Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Luke 1:39-45

Man, a lot happens in the first chapter of Luke.

Anyway, what I was thinking about was how what Elizabeth does here, recognizing Mary, is even more of an amazing thing than what I always think about when I hear the story of the Presentation of Jesus in the Temple. How Simeon waited, for so long, and when what showed up was a baby in the arms of an unremarkable-looking (I'd imagine anyway) couple with a poor-man's offering, he still saw instantly what God had promised him he would see.

Mary is Elizabeth's little cousin. Jesus's hometown has a heck of a time with Him thirty-something years later, and for Elizabeth this could have been ten fold. I'm imagining seeing little Kalila or Michelle one day, and knowing that they would be something as glorious as God made flesh. How strange it would seem. God coming down to earth as something that only happens to other people, probably on mountains. Suddenly in your house, in your family, on your doorstep. And yes, the infant inside you knew instantly, but fetal John the Baptist was never as burdened as his mother with the concerns of the world. Not the least of which is concern for her cousin who could be in serious trouble over this.

But, as easily as if she had been raised without cutting her hair or ever touching liquor, with the instant clarity her son enjoyed when he baptized in the desert, Elizabeth turns to Mary in sheer joy at God's blessing. Because, of course, the blessing of Jesus outweighs any danger to Mary - that's ridiculous to even think. But it's still impressive to me that Elizabeth just drove right past it. Right past all the things of the world that I fear for me would creep in.

All the things that we aren't supposed to let have that power over us. Why we sometimes need to retreat to the desert, to the purity and clarity of the womb, of the fasting in the desert. To remind ourselves that even when we are in the world, it does not have power over us. We're not supposed to give anything in this world the power to distract us from the will of God, the power to make us lose sight even for an instant of the plan and the blessing He has both for us, individually, and as His children.

Even if we are cleaning out homes, dealing with our mute husband, preparing for the birth of a child and worrying about the potential health complications of our late-in-life and long-awaited pregnancy, we are meant to keep our hearts pure and ready to see what God is telling us so clearly. What we would know if we were in the desert or on the mountaintop. To recognize Him when He comes to us, whatever noise is in our way.

Whatever unlikely or overly familiar form He takes.