The Most Pregnant Women in History

A sermon on Luke 1:39-55 for Advent 4, 2024, Preached at St Paul's, Ashgrove

Luke 1:39-55

This Gospel reading gives us a glimpse into the exuberance of two pregnant women who know God is up to something new and big – something even newer than their babies and bigger than their bellies! These women are pregnant with very important sons, but they are also pregnant with new life for the whole world, and the hope and expectation within these women draws them to each other.

These women are pregnant with the promises of God. They know their Old Testament. They know the stories of their ancestors, like Sarah and Hannah, who became pregnant against all odds with children who would grow up to change history. And they know the prophets. They know that God has promised to heal the deep wounds in their people: wounds of poverty, exploitation, corruption and war.

Mary has only just conceived and Elizabeth’s baby is due in about three months, but we could almost say that these are the most pregnant women in history: carrying in their bodies the destiny of their people and the future of all creation.

Very pregnant. And drawn to each other in a bond of loving mutual understanding!

These two women have been caught up in a work of God that is turning the world upside down. Mary declares that

⁵² God has brought down the powerful from their thrones,

and lifted up the lowly;

⁵³ God has filled the hungry with good things,

and sent the rich away empty.

As these two babies grow in their mother’s wombs, the unjust structures of the world are being overturned.

This will happen through the ministry of these boys when they grow to be men. It will be done through their lives and their deaths, and in the resurrection of Mary’s son. And it is also happening right there and then in the bodies of these women.

Women’s bodies were seen at that time, and increasingly still today, as weak and inferior, and as things to be exploited for men’s pleasure. These female bodies are now the place where God’s greatest work is being done. So right there where nobody expected God to be, in the bodies of a peasant girl and an older woman, the lowly are being raised up.

Elizabeth had been trying to become pregnant for – probably – decades. She had kept hoping for a child against the odds and against the evidence. We all know people who have lived with this painful hope. When I decided it was time to start a family it took almost a year for me to become pregnant with Tom. A year is nothing, really, and if I had known it would just be a year, I would have been fine. But while I was in the middle of it, I didn’t know how long it take. Or whether there would ever be a baby. And so, every month I hoped, and for a lot of months in a row my hopes were dashed, again and again and again.

I know many of you have experienced this particular form of distress – either in your own bodies or with your children or grandchildren. You know how easy it is for fear to take hold – how easy it is to either give up hope or to hold on to hope so tightly that it becomes an obsession. Elizabeth had come through decades of that battle between hope and fear and now, at last, there was a baby growing inside her body.

She is delighted with that, but she must have known the risks involved in giving birth at her age. In the first century the risks were high for any woman. She would have had sisters, cousins, friends who had not survived childbirth. And those risks are greatly increased for older women. And she must know, in any case, that she is not likely to be around to see her son grow to be an adult.

When I finally became pregnant with my first child, I remember how quickly my fear that I would never conceive a child turned into fear that my child might not be OK. And that was despite the excellent medical care we have in Australia.

Elizabeth was more mature and more faithful than me, and her husband had been told by an angel that the baby would be fine, but even so there would have been a heavy stone of fear in her heart, doing battle with her faith, right up until she held that healthy baby in her arms. And even then, she would have watched over him as he slept and checked regularly that he was still breathing.

Mary was a much younger woman. Almost certainly a teenager. Maybe as young as 14. She is pregnant and unmarried. She knows that this conception is miraculous, but the rest of her world doesn’t know that. Matthew tells us that an angel will speak to Joseph in a dream to reassure him, but that hasn’t happened yet. Mary must have been concerned about how he would react. And we don’t know that any angel appeared to her mum and dad, or her friends in Nazareth to explain the situation to them. They all knew how babies are conceived. And at that time becoming pregnant without being married would have brought great shame, not just on her but on her whole family. And shame could destroy a family, if friends and business associates chose to turn against them.

Mary is safe with Elizabeth, but at some point, she is going to have to go home. While she is filled with hope for the work of God her child is destined to accomplish in the world, there must have been a stone of fear in her heart battling against her hope.

During the week, a member of our online community sent me a poem she had written, imagining Mary in an Australian context. When we are only able to picture Mary and Elizabeth in serene postures, with golden circles around their heads, we can miss their common humanity, so I am delighted to share this poem here:

A southern Advent
by Rita Glennon

Cicadas whip the molten air,
Scrambling it to fever pitch
As Mary wrings with dexterous care
Her wet cloths, saving every stitch.

Eight months have passed, the weariness
Apparent in her shuffling gait
Is lengthening. Her home’s a mess,
But — oh, the heat! — the mess will wait.

In through the door, a cool respite,
She thinks of dear Elizabeth
With babe in arms, no rest at night,
And prays for peace in Nazareth;

May God protect her child on earth,
And aid her husband at his work,
And grant her, please, a gentle birth;
May angels tread where troubles lurk.

She bakes some bread for supper then
Sits down to eat a little fare,
And ponders things beyond her ken,
And dozes in the comfy chair.

These two women, Elizabeth and Mary, from different generations, are drawn to each other. Nobody could understand what Elizabeth was feeling as well as Mary could. Nobody could understand what Mary was feeling as well as Elizabeth could.

We know that God’s love is stronger than our fear. At least, we try to remember that. And these women knew the love of God. But they also needed to experience God’s love with skin on. God’s love in the affection of another human being who understood and believed and accepted.

The sort of life-changing encounter with God they had each experienced can be exciting but it can also be lonely. Who can you talk to about what God has called you to do? Most people would think you are crazy.

If you read the bit in Luke just before this morning’s reading you find the angel Gabriel delivering the news to Mary that she is going to give birth to the saviour. She responds by saying, ‘Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word’. Her response is obedient, submissive, but hardly exuberant. It isn’t until after she meets Elizabeth that her joy overflows in those beautiful words of the Magnificat. Her joy becomes full when she has someone to share it with. Someone who understands.

It is a long, hazardous journey from Nazareth to Judea. Whenever I read this story, I wonder how a pregnant teenager could have made that journey. What dangers did Mary face along the way? What help was she able to ask for? Did she have any travelling companions? But those details are not included, so I have to remain curious about all those things. What is clear is that Mary’s first impulse on discovering that she is pregnant with the saviour of the world is to get to Elizabeth as quickly as possible.

And as soon as she turns up on Elizabeth’s doorstep Elizabeth knows that Mary is carrying the hope of the world. She knows that her own child is just a signpost while Mary’s child is the ultimate destination. Her own child was conceived after decades of desperate hoping and fearing, Mary’s after nothing at all. If Elizabeth felt any envy at that point, there is no hint of it in the story. Instead, she is overwhelmed by the honour of being visited by the mother of her Lord.

Elizabeth’s son will learn this humility from his mother. When he grows up he will attract great crowds at first: people wanting to hear what he has to say, wanting to be baptised by him, wanting to become his disciples. Then he will start losing all his followers because people decide to follow Jesus instead. He won’t get jealous either. He will know that’s exactly what is supposed to happen.

The older one rejoices to see the younger one more successful and more blessed. That’s what we see modelled between Elizabeth and Mary. There is mutual understanding and affection and there is also reverence from one to the other. From the older to the younger. Not envy, not resentment, but love and reverence.

These two women present us with a picture of the church. We also carry the hope of God, the love of God, for a broken world that still needs to be turned upside down. Like them, there is a stone of fear that battles against our hope and our peace and our Joy. Who will believe us? Who can understand us? There are so few of us. Will we ever see the embryonic life we carry mature and renew the world?

But look what God has given us for this struggle: each other.

People who won't think we are crazy for believing the promises of God; people who won’t criticise us for taking our lives in directions that don’t lead to wealth or power or comfort; people who won’t judge us for focusing on what gives life rather than on what gives pleasure; companions for the exciting and daunting journey we are called to take together.

When the call of God on one of us feels too hard, and fear of the consequences of living by faith begins to overwhelm the hope, peace and joy within us, then we need someone to be Elizabeth to our Mary by standing in reverence and awe over the work of God in us.

And when one of us is afraid that our long, hard labour in the Lord will be in vain after all, then we need someone to be Mary to our Elizabeth by making the arduous, treacherous journey to be by our side to support our labour and to bear witness that the work of God in us is indeed the work of God in us.

Intergenerational envy could keep us apart but not today. Today we stand by each other. Today we honour the work of God in each life as we invite God to work through our whole community. Today we choose to love those who are older than us and those who are younger than us as we stand in awe of the work of God in every one of these thoroughly ordinary and totally magnificent people who worship God with us each Sunday.

Look around! Look at the people in front of you and behind you. Look at them and say, “Who am I that such a great miracle of God should be here in this place with me!”

Do the same on Wednesday, regardless of how motley the crew that gathers at your Christmas table. And if you are alone, bring to mind the parade of people who have intersected your life.

Who are we that such great miracles of God should share this planet with us!

Amen

With Love from Rev Margaret