflies?

Christ in Us — The Imago Dei

As I reflect on this passage and where we find ourselves in the season of Advent, this time of longing, I feel drawn to the memory of how we bear the Image of God, each one of us.

As those who follow in the way of Jesus, we hold central to our faith that God has imprinted upon our very soul the divine image, the mark of our soul’s belonging to the family of God. We believe that, in fact, all people are born with and blessed with this image of God, the imago Dei. In the Creation story, we hear that God breathes life into the lungs of Adam and Eve. It is this life-breath, this ruah or pneuma that animates us and identifies us as children of God.

Christian theology also says that all humanity bears this image. But in many of us, the image is more difficult to see. I love the way some traditions talk about sin and the brokeneness of our world as something like the marring of a looking glass or mirror. In perfection, we see the image of our selves as beloved children of God when we look into that mirror. But the pains, wounds, faults, and despairs of our lives etch and marr that glass, making it harder to see. The image is still there, but it’s buried under scratches and cracks.

What Christ, in us, does, then, is restores that image. The image was always there, but it is through the love of Christ that that image is made clear again, able to be seen for what it is once more. We also use language of “washing clean” and it applies in the same way: what has become obscured is washed or polished to shine once more. The light in us is restored through Christ.

If I think about my son, Asher, I know that there have already been plenty of things in his life that have perhaps made scratches or cracks. Growing up isn’t always easy, it’s not always Christmas time. But what I also know is that his image is bright and is being made new, each and every day, by Christ who lives in him.

Maybe this is what the butterflies are, what that feeling tells us of.

We know this in ourselves. But the invitation today is to also see this in others and call it out.

Elizabeth greets Mary and sees and shouts — Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb!! The child in me sees the child in you somehow and it is jumping for joy in me. I am lit up with hope for I see you, my dear Mary!

Clearly, I light up when I see the joy in my son’s eyes and the delight in his body at all the things of this season.

I wonder, if you pause and consider, what is it in you that causes you to light up? What is it in others that you see that gives your heart a jump, your butterflies awake, your joy awakening?

What, in others, causes us to leap for joy?

Could this be a witnessing of the Divine’s spark in them?

The teaching for us today is pretty simple: We must cultivate a posture in ourselves that allows us to see this image in others. We must learn to pay attention to those sparks, as they show up all around us. They’re here — we must learn to look!

Back to those days when I had all that same excitement that I now see in Asher. During Advent of 1991, when I would have been 9 years old, just one more than Asher, this amazing new version of the Peter Pan story came out in theaters: Hook! Who remembers Hook?

Ok, I’ll skip recapping yet another movie, but I want to close with this beautiful image from it.

Peter Pan returns to the lost boys, his tribe of friends in Neverland. But he’s old and grumpy and not very Peter Pan like. This is a sad sight for the boys. But one of them slowly approaches him and pulls him down to eye level. And he begins to squeeze Peter’s face, moving it, pulling back sagging cheeks, smoothing wrinkles, looking deeply into his eyes.

And there, suddenly, it happens.

The little boy’s face lights up — he sees.

And he calmly, lovingly exclaims .... “there you are, Peter!”

Elizabeth shouts for joy at Mary — there you are!

Our call, today, is to do just this with each other. We see God in each other…we see Christ’s light in each other. Some of us are so full of light and life that it’s hard not to see it. Asher’s exuberance, the hope of Christmas, the joy of the season. Some of us are a bit more rough and marred. It might take a little more to see the light in us. But it’s there.

I’ll close with a saying that I think brings this all together. Something I hope we can greet each other and send each other with as we go through our days. We see the image, we see the hope of Christ. And when we do, we can say this: “The Christ in me sees the Christ in you.”

Look to the person next to you. No need to say it, yet, but see this: The Christ in me sees the Christ in you.

May we have eyes to see this light and beauty in this deep, rich, dark and wild season.

Amen.