May ends with an out-of-place story. Here we are on the cusp of summer and suddenly with the story of the visit between Mary and Elizabeth and we’re reading the promise of Christmas. It felt strange to sit in my sunny backyard this morning, the laundry line loaded with the weekend’s camping gear, and to read their story. But, of course, the incarnation takes time. Hidden, growing time. Like most things.
Here’s how poet Malcolm Guite describes it:
Two women on the very edge of things
Unnoticed and unknown to men of power
But in their flesh the hidden Spirit sings
And in their lives the buds of blessing flower.
Phrased like that, of course, it makes sense poetically and chronologically to mark it now in the budding of the spring. We only read the Visitation story in Advent to give ourselves context for the nativity. Reading Mary and Elizabeth’s story today, I was struck by the moment of recognition it hold at its heart.
“When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leapt in her womb.”
The child leapt and Elizabeth understood. In a moment of joyful knowledge, both mother and yet-to-be-born child recognized God within Mary. The jolt went through both of them. A remembered song. A loved face glimpsed in a crowd.
This coming week’s lectionary takes us into a much later story from Luke when Jesus raises the son of the widow of Nain. Afterwards, he is approached by two of John’s followers who have been sent to ask him if he is “the one who is to come.” and that the waiting is over.
Isn’t it strange that in this moment, John doesn’t recognise Jesus? That his unknowing is part of this story, too? Isn’t it strange and isn’t it familiar? We don’t always really see what we should know. Maybe his expectations got in the way. That is a burden we know.
So Jesus answers, as he so often does, in a sideways fashion.
“Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are raised, the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offence at me.”
Again and again, our expectations prove not to matter, and God is at work nurturing the world. Healing happens. Come and see. Tell those around you. Look for blessing, not for injury. Look for restoration. Look beyond your expectation. Just outside the city gate, the young man is returned to his mother and their relationship becomes, visibly and tangibly, a gift from God.
I’ve been delighting in the gift of my own family this past weekend. Good weather was predicted so we loaded up the backpacks, hopped on a bus, and spent the days camping. It wasn’t particularly wild or rugged in any way, but we hiked along the local coastline, saw wild flowers of every imaginable colour and even spotted a family of swans. It felt good to step out of our set habits of home and into our familiar on-the-road patterns.
Familiar and changing.
Plum learned again how exciting it is to sleep in a tent, but this time, the bigger kids put up the tent. And they did the dishes. Beangirl brought her pocket knife along and helped with meal preparation, too. The tasks of family life are shifting as the kids develop new capacities. It is amazing to watch, and scary, and humbling, too. We learn to teach. We work on patience. They push and change and grow. And we are pushed to trust more, to wonder more, and to be thankful. As they learn new things, so do we. Somehow, in the muddle of family life and just outside what we expect, we feel a jolt of recognition and suddenly find God at work among us and within us.
