Lent Day 21: Lady Day

When I find myself in times of trouble...

I'm going to tell you these things in the order in which I learned them. 

Growing up Catholic, of course I knew that March 25 was the Feast of the Annunciation of Gabriel to Mary. It was the first Joyful Mystery of the rosary, and I inherited my love of the rosary and of Mary from my mother. (She stopped going to church, but she never stopped saying the rosary.)

In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.”
~Luke 1:26-28

At some point it occurred to me that, of course, someone did the math and counted nine months backwards from Christmas.

Nope.

Rather, I learned that March 25 was celebrated as the day of the conception of Jesus Christ very early in church history. The reason for this was that the church, from its very earliest days, marked March 25 as the date of the crucifixion. 

I did not understand. Why should these be the same day? Wasn't that some kind of crazy coincidence?

No. It was, rather, trust in the consistency of God's designs for humankind. If the crucifixion took place on March 25, it stood to reason that it was also the date of Christ's conception, because it was the day chosen by God to be the day of salvation. God's purposes were being worked out in creation on this very day, whether that was by Christ's crucifixion or his conception... or even the creation of all things. Yes, there is also an ancient tradition that March 25 was the first day of creation.

Finally, I was today years old when I learned that, for nearly 600 years, March 25 was New Year's Day for the British Empire, also known as Lady Day. (Thanks so much Cody!).

So, a blessed day of Annunciation to you all, and a blessed remembrance of the first Good Friday. However it was done, by whatever method or design, today is a day to recall God's overflowing love for us.

Enjoy this, my favorite rendition of Mary's magnificent song, the Magnificat.

Lent Day 27: Feet

I'm looking right now at a pretty great pedicure I obtained a couple of weeks ago. Especially in the months of the year when our feet are never exposed (unless we go to the gym), I love taking off socks or tights to find: my toenails look lovely.

Not on their own, mind you. But decked out in their aqua gel polish, for today, they look pretty wonderful.

Feet are so awkward. Especially as we age, we can become profoundly uncomfortable with our feet. In fact, feet might be the distillation of all we dread about aging. They might start to twist in funny ways. They might require more attention from doctors. They might even require us to knock it off, in terms of shoes that are purely decorative, and to clothe them in something sensible, that gives actual support to our arches and our backs, for God's sake. (And our feet's sake.)

People are shy about their feet. I'd go as far as to say, people really, really dislike exposing them to anyone, for any reason.

So, here we are in Lent, and looming ahead is a story that is an essential part of our identity, and it has to do with Jesus-- JESUS!-- washing his disciples' feet. And some churches are bold enough to re-enact that. (I haven't even asked.)

But before that, at least in this year (for those of us who follow the Revised Common Lectionary) there is another story, a story about a woman anointing Jesus' feet. Many of us will share that story in worship tomorrow.

The motivating question in the passage seems to be: What do you get the man who has raised your brother from the dead? I mean, what is an appropriate thank you gift?

The brother in question is Lazarus. His sisters Martha and Mary sent for Jesus when Lazarus was sick, but Jesus delayed coming until after Lazarus had died.

He did this deliberately. And he tells us why, exactly, he does that.

He says, “This illness does not lead to death; rather it is for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.”

Now, it may appear that Jesus means that raising Lazarus from the dead will give him glory. And, that is what he means... except, you have to understand what Jesus means, in the gospel of John, by the word "glory."

He means his death. He means, his crucifixion, that moment when he will be raised up on the cross, arms outstretched, and gathering all the world to himself. For Jesus, that is the moment of the Son of Man being glorified.

Each "sign" Jesus performs in John's gospel reveals a facet of Jesus' identity, tells us more of who he is. This sign, raising someone from death to life, completes the picture, reveals Jesus as one who is at one with God, perfectly in tune with God's power for life. This sign will also be a provocation to the local powers-that-be to call for his, Jesus', death.

Jesus knows this. Jesus does this intentionally.

And the family of Lazarus are aware of the danger hovering over all this. But still, they are so grateful-- of course they are! How do thank him?

Do they simply say "Thank you?" I feel confident that has already happened.

Do they throw him a dinner party? Check.

But what else could you do... is there some kind of grand gesture that would get your gratitude across?

Oh, there surely is.

Lent Day 17: March 25: A Woman's Body

Today is March 25: according to the church calendar, it is the feast of the Annunciation of the angel Gabriel to Mary.

The gospel of Luke paints a rosy picture (Luke 1:26-38; you can find it here.)

An angel comes and greets Mary, who must have been a young girl (somewhere between 13 and 16). "Rejoice, favored one! The Lord is with you!" And when Mary doesn't exactly immediately rejoice, because, divine messengers are, apparently, terrifying, the angel adds, "Do not be afraid."

I'll stop there for a moment. I can't imagine she could have been anything but terrified by the news that followed: that God was going to cause a miraculous pregnancy in her, and that the child would be some kind of exalted, divine figure.

"...Son of the Most High."

"... the throne of David."

"...ruler over the house of Jacob forever."

No matter how you look at it, Mary is in a terrible position.

She is engaged to be married, and in this culture that is a contract every bit as serious as the wedding itself.

Given the laws that are on the books at this time, there is a threat, not just of disgrace, but of death by stoning.

There are cultures in our world today where that is still true; death by stoning, or by fire, or simply by your father or brother shooting or strangling you for disgracing the family by having sex where/ when you weren't allowed to.

(Because, what is the likelihood anyone will believe this story?)

My mom's beloved little statue of Mary.

On this feast of the annunciation, color me skeptical-- not of the virgin birth, necessarily. I am confident God could and can achieve whatever outcomes God wants. But of this story, in which the only emotion betrayed by Mary is a gentle wondering, "how is this possible?" followed by a calm "I am the Lord's servant. Let it be with me just as you have said."

Color me skeptical, because men have long policed and claimed ownership over women's bodies, and that's still a thing.

I guess I read this story in this way: It's a memory colored (just like all our memories) by what happened after that.... here, a fiance who, apparently, did believe her, or, at least, still wanted to be married to her... followed by the life of Jesus, her child, followed by his terrible death, which these scriptures tell us she witnessed, followed by the resurrection, during which time she was among his followers.

This is a memory filled in with the bright and shiny hues of life bursting forth from death.

Today, I want to remember that scared girl. I want to honor whatever it took for her to live through whatever kind of day this was, and the day after that, and every day for the next, long nine months. The looks on her parents' faces. The look on Joseph's. The women leaning together at the well, whispering when she came for water.

I want to remember and honor her, not as the calm, self-sacrificing Mother of God, but as a terrified teenager, wondering how in the world she would get through this.
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