You're One of Us (Longest Night 2023)

Preached on Wednesday, December 20, 2023

Service of the Longest Night

at Decatur First UMC, Decatur, Georgia

Luke 1: 46 - 55 (NRSV)

46 And Mary said, “My soul magnifies the Lord,

47 and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,

48 for he has looked with favor on the lowly state of his servant.
    Surely from now on all generations will call me blessed,

49 for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
    and holy is his name;

50 indeed, his mercy is for those who fear him
    from generation to generation.

51 He has shown strength with his arm;
    he has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.

52 He has brought down the powerful from their thrones
    and lifted up the lowly;

53 he has filled the hungry with good things
    and sent the rich away empty.

54 He has come to the aid of his child Israel,
    in remembrance of his mercy,

55 according to the promise he made to our ancestors,
    to Abraham and to his descendants forever.”

I have a lot of questions for Mary.  Scripture presents us with a young woman of remarkable faith and resolve.  Upon hearing the news from a supernatural being, the angel Garbriel, that she was about to become an unwed mother, she said, “let it be with me according to your word.”  

Upon meeting her cousin Elizabeth, who was herself pregnant with an unlikely child, Mary responded with this poetry, commonly called The Magnificat because of that first bold line, “my soul magnifies the Lord…” 

I wonder what happened in between the moment when she got that news and these words of faith.  I would like to ask her how long it took her to adjust to this radical, life-changing annunciation, and to accept it and even celebrate it.  

I want to ask her how long, because it would take me a while.  Like, a really long time.  Where Mary says, “Let it be with me according to your word.”  I would have said, “No. I have a plan.  Joseph and I are engaged and I will NOT be pregnant when we get married.  That is not done.  I WILL have children one day, I was thinking first a boy, and then a girl.  We’ll name the boy Daniel and the girl Ruth.  Joseph and I will grow old together and the kids will grow up, get married, have kids of their own, and their families will take care of us in our old age.  Do you hear me, Angel?  I have a plan.”  

We don’t hear any of that from Mary, so it certainly reads as if it didn’t happen.  Mary was able to accept that her life was about to change.  She would not have the life that she thought she would have, and she moved beyond asking questions or arguing about it.  She does not seem to stay and dwell on what it means for her, but instead quickly moves on to the greatness of God’s mercy for all people and all of creation.  She seems to have instantly known that the change in her life was a part of something bigger - both the past and the future were flowing through this moment.  And she knew that.  I find that miraculous. 

It’s been over seven years now since I got the phone call that my sister-in-law was gone.  She was young and brilliant, and she left behind a family including my brother and their three boys.  There’s nothing unique about my grief and anger following her death.  I was devastated, and my grief made my life contract and become quite small for a time.  There was a lot of “what does this mean for me?” and “what does this mean for us?”  And those questions were appropriate and faithful.  Even now, seven years later, I find myself asking how we are going to do life without her sometimes.  Who is going to order the prom corsage?  Do the boys need back-to-school clothes?  How will we celebrate birthdays?  How can I give my brother a break?  I asked and am still asking all of those questions.

At first, the smallness of my grief and my life was comforting.  I had a limited area of concern, and that made sense for a while.  But it was also restrictive.  My grief was tight.  

Physically, it felt like a binding around my chest when I tried to breathe deep.  Mentally, my thoughts weren’t free to wander beyond my life and my family.  I revolved around what her death meant for our lives, on the small things of immediate action.  

Even now that tightness visits me, and there’s no predicting it.  This year the anniversary of her death came and went without it, but last week as we celebrated a family birthday,  I felt that familiar tightness in my chest.  It’s not normal anymore, but it’s still familiar.  

There was a path to go down with this loss that could have kept me revolving around that small, tight, grief for years, maybe forever.  Focusing on the small things kept me safe, and that was appropriate, but to have continued that way would have also kept me stuck.  I might have lived with tight grief as my normal way of life.  That didn’t happen, or at least, it hasn’t happened.  And here’s why.  

A month or so after my sister-in-law died, my colleague and friend Michele stopped by my office here at the church.  Michele had lost a child in military service, so I knew, that she knew something about a sudden and tragic loss.  

She stood in the doorway of my office and said, “How are you doing?”  and I looked at her for an awkwardly long time.  I finally said, “I don’t know, Michele.  I’m not good.”  And she said, “I know.  You’re one of us now.  The walking wounded.”  

When I think about it now, it sounds like a really depressing thing to say, but it was not.  I cried after she said it, but they were tears of relief.  I felt in my bones that I was not alone, and the tightness let go a little. I was “one of us” and I felt connected to everyone who had ever lost anything precious and had to rearrange their life for it. 

My loss was a death, but I felt empathy and solidarity with those who had lost jobs, or marriages, homes, pregnancies, sobriety, or a dream they were hoping would come true.  

I felt the weight of all of that loss, AND, the reality of it made me feel less lonely, less tight.  Michele’s words did not dissolve my grief, but they gave my grief room to breathe, and gave my mind permission to ask a bigger question, not “what does this mean for me?”  But “What does God do with loss and grief and rage?”  

This is not the same as asking “Why did God let this happen?”  For me, WHY was a question that my tight grief needed to ask.  And, for me, there was no answer, no matter how hard I tried to reason it out.  

God did not cause my sister-in-law’s death.  God does not cause tragedies.  God does not cause infertility, cancer, murder, addiction, mental illness, natural disasters or a downturn in the economy.  

But that doesn’t mean that God is powerless over their impact on our lives.  I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason, but I trust that God is at work all the time, even the darkest and worst days when I can barely breathe.  

If I can release the questions my tight grief wants answered… If I can instead ask “God, what can you do with this?”  I can breathe a little deeper, and as my grief expands, I can see beyond myself, and that’s where I find some peace.  

I share this story with you tonight for two reasons.  

First, some of us are in the midst of that tight grief as a part of everyday life.  When I was living that way I did not realize that there was anything else.  People talked to me about time and healing, and the tightness deceived me into thinking that was for other people.  So I bring you a word of hope, small tight grief has a job to do, but it’s not meant to last forever. 

Second, if you chose to be here tonight, or are worshiping online, you feel the darkness and heaviness of life.  I give you bonus points for acknowledging it, rather than trying to outrun it.  We are not just gloomy or sad, the darkness is real.  We’re not imagining it.  This time of year there is literally more darkness.  Those of us who recognize that, and can be real about it, are a gift to the world.  One day you might have the chance to stand in someone’s doorway and offer the solidarity and connection that Michele offered me, and I hope you’ll do that.  

But there’s a danger in telling stories like mine.  What I’m describing to you tonight, that’s the path my grief took last time.  I don’t know if it will follow that path again, and it’s not fair to expect your grief to look like mine.  

There’s a flow to moving through grief, no matter the loss, and we can share stories and support each other, but we can’t compare our grief to anyone else’s.

So, here’s another story, with some good advice, from my hair salon.  

I drive all the way to Sandy Springs to get my hair done at a salon that specializes in curly and wavy hair.  They recently moved into a new space that they designed themselves, and it’s just lovely.  After a thirty minute drive from Decatur my first stop is usually the bathroom in the salon.  

At my last haircut I was washing my hands in the new bathroom sink, and I looked up to check the mirror and see just how much I needed the haircut I was about to get, and this is what I saw. 

Thanks to Salon Skanda for having solid theology in the bathroom.

There is no mirror in the bathroom at the hair salon.  Because, if you’re in the middle of a hair treatment, the last thing you need to do is look in the mirror.  It will make you question everything you think you know about your own hair, and the judgment of your hair stylist.  What your hair looks like while it’s in the middle of the process is not a good predictor of what it will look like later.  So, don’t check.  Trust the process. 

Friends, there are no mirrors in the bathroom of grief.  What we are going through… there’s no way to look in the mirror or look at the person next to us, and see if we’re doing it right.  

If I could, I would put this neon sign in your bathroom, but I would change it slightly.  The word “process” is great for a salon, there are instructions and timers that tell a hair stylist how to make hair do what we want.  

Grief has very few instructions and there’s definitely not a timer.  So my neon sign for you would say “Trust the flow.”  

I know it’s difficult to trust after suffering a loss.  That’s part of why I shifted so hard into planning mode in my grief, I trusted no one and nothing.  It’s good then, that God does not need our trust, to be faithful.  God continues to do what God always does - moving us toward grace and love.  

When a tree falls into a creek, it might block the flow of water for a time, but water finds a way.  It keeps moving and eventually the tree becomes a part of the flow.  The water flows under, over, and eventually through the tree and continues to flow to its destination.  

So it is with God’s care for us - it flows and moves us toward God’s love. Things happen that might hinder the flow for a time, but God’s love finds a way.  Whatever falls in its path, God’s love will flow.  It will go under, over, and eventually through it to keep us moving toward God’s love and grace.

Mary’s song shows a divine understanding of the flow of God - something unexpected is happening to me, and it will become a part of God’s flowing love for the whole world.

I’m not as quick as she is, but I’m grateful for coworkers and friends, and hair stylists, and all of you, for helping me remember that we are in the flow of God’s love.  Nothing can stop it.  Thanks be to God.    Amen.