Our Anthem – Sermon on Luke 1.46b-55

Here it basically is:

Played Mission impossible theme

That music, it’s the theme to what show, movies?
Mission Impossible.
It was also the music played at the start of the marathon I ran in Greece last month.
Mission Impossible? Really?
What a buzzkill. Is it really all that inspiring and motivating? It’s not what I was expecting to hear. I had been looking forward to hearing the Greek National Anthem. I’m pretty sure that “dnn’t, dnnt, dunt dunt dunt’” is not it.

Later while running down the road, I mentioned to another runner how I was surprised that they did not play the Greek National anthem. The other marathons I’ve done here in The States all began with the Star Spangled Banner. The response I remember hearing from that person is, “ well this isn’t the USA”.

No it wasn’t. Obviously I was in a different country—with different language, customs, food, and music. I wanted to hear Greece’s anthem, not one of Hollywood . Aren’t national anthems supposed to be special. Aren’t they supposed to inspire feelings of national pride? I wanted to hear music that captures and communicates the spirit of the people of the country. The music of the Greek people.

Like today. Like what we heard today in worship. It could be said that today we have heard the songs of God’s people.
The spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me,
because the LORD has anointed me;
he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed,
to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
and release to the prisoners;

Word’s from the prophet Isaiah, and then words owned and claimed by Jesus as he began, kicked-off not a marathon, but his ministry.
And then we heard from Jesus’ Mother, the song of Mary, also known as the Magnificat. You know it’s not too much of a stretch to call these our anthems. These words declare what God does, what God does for and with God’s people. But first they are Mary’s words.
Mary is a young woman, not much more than a girl, with her whole life ahead of her. It was a life that would have been typical, a life of marriage, children, cooking, cleaning, caring for her family. Promised, in what could have been an arranged marriage, to a man named Joseph. But still just a normal girl, not a queen, not a princes, nobody special.
And one day, the Lord God’s own messenger comes, with a life changing, life rattling, life upending word. Through her, God would birth the savior of her people, the savior of humanity, the savior of the world. I don’t know about you but my mind would be blown. If that were me, I’d have a whole new bunch of reasons to question my own sanity.
This new reality will not only stretch her belly, but her faith, her relationship with God and all those around her. Who would believe her? Who would listen to her? Young and pregnant before her wedding –to her family, neighbors, friends she’s just another girl who got as some say “knocked up”, got into trouble, just another single mom. From Matthew’s story we learn that Even Joseph her soon to be husband was planning to quietly divorce her. Surrounded by whispers, shame, heartache and pain.
It is no wonder, Mary goes to see her cousin Elizabeth, she doesn’t just post this on facebook; Mary’s getting out of town, and it is to Elizabeth that Mary sings these words we heard today. Given her situation, given what’s happened in her life– improbable and impossible words, My soul proclaims the greatness | of the Lord,
47my spirit rejoices in | God my Savior,
48for you, Lord, have looked with favor on your | lowly servant
From this day all generations will | call me blessed;
49you, the Almighty, have done great | things for me,
and holy | is your name.

Elizabeth listens, Elizabeth hears the song and really hears the singer. Now why would she do that? It is because Elizabeth knows the power of God doesn’t fit within the, does not fit within our lines we draw about what is right, what is proper. Because Elizabeth is expecting—a miracle– a child as well. She believes that God’s blessings are not what the world, culture, even our laws allow. She is expecting God.
Elizabeth will give birth to that voice in the wilderness, to John, the voice of repentance.
50You have mercy on | those who fear you,
from generation to | generation. R
51You have shown strength | with your arm;
and scattered the proud in | their conceit,
52casting down the mighty | from their thrones
and lifting | up the lowly.

From just a whisper in Mary’s heart, to a duet with old Elizabeth, to the song of God’s people. These words….are not just Mary’s, they come from the stories of the Bible, of women and men, ordinary, regular, lowly people lifted up, rescued, redeemed and realigned.
3You have filled the hungry | with good things,
and sent the rich | away empty.
54You have come to the aid of your | servant Israel,
to remember the prom- | ise of mercy,

Within Mary’s song we hear the cries of slaves in Egypt, the shouts as they are liberated. We hear the laws that institutionalize care for the poor—for example Leviticus 19: 9When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap to the very edges of your field, or gather the gleanings of your harvest. 10You shall not strip your vineyard bare, or gather the fallen grapes of your vineyard; you shall leave them for the poor and the alien: I am the Lord your God. Over and over again the lives and words of the prophets call the people, the leaders, the rich to turn from injustice, to not sell the poor, to not cheat, but to provide for the widow, the orphan, the alien/the stranger. For hundreds and hundreds of years, from one grandfather to another, this is the God that has been handed down.
he promise made | to our forebears,
to Abraham and his chil- | dren forever.

Handed down to us, as this song becomes not just Mary’s, not just Mary and Elizabeth, but all. We add our voices to it we are the children God promises—these words lift up our spirits, filling those who are emptied by the sin of this world to be filled with hope, the hope of God’s promise to re-order our world away from the powerful and privileged, away from gold, guns, and guile. This is our song as we though a small people struggle to voice the presence God here where so many, where our culture, our society does not expect it. listen to the voices of protestors.  Our own struggle, and in a place where too many have been just ignored and turned away, judged to be not good enough. Here we add our voice to that of our neighbors who can’t sing the siren song of financial security and suburban safety and white standards. We sing God’s anthem as we could and should very well call this our anthem. Perhaps these words should go with us, not recycled in a basket in the back, but folded up, rolled up put in your purse or pocket. Ready to pulled out when someone thinks the Bible is about blessings of business wealth, success, and military might. Instead of corporate jingles and jingoistic anthems this is our song. It is not shame and pain; it is not despair and death; it is not weakness and resignation.

We will listen to Mary and the Mary’s of today, with the cries of anger, screams of pain and despair. No longer will the noise of things like Fox news, of mean spirited politicians, the bangs of guns, the marching boots of warriors, of anger and resentment, of racism and fear. We will not let those sounds drown out this song, Mary’s song because it is our anthem. In it we have hope.
It may feel like an impossible task, but it is our mission to add voices to those who are not heard, because God is here. And as we listen, and as we read and sing, and pray, we trust that God is lifting up the lowly, lifting us up and our souls will, our souls do proclaim the greatness | of the Lord, our spirits will from now on rejoice in | God our Savior. Amen.

Sermon for Advent 4

Psalm 137
By the rivers of Babylon— there we sat down and there we wept when we remembered Zion.
On the willows there we hung up our harps.
For there our captors asked us for songs, and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying, “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!”
How could we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?
Those are not words that we usually hear in worship. What with Christmas carols on the radio, pumped through store sound-systems, these are not words that we hear this close to Christmas. But these are ancient words, words whispered by God’s people, words said with tears in the eyes of God’s children who had been taken into exile—when they were captured and kidnapped stolen from their homes and land. They hung up their harps, lay down their drums, put their pipes away. They were strangers in a strange land and so their voices fell silent.
A feeling that some of us may have shared this past week or so, as we have continued to deal with the violence rampant in our society as demonstrated by the shootings at Sandy Hook. This violence seems unrelenting in our world health-workers distributing polio vaccines shot down in Pakistan, workers trapped and killed in a sweatshop factory in Bangledesh. These aren’t just isolated instances once in a blue moon, but happen here and there and there and here, everywhere, seeming un-ending.
It is enough to pull and rip the music from our hearts and our lips. It is no wonder some of our ancestors surrendered their song, and turned to silence.
But that is only one way. As a mother of a 5yr old who loves to sing, silence is just not a reality all too often for me. So in the midst of news reports and press conferences I heard these words over and over and over again.
I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom, for me and you, and I think to myself what a wonderful world
I see skies of blue, and clouds of white the bright blessed day, dark sacred night and I think to myself what a wonderful world
The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky are also on the faces of people passing by, I see friends shaking hands, saying, “How do you do’ They’re really saying’, I love you”
I hear babies cryin’, I watch them grow; they’ll learn much more, than I’ll ever know, and I think to myself what wonderful world.
That was the song his class sang for their holiday program at school, but what is more important is that unknowingly Micah has been echoing another song –a song of his ancestors in the faith. A song sung even when the world isn’t so wonderful. A song like that sung by Mary with her kinswoman Elizabeth—unexpectedly expecting– Mary, unmarried and pregnant. Elizabeth quite elderly and

JESUS MAFA. The Visitation - Mary and Elizabeth meet, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=48279 [retrieved December 24, 2012]
JESUS MAFA. The Visitation – Mary and Elizabeth meet, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=48279 [retrieved December 24, 2012]
pregnant. But that is where God is –so they sing. God is lifting up the lowly. God isn’t born into palaces and among the princes but with the poor, not with the well healed and well armed, but with powerless, the most vulnerable. God is with the wounded and the weeping. Mary’s singing tells us to not place our hope in pronouncements or press conferences. Christmas—the birth of God in the flesh of the baby Jesus—homeless and threatended is about the voice of God not thundering in the skies, but in the cries of a baby, words around a table where absolutely everyone is welcome, his cries from the cross as a victim of states sponsored terrorism, and most importantly the echo of an empty tomb, and the songs of his people from generation to generation.
These are the songs we sing today, even if our voices are halting, we don’t quite know the tune, or are stone cold tone deaf, these songs we sing join our whispers of hope, adds our voices to the shouts for peace, and the drum beat for justices for the poor and vulnerable. We the people of God sing, no matter what—words of promise, words of hope—words that resound in our hearts, on our lips and one day all heaven and earth will join together to magnify the Lord. Amen.