Newness Incarnate by Fran Salone-Pelletier

Readings: Micah 5:1-4a; Hebrews 10:5-10; Luke 1:39-45

We are deep into Christmas countdown. Everything around us screams that we have only today to accomplish all that we had planned to do. Twenty-four hours remain for all the unexpected or forgotten obligations. The pace quickens as the stores are depleted even of their shopworn choices. Jingling bells jangle the nerves. Comments are heard all around that “this Christmas stuff gets old fast!”

All we want to do is get it over with. In this atmosphere, it is becomes enormously difficult to hear the Advent message about the topsy-turvy kingdom of God. As the Talmud succinctly states: “The kingdom of God is the world turned upside-down.” What you see is not what you get in a life where God’s presence is clothed in odd wrappings. There is always more—so much more.

Christmas is about becoming ever new and renewed. Little insignificant places and people become greatly important. Too small to be among the clans of Judah, Bethlehem is now revered and visited as the birthplace of the Lord. A quiet country girl accepts the awesome responsibility of bearing and giving birth to the long-awaited Messiah. Surprisingly, her equally unknown older cousin becomes pregnant against all odds. They greet each other and are embraced by the unexpected. Life leaps where discouragement, disgrace, or disappointment could have taken hold.

Somehow these women knew that nothing would ever be the same. Their bodies would forever mark the reality of the change. Their lives would be filled with the call of new life. There would be cares and concerns, doubts and delights never before known to them. Infant cries effect the flow of nurturing milk. Adult groans effect piercing, stabbing heartbreak. Smiles and sorrows alike bring them to depths they could only have imagined. Nothing will be “normal” or uneventful again. Everything is unabashedly new, in bodies prepared for divinity.

We, too, experience the power of newness when we give ourselves enough time and space to relish the surprising presence of God. First, we must divest ourselves. The hustle and bustle of a planned existence must go. Schedules need not be thrown away, but they do need to be rethought and made more flexible. No longer can we allow time to run us and deprive us of vitality. It doesn’t require much more than taking a new look at everything. It means acquiring and practicing respect and reverence for life’s surprises. The world of certainty must be turned upside down in order for the world of God to be right side up.

This is the best time of year to be surprised by life. Take the jangle out of the jingling bells and hear the harmony of a singing universe. Take the racing pace and rapid pulsation out of your heartbeat and listen to the quiet that is God. Unwrap the gifts of graciousness and gratitude that we have already been given—receive and make use of them. Stop, daily, to browse and explore the wondrous wealth stored in each person you meet. Luxuriant in the timeless treasure that is daybreak splendor, noontime sparkle, twilight shadow, evening starlight—even nighttime darkness. Be refreshed in the heady atmosphere of unexpected newness. Expect nothing and everything is gift. Suspect nothing and everything is surprise.

Like Mary, we need to proceed in haste to the hill country where we can assist our “cousins” to give birth to the “children” within them. We need to allow the babe held captive in the womb of our own scheduled existence to leap with the joy of spontaneity. We need to recognize that we are blessed people, pregnant with God’s fruitful benediction. Thus blessed, we need to prepare ourselves to be a welcoming community for the remainder of God’s people. We need to be a faithful remnant whose sole purpose is to do the will of God.

None of us is immune, either from the hungers of alienation and isolation or from the call to serve. Hunger empowers us to suffer with our brothers and sisters, serving them with compassion. Littleness allows us to see the magnificence of God dwelling among us. Too small to be among the clans of Judah, we are just big enough to give birth to the Messiah.

God’s Word takes flesh only when we give our lives in service to God’s plan. Incarnation happens when every action and thought moves to the rhythm of God’s will. Incarnation sings, “I have come to do your will, O God!” Will we know with certitude that we are doing God’s will? Probably not. Will we ask questions and waver with uncertainty? Probably yes. However, the imperfection ought not be a cause for dismay. Failure to be perfect givers is not without merit. It points to our human fragility—and our profound need for God’s assistance. Made to be radical gifts, we must not be ridden with guilt. Even Mary, blessed and full of grace—but also realistic about her virginal lifestyle—asked how the angel’s declaration could possibly be a reality.

Mary’s questioning did not burden her with guilt. It energized her to respond, despite the fact that she failed to receive an explanation she could completely understand. Mary trusted God. She took the angelic message to heart and gave her life as an answer. “I am the servant of the Lord. Let it be done to me as you say” (Luke 1:38).

Mary gave God permission to take possession of her being—and God did. But Mary never stopped being Mary. She did not ponder the greatness she could have demanded as the chosen mother of God. She did not consider herself to be “beyond” all others or superior in any way. Mary was not smug or self-satisfied. She did not even take a moment or two for private glee at the good news she was bearing. Instead, her first concern was for Elizabeth. Not waiting to be called or asked, not pronouncing her own pregnancy, Mary came only to be present to Elizabeth in her time of need. And Elizabeth realized the presence of God.

Both Mary and Elizabeth expected nothing—and everything was gift. Each suspected nothing—and everything was surprise.

Christmas for Mary and Elizabeth can be ours as well. We, too, have the power and ability to incarnate divinity, to recognize radical giftedness—not as an historical moment but with a lifetime, exchanging presence. Nothing bought or sold, everything shared, and God taking flesh in our midst. ♦

Fran Salone-Pelletier holds a master’s degree in theology. She is the author of a trilogy of scriptural meditations, Awakening to God: The Sunday Readings in Our Lives, in which a version of this reflection originally appeared. She is also a religious educator, retreat leader, lecturer, and grandmother of four. Reach her at hope5@atmc.net.

Illustration by Nan Adams.