As the curtains part, the audience suddenly settles down. it is quiet--very quiet. And in the dim light a young girl sits on center stage. And from someone in the back we hear a rustling. The girl looks up. And an angel, with wings expanded comes from stage left and stands next to the girl. The angel speaks so quietly the audience has to strain to hear. "Hail," she says, "O favored one!" And everyone can tell the girl is terrified. An angel--speaking to her? An angel? And then the angel says, "Do not be afraid."
And that's the opening of Luke's nativity story. Oh, there will be a whole crowded stage before this is over. Joseph not quite knowing to think. Probably her parents though the book doesn't mention them. There will be Zechariah, a priest and Anna a Priestess. Then there will be Elizabeth as the two women compare notes. And an Innkeeper and Shepherds and a mad king and Wise Men--but you know the rest of the story.
If Thomas Mann is right when he said, "It is it always is, however much we say it was," maybe what he was trying to say was that great literature is as much about today as yesterday. And as our curtain opens on yet another Advent--reckon this first word from the angel is for us too. "Fear not." Joseph will also her those same words. And then Shepherds and Wise Men, too. Maybe this is what the Wise Men told Herod that maybe he should not be afraid. Who knows? But that word runs like a silver thread through the whole story. "Do not be afraid."
Is this story really not just a drama played out back there--but here, too. Here? Of all the things I see slouching around out there--and in here, too--I think fear comes close to being at the top of the list. Politicians bang the drum loudly. But so does everyone else. Why even we Evangelicals may be the most terrified of all. Of what I am not really sure. That the collection plates will come back almost empty. That looking out on a Sunday only here and there we will find a smattering of people. Maybe some of us believers are afraid that Jesus really will come back and, as the T-shirt said, "Is he pis..d."
But the fear in that Advent story was closer to home. And it was to a particular young woman the good news came. And to all those others--no general fear. But a fear with their addresses and our address on the envelope. Yours and mine.
You don't want to hear about my fears. We've all got them. Fear of disability. Alzheimer's, for God's sake. Wondering if we will have enough moo-lah to get to the end of the line. Worries about the kids. And the nation. And our friend down the street having round after round of chemo. Worry about if we really believe all this stuff about faith--even though the book keeps saying it over and over again. Maybe so we won't forget it. "Fear not."
Well--right now I have failed the test. I fear lots of things. But somehow I can't get this drama with the parted curtains and the little girl-women named Mary and the angel they called Gabriel out of my mind. And maybe this is why we keep reading the story over and over Christmas after Christmas.
Those words were read in those terrible years of starvation. Even when there were Roman crosses and plagues and injustice and injustice and injustice right down to this crazy social-media world. So maybe we should listen carefully to old Gabriel. There really will come a child so unexpected and with hands and feet like ours and lungs that could give it all it was worth. I believe...Lord thou my unbelief. So come Christmas I'll be there and I will try to listen to the story I've heard a thousand times. And maybe, even in old age it may just seep into the cracks of my old days. And, my friend, yours too.
(These two banners were made by my son and his friends when he was 16 years old. They have hung every Advent season in the First Baptist Church, Clemson (SC) He is now 49)
--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com
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