Henrietta United Church of Christ

Rev. David Inglis Luke 1:26-38

First Sunday of Advent December 3, 2006

“Bringing Christ into the World”

Have you ever wondered what it would have been like to be Mary or Joseph in this story? Karen Tambasco tried to imagine what it would have been like to be Mary, trying to come to terms with what the angel has told her.

This portion was written and played by Karen Tambasco:

Father! Why me? Why Joseph? Father! The disgrace my family will feel!

Father, I have always prayed that someday I would be a mother. To have the spirit of a child awaken within me is more than I could ever hope for. But to have it this way–the miracle of it all, the confusion in my mind it creates--it’s too much for me to believe.

I am so afraid Joseph will be so hurt--he will feel I betrayed him. Yet nothing is farther from the truth! Oh Father, you know how I love him. I love Joseph with all my heart. How I need him to believe me. Even if an angel visited him, would he believe the angel? I can feel the spirit of God’s Chosen One within me… but oh, I worry.

Father, I live by your wisdom and grace, and know you have a plan–but how scared I am!

Oh, Father, my parents! Until they truly understand and know the miracle you have bestowed upon us all…Oh God! Grant me strength… I am so young!

(She pulls herself together, straightens her clothes, dries her eyes, clears her throat) I can do this. I’m going to be a mother. I’m going to be a mother to a baby… to the Savior. I will be strong. The Lord will grant me strength and I will help Joseph to understand. Oh, poor Joseph. Together, we will get through this, Lord. (Calmly) Lord, thank you, thank you for all the wondrous love you grant us. Thank you for bringing us this Savior. Father, I will do your bidding, with love and honesty, and we will raise him to be a wondrous man, so that he will realize all that he is to be. Thank you, Father for choosing me. Thank you, for choosing us.

How big Mary’s trust in God had to stretch! How much security she had to be willing to give up to bring Christ into the world!

There are lots of miracles in the Christmas story, but they aren’t about Jesus making a grand and glorious entrance into a palace or being placed on a golden throne. The miracles all happened in extraordinary ordinariness–with a young single girl and a simple carpenter required by an oppressive government to make a grueling journey to enroll for heavy taxes, and ending up giving birth in a crude stable. And the first to hear the news were rough-hewn shepherds who lived outdoors. Christ entered the world in extraordinary ordinariness.

Advent means “coming.” And I find this story helping me prepare for Christ’s coming in a different way this year. What happened 2000 years ago was just the beginning. It’s Christ’s nature to want to come into the world. He wants to come again and again into our world and into our lives and into our hearts. But I’ve found that he’s not likely to make a grand and glorious entrance amidst the flashing lights, blaring music or rustling wrapping paper. He’s more likely to slip into the world in places of extraordinary ordinariness.

Christ showed up working in my life this week in the preparation of this sermon. Karen mentioned to me a couple weeks ago that she’d like to be in a worship drama. Last week I told her I was thinking about starting Advent with the scripture lesson Enid read, and asked if she’d like to play the part of Mary. I guess that was the right question, because a few days later she sent me this powerful piece you just saw her do. Then I told God I needed a story or two about ordinary people in some way revealing Christ’s spirit in our ordinary world. Friday afternoon, as I was getting ready to transition from administration to sermon writing, Christ slipped into my email inbox in the form of a story that took place in extraordinary ordinariness. So I guess this is the story God wants you to hear, about how Christ’s spirit still comes into our ordinary world. It was written by an ordinary man whose name I don’t know who drove a taxi for a living twenty years ago.

One night he responded to a call in a rundown neighborhood at 2:30 a.m. The building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. He says that a lot of drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, and then drive away. But he had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis to get them where they need to go. So he went up to the door, having the feeling that someone might need his assistance.

When he knocked, a frail, elderly voice answered, “Just a minute.” He heard something being dragged across the floor. Finally, the door opened, and a frail woman with a 1940's style pillbox hat with a veil stood there with a nylon suitcase. All the furniture in the apartment was covered with sheets and the walls and counters were bare.

He carried her bag to the car and came back and offered his arm to the tottery woman. She kept thanking him for his kindness. “It's nothing,” he said. “I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated”

When he had helped her into the cab, she gave him the address, and then asked, “Could you drive through downtown?”

“It's not the shortest way,” he answered quickly.

“Oh, I don't mind,” she said. “I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice.” In the rearview mirror he could see her eyes glistening. “I don't have any family left,” she continued. “The doctor says I don't have very long.” He quietly reached over and turned off the meter.

“What route would you like me to take?” he asked. For the next two hours, they drove through the city. She showed him the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator, and they drove past the neighborhood she and her husband had lived in as newlyweds. Sometimes she'd ask him to stop in front of a particular building or corner, and they would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing. As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, the woman said, “I'm tired. Let's go now.” They drove in silence to the address she had given him. It looked like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab and helped her into a wheelchair while the driver got her suitcase out of the trunk.

“How much do I owe you?” she asked, reaching into her purse. “Nothing,” he said.

“You have to make a living,” she answered.

“There are other passengers,” he said. Almost without thinking, he bent over and gave her a hug. She held onto him tightly. “You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,” she said quietly into his ear. “Thank you.” He squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind him, a door shut–the sound of the closing of a life.

The cabby didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. He drove around aimlessly, lost in thought. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if he had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On one level, he was just an ordinary cabby giving a lady a ride. But he was part of a little miracle. To the lady he was a Godsend. He embodied the presence of Christ accompanying her as she said goodbye to her life.

What happened two thousand years ago in Bethlehem was just the beginning. It’s Christ’s nature to want to slip into the world and our lives over and over again. But just like 2000 years ago with Mary and Joseph, Christ needs our cooperation to make his entrance. What if Mary had said, “I’m sorry, but this is asking way too much of me. This isn’t in my plans.” Isn’t that a kind of miracle too–that Christ’s coming into the world depends so much on us?

As we begin this Advent season, I wonder what it would take for you and for me to not only celebrate Christ’s coming and not only bear witness to Christ’s coming, but even to somehow help bear Christ into the world around us.

I’ll tell you what this requires of me. I have to be able to do what Mary did and what the cab driver did. I have to get my heart and my soul open enough to hear God’s requests to enter my life and my world. This isn’t an easy thing for me. It’s natural, but it’s not easy. What’s easy is my unnatural state of managing my time as efficiently as possible, making my plans, crossing things off my to-do list and moving onto the next item, avoiding problems if I can, gliding through my day as smoothly as I can. That’s the way my ego wants my life to go–smooth, easy, efficient, with the maximum achievement for the minimum strain. It’s not natural because that’s not the way life happens, or the way ministry happens, or the way Christ enters our lives. Miracles never happen on our ego’s terms. They happen on God’s terms. Our egos have to move over and make room for the way God works, like Mary managed to do when she released all her plans and said, “Let it be with me according to your word,” or like the cabby did when he reached over and shut off his meter and opened up his heart. That’s how ordinary people like you and me can help bear Christ into the world.

Let’s try opening our hearts and pondering ways we might prepare for Jesus coming into our hearts and into our lives and into our world this advent.