Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood
First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS
Luke 1: 26-40
Advent 2, December 10, 2017
Fun fact: did you know that the word hysteria comes from the Greek word for uterus? The idea of someone being hysterical - not in a “oh, they’re so funny” sense but in a “wow, that person is crazy” sense - comes from an ancient belief that women were perhaps crazy because of their uteruses.
I have some other thoughts about why women might go crazy. It can make you feel a little crazy when you’re not sure if you should try to make yourself look conventionally attractive in a professional setting because if you look nice people will respect you more, but, also, if you look nice people might harass you.
It can make you feel a little crazy to realize that whether you decide to marry or stay single, have children or not, stay home with these children or not….none of these things will ultimately win you society’s approval. Everyone will think you’ve done something wrong no matter what choices you make.
It can make you feel a little crazy when you’re sitting in a meeting or having lunch with a group of friends and you share a good idea but no one seems to notice. And then, not 30 seconds later, a man shares the same idea and everyone thinks it’s great.
It can make you feel a little crazy when you’re a pastor and you’ve had both male and female church members say grossly inappropriate things about your body during the passing of the peace. (Incidentally, that has not happened to me in this congregation, thank God and thank you.)
I could go on and on and on and on. I imagine most women could. Suffice to say, living as a woman in a patriarchal society can be, quite literally, crazy-making.
I think this is part of why women and girls frequently travel in packs. Why we so often crave community in all its varied forms. Because there is safety in numbers. And there is a sense of security knowing you’re not the only one experiencing these crazy-making things.
This past week, Time magazine honored the “silence breakers” - women and men who, in the past year, have unleashed a torrent of truth-telling about the epidemic of sexual harassment and assault still prevalent in our society. One of the women on the cover, Adama Iwu, is a corporate lobbyist in Sacramento. After being groped in front of colleagues, she decided she had had enough and pulled together 147 women to write an open letter about sexual harassment in California government. Iwu said she realized that the time had come to speak out, boldly, together. And she knew that there was strength and safety in community. After all, Iwu said, “It’s hard to say all 147 women liars. We can’t all be crazy.” [1]
This is one way the silence-breakers have relied on community to tear down oppression. Another form of community is quieter. Several of the women, including Iwu, spoke of the “whisper-network.” The way women and other vulnerable people share cautionary tales with each other - “don’t get involved with that guy,” “don’t go to that party,” “don’t take that job.” Ashley Judd spoke about the need to formalize this whisper network and make it louder - amplify it - to shout out the injustices and name names so that future harm can be stopped. [1]
We are living in a moment where the whispers have become shouts. What a time to be alive.
A long time ago, but not in a galaxy far-far away (you have to wait until Friday for that), ancient women knew about the whisper network. These women also knew how crazy-making it could be to be women in a society designed by and for men.
The Gospel of Luke begins and ends with stories of men not believing women or not believing in women’s strength. And in between that beginning and end, Luke’s gospel is filled with stories that feature women. There are more women in Luke’s Gospel than any other and they are up-front-and-center, doing amazing things. Luke’s gospel is the one where we hear about the widow’s son being healed and Jairus’s daughter, too. Luke’s gospel is the one where Martha’s sister, Mary, is praised for sitting at Jesus’s feet like one of the guys. Luke’s gospel is the one where women are prominently featured even in parables - the woman adding leaven to bread and the woman looking for her lost coin.
Luke’s gospel ends with the story of the women at the tomb. Faithful followers to the bitter end - even when the men have denied Jesus and left in fear - the women follow their teacher beyond the grave and they are rewarded by being the first to see the resurrected Christ. And then when they tell the men what they’ve seen, the men don’t believe them.
Kind of like in the beginning of Luke when an angel comes to Zechariah and tells him his wife is about to become pregnant and will give birth to a son named John who “will be great in the sight of the Lord.” Zechariah is incredulous - “My wife is too old,” he says, “She can’t do that!” The angel Gabriel responds by placing a curse on Zechariah, silencing him until after the prophecy is fulfilled.
The next time around, it seems that Gabriel has learned a few things. This time, instead of making the rookie mistake of going to Joseph, he finds Mary. He brings the news to her that she will also conceive and will bear a son name Jesus who will be the Son of the Most High, will inhabit the throne of his ancestor David, and will reign forever and ever, amen.
Mary is confused about how this could happen and says so. Gabriel explains the details and, along the way, notes that something similar has already happened to her cousin Elizabeth. There’s that whisper network again, that sense of community - “You are not alone. Other women also understand and will accompany you on this journey.”
The angel closes with the big sell, “For nothing is impossible with God.”
It is enough for Mary. She says yes. Or, as the poet Denise Levertov puts it so beautifully, “Consent illumined her.” [2]
“Here am I,” says Mary, “the servant of the Lord. Let it be with me according to your word.”
What’s the very next thing this young girl does after receiving this unsettling news? She does what many women do when they discover an unexpected pregnancy: she seeks community. We are told that she “makes haste” to the countryside to find her cousin, Elizabeth.
The two women embrace and marvel at the impossible place they’ve found themselves in. Mary connects, once again, to that whisper network of women, this time singing a song that generations of women have passed down to each other. We know it as “The Magnificat” because of the opening line, “My soul magnifies God,” but Mary was almost certainly thinking of it as “Hannah’s Song” because it so closely echoes that earlier text from 1 Samuel. Across the centuries, Hannah and Mary sing praise to God because God has done miraculous, impossible things: God has scattered the proud and sent the rich away empty. God has brought down the powerful from their thrones.
Perhaps to update for our own time: God has smashed the patriarchy, lifting up voices of women, men, children who stand against abuses of power. God has gathered whispers into loud shouts, protecting the vulnerable. God has spread stories of #metoo like wildfire. God has given courage to those whose knees and voices shake. God has silenced those who have been used to having the megaphone. Once again, God has pulled down the mighty from their perches of power.
Two songs sung by two women living generations apart. Mary and Hannah, both knew the day-in and day-out crazy-making reality of living as a woman in a man’s world.
Elizabeth knew, too. After Mary’s song is sung, we are told that Elizabeth gives birth to a healthy baby boy. On the eighth day, the parents take the child to be circumcised and those gathered assume that his name will be Zechariah, like his father. But Elizabeth speaks up, “No, actually his name will be John.” They look at her like she’s crazy, “John? No, that can’t be right. That’s not a family name.” So they go over to Zechariah to find the real answer. Zechariah, who still can’t talk, writes on a tablet, confirming what his wife has JUST SAID, “His name is John.” And all of them are amazed. Suddenly they think John is a great name. “Why didn’t anyone think of that before?”
I wonder if Elizabeth damaged her eyesight from rolling her eyes so hard. Crazy-making, I tell ya.
This text is an ancient mirror held up to our own time. How ridiculous that no one heard Elizabeth’s speak the truth. She already knew. Just like Mary already knew. Just like Hannah already knew.
Just like the woman at the tomb knew. And Mary sitting at the feet of Jesus. And the woman carefully putting leaven into her bread.
And Lady Wisdom calling out for justice in the streets.
And Queen Vashti standing up to the King.
And Ruth and Naomi banding together for survival.
And Rahab hiding outsiders in her own home to save their lives.
And Jochebed carefully entrusting her infant son to the river.
And Miriam running ahead, knowing she was God’s hands and feet.
And Tamar throwing Judah’s belongings back in his face.
And Hagar speaking carefully, the first person in the Bible to give God a name.
Together these women cry out with one voice - the whispers gathered into a deafening chorus that cannot be silenced.
My soul magnifies God and my spirit rejoices in God, my Savior,
for she has looked with favor on the lowliness of her servant….
God has shown strength with her arm;
she has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
God has brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted up the lowly.
Surely, from now on we will remember and call these women blessed. Amen.
Notes:
