Divine Movement in the Darkness

PROPERS:          FOURTH SUNDAY OF ADVENT, YEAR C     

TEXT:                LUKE 1:39-55

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, MAGNOLIA SPRINGS, ON SUNDAY, DECEMBER 19, 2021.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        The dramatic movement of God is done most notably in the deep valleys of doubt and fear.

 

            Today is frequently known as Mary Sunday, because this is a story about her – and her visit to her cousin Elizabeth and her voicing of the Magnificat.  William Wordsworth might have classified that poem as a spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings.

 

            But it is possible – I say possible – that history may have glamorized Mary’s experience. It is conceivable that a 14-year-old Mary, facing the prospect of an arranged marriage with Joseph, was torn by what life was dealing her. So, she retreated to a cave in her hometown of Nazareth to seek some solitude and peace.

 

            It was in that cave – now a part of the Basilica of the Annunciation – that life got really complicated for her. There, we are told, she was visited by the archangel Gabriel who told her that she would conceive and bear a very special child.

 

            She may have been struggling before. Now her life was really complicated.  But God was moving through the chaos.  That movement echoes through this season and day.

 

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            In October 2005, I was on the staff of the Diocese of Mississippi.  We were shy of two months after the landfall of Hurricane Katrina.

 

            The chaos was unlike anything I had ever seen. Bishop Gray and I drove to the coast three days after the storm and what I saw brought to mind the destruction of Hiroshima in World War II.  The coast, several blocks inland, was laid waste.  We lost six churches to the tidal surge and raging winds – including one that had been built while I was vicar there.

 

            From that day on, the diocesan headquarters was a war room – operating 24-hours a day, with all efforts focused on recovery.

 

            All diocesan staff over-functioned.  The hours were long and grueling. We all felt the pressure of the time.

 

            October 2005. In the midst of a meeting I was chairing at the cathedral, I began to experience what would later be diagnosed as subtle neurological symptoms. No one else was aware, but I was. I was fried to a crisp.

 

            I went home, went to bed, and Nora called a good friend who was a doctor.  He came and checked me out and got me an appointment with a neurologist.  For two days I slept in a dark room.  I had hit the wall – and the wall would not give way.

 

            But those were the most grace-filled days of my life. Through the darkness of my dreams, two images came to me repeatedly: The passage from Acts, Chapter 26, where Paul tells King Agrippa of his conversion along the road to Damascus.  Of course, he was struck blind by a light and heard a voice say, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?  It hurts you to kick against the goads.”

 

            I would later learn that goads are a sharp tool for herding sheep. I would be aware of his feeble efforts.

 

            I was also repeatedly reminded of Paul’s words from the 8^th chapter of the Letter to the Romans: “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ our Lord.”

 

            Those words strengthen me today.

 

It was a mystical experience.  And it convinced me once again that God moves most profoundly in our darkest moments.  As the Psalmist says, “Out of the depths have I called to thee, Lord hear my cry.”

 

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            The motif of God moving through the darkest moments is repeated throughout all history. The Roman oppression and tyranny that ruled the land of the first Christmas. The darkness and sorrow of the cross and tomb. Paul being struck blind on the road to Damascus. Martin Luther’s deep and profound brokenness leading to his discovery in the Letter to the Romans. Julian Norwich, seemingly deathly ill, experiencing Revelations of Divine Love and learning that all manner of things shall be made well.

 

            Ask any person in recovery from addiction – healing starts, God’s movement, comes in the deepest valley. It was true 2,000 years ago – and it is true now.

 

            And here we are. The longest and darkest night of the year is approaching.  But a new light is about to shine.  The challenge is for us to embrace that light, and let its eternal hope shine in us always.

 

            Like blessed Mary, we will be sustained.