You might not have noticed it, but each service in our Advent Approaching the Mystery series has started with one of the O Antiphons chosen by Mother Becca and I as thematically consistent with the rest of the service. On Advent 1, we chose “O Dayspring” as we began the season in darkness and invited the dawning light of Christ to help us find our way. For Advent 2, our focus was on “O Wisdom.” The prophets Isaiah and John the Baptist spoke to us as mouthpieces of God’s wisdom, pointing us toward the beginning of the good news. Last Sunday, on Advent 3, we set our sights on “O Lord of Might” who, despite great difficulty in the world around us, is able to stir up joy in all circumstances by way of unending grace and mercy. Finally, this morning, on our last Sunday before Christmas and coming of Christ into the world, our O Antiphon is “Emmanuel,” God with us, God who enters the world, enters fully into our humanity, to bring about the redemption of all Creation.
These O Antiphons have, to a greater or lesser degree, played a role in the responsories that we wrote, in the hymns that we sang, and in the sermons that we preached, but this week I’ve been particularly struck by Emmanuel and how God chose to come among us. It all started with an email from a friend of mine who was working on his sermon for Christmas 1. He was stuck on the word dwell in John’s Prologue, as in “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” He asked me to nerd out with him on the various ways that God dwells with humanity in the Scriptures, and my mind was immediately drawn to our Old Testament lesson for this morning.
David is coming off a pretty huge win as 2nd Samuel chapter 7 begins. The Ark of the God had been returned to Jerusalem with great fanfare. Musical instruments of all kinds led thirty thousand soldiers as they sang and danced with all their might, carrying the Ark of God into the City, and they placed it inside a tent, where the presence of Almighty God had dwelled since the days of Moses and the people of Israel wandering in the desert. Suddenly, as David sat in his house of cedar, he began to feel uncomfortable. Why should he live in a beautiful, sturdy, secure home when the presence of God was left to reside in a tent? David began to plan to build a house for God, when the voice of the Lord spoke to his prophet, Nathan, and said, “I have not lived in a house since the day I brought up the people of Israel from Egypt to this day, but I have been moving about in a tent and a tabernacle.” Given the choice, God preferred to dwell in the flexibility of a tent so that God might be able to easily move about and be present, no matter where God’s people might find themselves. Over and over again, throughout the Scriptures, we find that God chooses to be present among the mess. God never forsakes God’s people, even when it feels like God is far away, Emmanuel, God is with us.
Fast forward a thousand years, and our Gospel lesson tells the story of God once again choosing to dwell with humanity, not as a statue to be housed in a building and worshiped, or even as some magnificent, fully-formed human who arrives with great flourish and power, but as a baby, who grew up and became a person who lived and moved and had their being in the utter messiness of humanity. In the Annunciation, we are reminded of the good news that God isn’t some far away deity, writing the code and pulling the strings that make the cosmos happen, but it is God’s intention to be among us, no matter the circumstances. God chose to come among us in the most vulnerable way possible: as a baby, born to an unwed mother, living in a nowhere town, under the oppressive boot of a distant, yet mighty empire.
The Angel Gabriel comes to invite Mary to serve, at least temporarily, as the Tabernacle of God, but begins by reminding Mary of the overarching truth of God’s relationship with humankind, God is with her. God will never leave or forsake her, and if she would believe in that truth, she would have the opportunity to change the course of history. God didn’t choose a house of cedar to live in. Instead, God chose the womb of Mary. God didn’t choose a person with powerful political connections. Instead, God chose the fiancé of a carpenter from the middle of nowhere, Nazareth. Of all the times, places, and people God could have chosen as the Tabernacle of Christ, God chose Mary, the perfect example of vulnerability and faithfulness, presumably since the Ark of God. This is especially true in Luke’s Gospel, where Mary serves as both the God-bearer and the model of Christian discipleship. As Mark Allen Powell, Professor of New Testament at Trinity Lutheran Seminary, points out, the Annunciation to Mary is her call story in line with the calling of such heavy hitters and Moses and Isaiah. All the elements are there: the greeting, the started reaction, the exhortation not to fear, the divine commission, the objection, a reassurance, and the offer of a confirming sign. In her words of acceptance, Mary models both Samuel and Isaiah in saying, “Here I am.” She goes on to preview the words her Son would pray to God the Father on the night he was betrayed, “Let it be with me according to your word” or “Not my will but yours be done.” For Luke, Mary is the perfect combination of humility, obedience, faithfulness, and loving service. She is, the ideal Tabernacle for the nurturing of Emmanuel, God with us.
Throughout the course of human history, God has, again and again, chosen to be vulnerable in order to be present with human beings in their struggle. Whether it was choosing to stay in a tent rather than letting David build a house of cedar or choosing the womb of a faithful young woman as the way God the Son would enter the world, God has never shied away from hardship or messiness. On this Fourth Sunday of Advent, our collective prayer is that God might continue that trend in us. We pray for the faith of Mary. We pray that, with God’s help, we might be willing to serve as the Tabernacle of the Holy Spirit. We pray that Jesus, the Son of Mary, might find in us a mansion prepared for himself, and that as we live and move and have our being in the world, we might be the very hands and feet of God who is always among us. O come, O come, Emmanuel! Model us in the image of your Mother, Mary, and make us tabernacles of your grace. Amen.