What's Your Annunciation?

Denise Levertov published an amazing poem entitled "Annunciation" that I share with you now (even though, I know, I know - it's "post-Christmas" -- still).

Annunciation

‘Hail, space for the uncontained God’
From the Agathistos Hymn, Greece, VIc

We know the scene: the room, variously furnished,
almost always a lectern, a book; always
the tall lily.
Arrived on solemn grandeur of great wings,
the angelic ambassador, standing or hovering,
whom she acknowledges, a guest.

But we are told of meek obedience. No one mentions
courage.
The engendering Spirit
did not enter her without consent.
God waited.

She was free
to accept or to refuse, choice
integral to humanness.

Aren’t there annunciations
of one sort or another
in most lives?

Some unwillingly
undertake great destinies,
enact them in sullen pride,
uncomprehending.

More often
those moments
when roads of light and storm
open from darkness in a man or woman,
are turned away from
in dread, in a wave of weakness, in despair
and with relief.
Ordinary lives continue.

God does not smite them.
But the gates close, the pathway vanishes.

She had been a child who played, ate, slept
like any other child – but unlike others,
wept only for pity, laughed
in joy not triumph.
Compassion and intelligence
fused in her, indivisible.

Called to a destiny more momentous
than any in all of Time,
she did not quail,
only asked
a simple, 'How can this be?'
and gravely, courteously,
took to heart the angel’s reply,
perceiving instantly
the astounding ministry she was offered:

to bear in her womb
Infinite
weight and lightness; to carry
in hidden, finite inwardness,
nine months of Eternity; to contain
in slender vase of being,
the sum of power –
in narrow flesh,
the sum of light.
Then bring to birth,
push out into air, a Man-child
needing, like any other,
milk and love –

but who was God.

A breath unbreathed,
Spirit,
suspended,
waiting.

She did not cry, "I cannot, I am not worthy,"
nor "I have not the strength."
She did not submit with gritted teeth,
raging, coerced.
Bravest of all humans,
consent illumined her.
The room filled with its light,
the lily glowed in it,
and the iridescent wings.
Consent,
courage unparalleled,
opened her utterly.

And now a few reflections....

I was young and flip. Some say to me now that they find me old and flip (flippant, that is). But I was even more flip when I was younger. In my first church, after worship one Sunday morning, a fellow asked if I would come by his Sunday School class that morning…an adult class I should note. I agreed that I would. And I did. When I came in these were the first words said to me, “We know that this is the job of the Pastor-Parish Committee (the personnel committee), but since we are the men of the church we decided to talk with you about something.” At that point I should have realized this wasn’t going to go well and walked out. But I wasn’t that smart.

I just thought I was.

The men of the church said to me – “We want to know what you think about the Virgin Birth?” I said (remember I was young and flip) – “Well, I don’t think about it much.” They asked again, “We want to know what you think about the virgin birth,” and again I said – Young and flip that I was – old and flip that I am – “I don’t think about it much.” And the next words took me completely by surprise. They were these – “you are saying that the virgin Mary is a prostitute!” -- “What,” I stammered out. I said, “you’ve got be kidding. The only two choices for a woman are not virgin or prostitute…but let me ask you a question,” I said. “How important is Mary to you?” -- “Well,” someone answered, “she’s not – because that would be Catholic.” Ah…now we were treading in the land of prejudices – I knew it, they knew it, we all knew – ancient prejudices rearing their head. I just didn’t realize that in my prejudice I was as blind as my questioners.

“So,” I said smugly, “It is important to you that Mary was a virgin, but not that she was a human being. Let me tell you,” I said, “I believe in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus – you asked me what I think about the virgin Birth and I told you I don’t think about it – and I don’t. It’s not important to me. What’s important is Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection.” And then I was done. The meeting continued for a couple of minutes more, before I walked out – too late – but I walked out. I was feeling smug in my rightness. And I have told that story many times over the years feeling smug all along the way.
Earlier this year we had an event here at Broadway, called Mari and Fran and Chocolate. At that event Fran Quinn read a poem by Denise Levertov entitled “Annunciation” which has been at the center of my considering what we are talking about this morning. In that poem, Levertov, sees the truth, the real truth, that I missed in the story, because I wanted to be a cute, smart, seminary graduate about it.

It is important for me to be smart. But it is not my calling. There are things that I am good at. Things that are my gift…they are just not always helpful. To me. To others around me. Perhaps you know a bit of what this is like yourself?

But when Fran read that poem, I found myself going back to it again and again and again. And each time I did…I saw something more – something I hadn’t seen before.

I remember being told by a wise friend of mine once – all stories are true; some of them actually happened.

This story – this one about Mary is true. It is a story that we would do well to take into our hearts. It is a story that we would do well to remember. It is story that we would do well to learn from. And that is why we are here this morning. To learn from the annunciation – to learn from Mary and from Gabriel.

We are told, Levertov points out, that Mary showed “meek obedience” – but we are not told – “courage.” Levertov reveals to us that Mary chooses, agrees, and it is not just meek obedience – courageously she receives her annunciation…she takes it upon herself…she chooses it. But not before she wonders. And this is an important thing, to me – do you hear the wonder in her voice when she asks, “How can this be?” She does not ask it in any other way – but the way in which you and I ask the very same question – “How can this be?” -- we ask it breathlessly. For ourselves. The choices come before us – we believe we are to do something – we try to shake it out of our head – out of our heart…but we can’t, we don’t.

Here is where Levertov is particularly helpful to me – she writes – and this is truly what I believe…“more often in those moments, when roads of light and storm open from darkness in a man or woman are turned away from in dread, in a wave of weakness, in despair, and with relief. Ordinary lives continue. God does not smite them. But the gate closes, the pathway vanishes.”

The gate closes, the pathway vanishes. The choices come and we gulp and look away. I think it is less that the gate closes, but that the pathway really does disappear. It is unused. We don’t set foot on it. A path that goes untrod, gets overgrown. But Mary chooses that path.

When I was in that church in Evansville, those people asked me a question and they deserved a better answer than a flip answer of “I don’t think of the virgin birth.” A better answer might have been – “I’m not sure what it means – but I know I want to explore it with you. Will you go along with me? Will you take this journey with me? Can we see where God is calling us?

I think of the birth of a child. Karen and Marc McAleavey are having a child in a couple of months – less than a couple of months if all works out well. That child is a child they have chosen. Haven’t you asked – How can this be? Talulah was chosen by Wayde and David – and haven’t you asked – “How Can This Be.” A year ago around this time we celebrated Lonnie and Sierra becoming a family… Didn’t you ask – “How Can This Be?” On Friday morning, several of us from Broadway gathered to be part of the procession, or part of the gathering at the State House to remember Julia Carson. One of the things that struck me on Friday morning and in accounts of the worship service is people in wonder that this woman, this black woman, this African-American woman, the first woman and the first African-American to represent Indianapolis in Congress achieved what she did, led where she did, remembered people who others forgot as she did. And though the grief was real – I thought that wonder was the main feeling in the air – people asking in wonder and joy “How Can This Be?” When we follow an annunciation – we don’t know where it will lead.

Harold and Diana Metheny could hardly have drawn a road map of the last 50 years, that brought them to a celebration at Broadway UMC, where their daughter is pastor!

Levertov writes that "Mary did not cry, ‘I cannot, I am not worthy,’ nor ‘I have not the strength.’ She did not submit with gritted teeth, raging, coerced.
Bravest of all humans consent illumined her. The room filled with its light, the Lilly glowed in it, and the iridescent wings. Consent, courage unparalleled, opened her utterly.”

Take a moment and think, think, think – ponder in the silence the annunciation that comes to you in your life. It is a path that lies before you. I don’t know what it is. But you do. Be inspired by Mary. Live with courage unparalleled. Be opened – utterly.