Pondering Heart

Luke 2:1-20

December 24, 2023 (p.m.) • Mount Pleasant UMC

She never expected to be in this story. Until the angel came, her life had pretty much been planned out for her. As a good, faithful Hebrew girl, she was expected to marry a good man, settle down, raise a family and teach the children the ways of their God. That was the life her mother had had, and her mother before her, and her mother before her, and…well, you get the idea. That was the story that was written for Mary even before she was born. It was the story she had anticipated, expected, even hoped for. But that was not the story she found herself in now.

The story had begun a ways away. Initially, it didn’t involve Mary. She had gotten word that her relative, Elizabeth, who was well past child-bearing years, had become pregnant. There were rumors of angels and promises, and her husband Zechariah had been mute since Elizabeth became pregnant, which probably was just as well anyway. The whole thing was strange, but sometimes strange thing become amazing things. There were stories of things like this happening to their ancestors, so Mary really didn’t think much about it. But when Elizabeth was six months along and in seclusion, Mary had a visit from an angel herself. It was an ordinary day, and Mary was going about her usual tasks when the angel showed up and greeted her. He didn’t look anything like what she thought an angel would look like, though if you’d have asked her what an angel was supposed to look like, she probably couldn’t have told you. Just not that. But his voice! When he spoke it seemed like his voice was all around her. Surround sound! The words he spoke completely changed her story. “You will conceive and give birth to a son” (1:31).

Now, Mary was young—maybe 13 or 14—but she had a good idea how all this worked. You didn’t get pregnant on your own. And though she was betrothed to Joseph, their marriage had not yet taken place. So how in the world was she going to have a son? Well, that’s just it, the angel had said. It wouldn’t be any way the world would understand or could explain. “The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you” (1:35). Well, that cleared everything right up. But Mary knew better than to doubt what God was doing, even if she didn’t understand it. And not long after agreeing to this confusing and strange plan, she began to feel…different. Like something new was stirring inside of her. And when she felt the first movement of the baby—her heart leapt inside her. The angel’s words were true. God was doing something and she was part of his plan.

Of course, there was Joseph. Honestly, Mary thought telling her parents had been far easier than telling Joseph. Her parents at least had a faith that allowed for miracles. Joseph—well, he was a builder. A man of bricks and mortar, hammer and nails. He had to see things to believe them. And all he saw at first was his betrothed, his beloved, pregnant with what appeared to be someone else’s child. They talked. And they talked some more. She tried to explain it all, but even though Joseph believed and was faithful to God, he wasn’t so sure about angels and a Holy Spirit and supernatural pregnancies. To him, the whole thing was a matter of shame. So she understood when he told her he wanted to quietly end their betrothal. He didn’t want to bring a lot of trouble to Mary or her family, but he also didn’t want to deal with having to raise a child he knew was not his.

All of that was pretty well set until the angel visited him. Like his namesake/ancestor, Joseph was the kind of guy that could best listen to God in a dream. How he knew what was actually the voice of God and what was just last night’s leftover falafel Mary didn’t know. But when an angel showed up in his dream and directly addressed what he’d been thinking about and planning, Joseph knew. He knew he needed to not only pay attention, but do what the angel told him to do: “Take Mary home as your wife…you are to give [the child] the name Jesus…” (Matthew 1:20-21). So he did. He took her home to Bethlehem, his hometown. He had to because Rome had interfered with any other plans they might have had. A census was being taken and everyone had to register in the place they were from. Of course, a census just meant more taxes, but it would be worse for them if they didn’t obey. Of course, Mary could have stayed with her family in Nazareth, but Joseph didn’t trust the people there. He’d heard the rumors, the things people were saying about Mary in the coffee shop and in the market. He saw how conversations stopped when he walked into a room, noticed the slightly guilty looks on their faces. Mary’s pregnancy was fodder for all the gossip in this little town, and he wasn’t going to put her through that alone. Oh, sure, he had been ready to divorce her a few weeks ago, but once he was in, he was all in. Mary loved that about him.

So Mary went with him. They loaded everything up and left Nazareth for Bethlehem. With as much as they took, Mary wasn’t sure they would ever come back. She knew she was pretty far along in her pregnancy, and it was a long journey. She told Joseph it might be nice to just stay for a while so she could get to know his family—and so that she could get away from the wagging tongues in Nazareth. Some of that decision was taken out of their hands because “while they were there [in Bethlehem], the time came for the baby to be born” (2:6). Mary chuckled to herself, thinking it would make a much better story for her to have gone into labor on the way into town, and Joseph would urgently look around for a place for the baby to be born. But it wasn’t like that. The baby had come after they had been made comfortable in the family’s stable area—private, yet near family, just what they needed.

She looked down at her sleeping son. No, this was not the story she had expected to be living in, but it was, apparently, the story God had given her. And now that it was the story she found herself in, she would do her best to live it well. But, honestly, how could she be a mother to someone whom the angel had said was the “Son of the Most High” (1:32), someone so miraculously conceived? What qualifications did she have? How could she teach him anything? At just that moment, he gurgled and snuggled in closer to her. This was the Son of God? He’d already cried because he was hungry, or was that because he was afraid of the dark? She knew she’d learn in time what his cries meant, but right now she was wishing the angel had given more specific directions. Why don’t babies come with instruction manuals? She looked down as he gurgled again, and she watched as his fingers twitched. These same fingers threw the stars into the sky, and now they would grasp onto her hand for connection and, eventually, even to steady himself as he learned to walk. “How far you have come to be here tonight,” she whispered to him gently. “Oh, little one, how far you have come to be my son.”

Joseph stirred, lightly dozing over in the corner. He was quietly snoring, which made Mary smile. During the long journey, they had talked about a lot of things, and one thing Mary was certain about is that he would do whatever it took to take care of this baby. The baby was not his, but that no longer mattered to him. She knew he had the same doubts and worries that she did about raising the Son of God, but she also knew Joseph would give everything in himself to do the best he could do. He had talked about his excitement to teach him how to build things, how to fish, how to play games, and how to help his mother around the house. Joseph was a good man, and she felt very blessed to have him in her life. He stirred again, and then settled back into what seemed to be a very contented sleep. He needed the sleep. He hadn’t slept much since they had left Nazareth. He had been so worried about the baby’s arrival, and so disappointed he couldn’t provide a better place for Mary to give birth. But, before he had gone to sleep, he had done exactly what the angel had told him to do. “Jesus,” he had said. “His name will be Jesus.” Mary had smiled and said, “Because he will save his people from their sins” (Matthew 1:21). He had told her the story of his angel visit so many times she could repeat it word for word.

She glanced down again at her son—her son!—as his lips parted and closed again. She counted again—ten little toes, ten little fingers, two eyes, one nose. He was perfect. Well, of course he was. What else did she think he would be?

Just as Mary was about to become lost in her pondering, she heard a commotion at the door. Joseph’s aunt was trying to tell someone to go away. “But we want to see the baby,” the stranger said. How did they know there was a baby here? Mary shook her head. It must be something God was doing, again. “It’s okay,” she called out carefully, not wanting to wake up either Jesus or Joseph. “Let them in.” When Joseph’s aunt stepped aside, in came a band of shepherds. Shepherds! Smelly, dirty, untrustworthy shepherds. And as they came in, they told a story of angels, a heavenly song, and extremely bright lights. “They said,” one of them breathlessly said, “to look for a baby in a manger, wrapped in swaddling clothes” (2:12). Then he looked at the child in her arms. “Is that him?” Mary nodded, and with her eyes invited them to come near. “But quietly,” she said. “He hasn’t been asleep that long.”

The shepherds did just that. They inched near, and their eyes were full of wonder. These same shepherds helped babies be born nearly every day this time of year. Sure, they were baby lambs, but the idea was the same. And yet their eyes indicated they had never seen anything like this baby. Mary smiled at the thought. He was so ordinary, and yet so extraordinary. Heaven wrapped in humility. A baby in a bundle of rags. And yet so much more than a baby. One of the shepherds looked up at her, tentatively smiling, and said, “He’s the Messiah, you know. He’s the one we’ve been waiting for for so long.” Mary nodded. She knew. Of all people in the world, she knew. He had come to save her, too.

Eventually, the shepherds left. Mary could hear them singing for a long time after the door was closed. They obviously didn’t care who they woke up in town. After seeing the baby, it was as if they didn’t have a care in the world. But after their songs had faded, Mary settled back into her resting place. She closed her eyes but sleep wouldn’t come easily. Her heart was full and her mind was racing. She began to think about all the mothers who had come before her in their tribe, some of whom people preferred not to talk about, and yet they were the sort of people her son had come for, too. She thought about Tamar, a daughter-in-law who was treated unjustly by the patriarch of their clan, Judah. And she thought about Rahab, an unsavory woman in Jericho who, in many ways, was at least partly responsible for her people living in the land that was now their home. And then there was Ruth, kind-hearted Ruth, whose persistence and courage allowed for King David to be born. And Bathsheba, abused and used by that same king, and yet producing a son who became the wisest man ever to live. These were the daughters of promise, the ones her own mother had told her about, the examples of courage and strength and endurance, an example for her. Now, she thought to herself, she was one of those daughters of promise, too. In fact, the promise himself lay in her arms, the one whom all these ancestors had made possible. She was certain, she knew it in her bones, that he would have loved and welcomed all of those ancestors of his, and that all of the outcasts and the strangers today would find a place in his heart. As sleep claimed her, Mary had one last thought: she couldn’t wait to see how it all worked out. What was God going to do through this baby in her arms? Well, that was tomorrow’s worry. Tonight, she would sleep.

“Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart” (2:19).