Luke 1:26-38 · The Birth of Jesus Foretold
God Does The Unexpected
Luke 1:26-38
Sermon
by Maxie Dunnam
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The title of the book is simply KARSH. If you've ever seen it, you may remember it by the eye-catching cover picture of Sophia Loren wearing a large red hat. But you probably remember more than that, because Yousuf Karsh is recognized as the premier portrait photographer of our time -- and the book that bears his name is a collection of famous faces. There are 185 of them from Franklin Roosevelt to Ronald Reagan, from Pope John the 23rd to Andy Warhol, from Betty Davis to Helen Keller.

There's one portrait in it that doesn't show the face of the person -- it may be the only portrait ever of a person's back -- certainly it's the only portrait Karsh ever took of a person's back -- it's the back of Pablo Casals, the exiled Spanish cellist, in a small French Abby in 1954.

Karsh tells the story that as he was setting up his equipment to work on the portrait of Casals, this magnificent musician began playing Bach on his cello. Karsh was so enthralled by the music that he almost forgot why he was there. He took his portrait of Casals as a little bald-headed man, bent over his cello, frozen in time against the plain stone wall of that Chapel.

There is a story that, years later, when that particular portrait was on exhibition in the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, another old, bald-headed man came day after day to stand for long periods of time in front of the portrait. The Curator of the museum noticed him, and when his curiosity finally got the best of him, went over and tapped the little man on the shoulder, and asked why he stood so long before the portrait. The old man was obviously irritated. He turned to the Curator and said, "Hush, young man, hush! -- Can't you see I'm listening to the music!"

Karsh watched Casals play Bach and preserved a unique portrait of music. The old man, looking at that portrait, could hear the music.

In these Advent sermons, we are looking at some portraits that Luke painted for us in words. Nine stories that he told -- each story painting a picture that should put music in our hearts.

Last week we looked at three of those stories involving Zachariah. Today we look at two of those stories involving Mary and Zachariah's wife, Elizabeth. The first story we call the Annunciation -- the second story we call the Magnificat. One is Mary's explanation of how she became pregnant before her marriage -- the other is her reaction to that pregnancy.

We read the first story as our scripture lesson today, and we'll talk about the second story a bit later in the sermon.

I.

Let's talk first about mystery, because at the center of this story is mystery, the mystery of God doing the unexpected.

We can't even begin to imagine how Mary must have felt. The scripture says she was greatly troubled when she heard the angels speaking to her, "Hail, O favored one, the Lord is with you.

We talked in the sermon last week about how Zacharias responded to the visitation of the Lord with great surprise and fear. Certainly Mary is surprised -- but before she can express any fear -- the Lord says to her, "Don't be afraid, for you have found favor with God."

Then comes that miraculous word -- Mary is going to conceive, and she's going to bear a son, and she's going to call his name Jesus.

You can understand the response of Mary -- "How can this be, since I don't have a husband."

The angel answers her -- and Luke records it almost matter of factly: "The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God.

There's mystery here -- great mystery – the mystery of God doing the unexpected -- but more than that, the mystery of the Virgin Birth – the mystery of Incarnation, God becoming man.

Now there are those -- even Christian scholars -- who deny the virgin birth. How can it be?, they ask. My question is not, how can it be?, but how can it not be?

The basic contention of those who deny the virgin birth is that divine intervention is possible -- and therefore the Incarnation could not have taken place. If that is the case, then grave questions are raised about the authority of the Gospels -- and, of course, the authority of all of scripture. An English scholar, Mr. Clifford Longley, has stated very succinctly and forcibly the case.

"If...nothing miraculous occurred at the event of Jesus' conception, the implications are enormous...it means Jesus had a natural father. This was either Joseph or someone else. If it was Joseph, those New Testament references to his thinking his betrothed wife was made pregnant by another man are not just religious myth" – they are deliberate lies. Either by Joseph himself, or someone else who made them up. If (the natural father) was not Joseph but indeed another man, then Mary's story was a lie, Joseph was deceived, (or an accomplice in the lie), and the Gospel writers were "taken in".

"The question... is...how (the modern liberal theologians) avoid casting aspersions at the integrity (and chastity) of Joseph and Mary? (A Conservative Case for Christ, The Times, London, June 4, 1984, page 18, quoted by David Gooding, According to Luke, Intervarsity Press, 1987, p. 38).

Now the only way to rebut these charges as David Gooding has so well expressed, "would be to say that the New Testament references to Joseph never had any basis in anything that Joseph or Mary ever said or did. That, as to the historical fact, Jesus was probably born to Joseph and Mary in the normal way after their marriage; and that Matthew's story about Joseph finding Mary pregnant by someone else before they were married is simply part of the myth; that Matthew and Luke (or some other person) who fabricated this myth would have been the first to admit that if taken as history it would be preposterously untrue; but that they cannot be charged with lying since they never attempted to give the impression that they were writing history. According to this theory they must have thought that everyone (except the most stupid) would see that their story was a myth designed to convey a religious truth (and presumably that everyone would see what the truth was); that neither Mary nor Joseph, had they lived to read the story, would have been offended or mystified by their distortion of the historical facts in the interest of religious myth; and that none of their contemporaries, not even Jewish ones, would have thought to deny this religious truth simply on the grounds that the details of the myth were not historically true. And finally this theory would have to admit that, though the early Christians were sophisticated people and recognized the myth for what it was, after a few decades Christians became less sophisticated, mistook the myth for literal history, and continued to do so for centuries." (Gooding, pp. 38-39).

You see, the whole idea is preposterous. There is no question about it. Luke regarded the Incarnation as literal, factual history, and he intended his readers to see it in that fashion. He goes to great detail to make that clear. As he begins to write -- he assures us that he has carefully considered the oral and written sources and that his account is reliable. He goes into great detail about organizing his material about the Incarnation according to the precise timings of its main events. And he records two miraculous pregnancies -- and the precise timing of those are given. He tells us that after conception, Elizabeth hid herself for five months, and that the angel visited Mary in the sixth month of Elizabeth's pregnancy; that the angel informed Mary that Elizabeth was already six months pregnant, and that after the visitation, Mary visited Elizabeth, stayed with her about three months, and then returned home before Elizabeth's child was born.

Then as he begins his second chapter, he dates the birth of Jesus by reference to contemporary secular history.

So Luke has not simply related these stories and left us to make of them myth or history as we will. He is writing as an historian and he intends us to accept that. For us, therefore, to take what Luke intended as history, and deny its historicity and interpret it as religious myth is completely illegitimate.

For Luke, I believe, as for me, the question is not how can the virgin birth be -- but how can it not be -- given who God is, and what God is doing in this unexpected event.

Sure, mystery is here. But why not? God is coming to us. He is making himself known. As Phillips puts it in verse 78 of Chapter 1: "Because the heart of our God is full of mercy towards us, the first light of Heaven shall come to visit us -- to shine on those who lie in darkness and under the shadow of death." That's mystery! How could it be otherwise.

Francois Mauriac once wrote: "The Christian mystery is the darkness which makes light more plain." Mystery explains nothing, yet it explains everything. Because of Christmas we know that there is a wondrous mystery at the heart of the universe (Christmas and Abortion, John Killinger, The Christian Ministry, November, 1985, p. 26).

A very contemporary question of mystery is easily raised here. The birth of Jesus, perhaps the ultimate mystery, suggests that life itself which is a mystery is connected to God. Are there implications here for the thorny, anguishing question of abortion -- terminating the life of unborn children.

If life itself is a mystery, and if the mystery of life is tied up with God, then we should respect all life as a gift -- capable of blessing the whole world.

John Killinger has stated it well: If the mystery is everywhere, then we ought to be falling to our knees everywhere to worship. If the heart of the mystery is here and here and here, then we must be careful not to be arrogant before it or to claim its rights. In short, we've not been given the authority to handle any life casually – not the life of the prisoner who has been found guilty of murder; not the lives of the people in the trajectories of our missiles; and not the life of an unborn fetus. If mystery is everywhere, then life itself is sacred, and no priest, either high or low, holy or profane, can destroy it with impunity. (Ibid., pp. 26-27).

Part of the scandal of our faith is that Jesus was conceived out of wedlock -- we've already talked about that in terms of the virgin birth.

But what if it had been possible, then, as it is now for Mary, when she missed a period, to step into an abortion clinic and have the situation fixed? Leonardo DiVinci was also an illegitimate child. What if he had been aborted? Johannes Brahms' mother was 41 when he was born. Suppose she had had an abortion. John Wesley was the 15th of 19 children born to Suzanna Wesley. Suppose she had wanted to use abortion as a method of birth control and had stopped after the fourth or fifth child. Franz Liszt was so sickly that his father ordered a coffin to be made for him. Lord Byron was born with a club foot, and Charles Dickins was small and sickly from birth. Suppose their parents had known what obstetrical science knows today, and had decided to abort.

You see? Life is a mystery -- a gift from God -- who are we to make such momentous decisions? (Killinger, Ibid.)

Now I don't want to leave it hanging there. The Gospel of Christmas is that this is a flawed universe -- and this flawed universe is not all there is -- this is not the whole story. And there may be times, when the lesser of two evils will have to be accepted -- a mother's life is threatened and the baby has to be taken – the doctors are certain about it. Life is pitted against life and one has to be sacrificed. In those kinds of wrenching situations, we don't make decisions in a vacuum -- we make decisions, as Christians, in a relationship to one who cares about us -- about what we do and what we decide. Our decisions are made in the presence of One whose name is above every name -- the One whom the angels named Jesus, because He would save us from our sins, and called Him Emmanuel, because He would be God with us.

Mystery -- yes -- but mystery that saves. This Jesus, born of a virgin, is God come to us in the flesh -- come as the saving one who went to the limits of dying on our behalf. The One who comes as the triumphant one, because He is raised by God after that awful crucifixion, and is not the first-fruit of a perfect world that will one day come.

That's the mystery -- and we can trust it.

II.

Let's get back to Mary now. Luke goes into great detail to record her faith and her joy.

Toward the end of the Annunciation, the angel virtually suggested to Mary that she should go and visit Elizabeth to obtain confirmation of her faith. It takes a little imagination to see why her faith would need strengthening. She had been chosen for a gigantic, unprecedented, unrepeatable task: how should her mortal flesh stand the psychological and spiritual strain and the long nine months of waiting? We have earlier thought of modern man's difficulty in believing Mary's story. That is not the question that concerns Luke here. He is concerned, rather, with how Mary herself, being an ordinary human girl of flesh and blood, believed it, and went on believing it, and bore the incalculable honor and the immeasurable burden without losing faith and nerve and proper humility and sanity itself.

"When the angel departed, the first temptation would have been to think that she had imagined the whole thing. But when she arrived at Elizabeth's, she found not only that Elizabeth was, as the angel had said, miraculously pregnant, but that Elizabeth knew by prophetic inspiration, without Mary having to tell her, that Mary was going to be the mother of the Lord, and Elizabeth confirmed Mary in her faith." (Gooding, pp. 41-42).

Two quick words: Mary responded immediately to the angel: "Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word." What faith.

And then, very soon, within a few days we can be sure, she went to Elizabeth. Again, what faith, and what a confirmation of faith.

As I pondered this faith of Mary, two very practical questions came to me. Do I have someone to whom I could go to confirm and strengthen my faith? And the second question was, "Am I someone to whom another would come to be encouraged, confirmed, and strengthened in faith?"

III.

Now let's look at Mary's joy expressed in the Magnificat. Her faith has been confirmed in her visit with Elizabeth. Let's read a word from scripture about that visit.

"And when Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary, the babe leaped in her womb; and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit, and she exclaimed with a loud cry, "Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb! And why is this granted me, that the mother of my Lord should come to me? For behold, when the voice of your greeting came to my ears, the babe in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord." (verses 41 - 45)

It is thus that Mary sings that joyful song -- the Magnificat:"My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior."

Now we know that this song arises out of the fact that she is going to be the mother of the Son of God. But she doesn't even mention that in her song. She sings because God is acting as her Savior. Listen to her. "My spirit rejoices in God my Savior."

Mary puts that in the context of Israel's history -- all the way back to Abraham – but never forget -- she rejoiced because God was her Savior.

You will miss the meaning of Advent and Christmas if you miss this.

But, also, Mary's special-ness is in the context of a larger salvation history.

Though Mary knows that God has acted in mercy in relation to her -- she affirms in verse 50, "God's mercy comes to generation after generations for those who reverence him."

Any one of the millions in these innumerable generations could tell a tale of God's mercy just as she could. She does not feel the special-ness of her case, because her eye is not on herself, but on the constancy of God. In the infinite class of God's merciful acts, her case, however large, is but a single member." (Gooding, pp. 43-44).

Do you note that when she says, "All generations shall call me blessed", she does not add, because I am to be the mother of the son of God. Rather, she says, "because the mighty one has done great things for me."

I want to lift up two things here, and then we'll close. One, Mary still recognizes that she is someone who needs to be saved just like the rest of humankind. So what God has done – rather than what she has -- is what gives her joy.

Then the next thing I want you to note is her remarkable humility. Though she is grateful to God for what God is doing in using her, she puts that in the context of a larger history -- history of God's activity in Israel -- which says God can use anybody.

Maxie Dunnam, by Maxie Dunnam