Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.
We often use the world “miracle”
to describe the arrival of a newborn child. The birth of a child – the nine-month-long
development from microscopic but living cells into the dramatic arrival of a
flesh-and-blood, seven pound, two ounce, nineteen and one-half-inch long baby (that’s
the statistical average in the United States, by the way, per Google) who is
vocally making his or her arrival known to everyone present – well, yes; yes,
we can understand how that would be described as a miracle. The arrival of life
is a wonderful and humbling moment to witness. Don’t tell anyone, but it’s
possible I may have said the same at the arrival of our three children.
Now, I don’t mean to pour cold water
on any romantic ideas we have, but, in the strict sense of the term, is childbirth
really a miracle? After all, by definition, a miracle is when the laws of
nature are changed – not just bent, but completely turned upside down. With a
miracle, the naturally impossible becomes not only possible but a present
actuality. So, instant water-to-wine without the process of fermentation; the
raising of a decaying, four-day-dead man back to life; a sea parted by the
winds so that thousands can cross over dry land; leftovers after feeding 5000
with a boy’s lunch; the sun hiding in shame at the death of the Light of the
World. These are miracles in the truest sense of the world.
But, by and large, pregnancy and childbirth are a normal process of human reproduction that can be simply – albeit wonderfully – explained through normal, biological and medical ways and experienced daily at any hospital. As a rule, while spectacular and wonderful and enthralling, childbirth isn’t truly a miracle.
I fully agree that there are births that seem to defy explanation. For example, a dear college friend of ours was told by doctors since she was a teenager that there was absolutely zero possibility of her being able to have a child, but she and her husband are proud parents of two beautiful girls.
But then, there are pregnancies and childbirths that are so extraordinarily contrary to all natural possibility that they can only be described as miraculous. I can think of three quick examples in the Bible.
Remember, in the Biblical world, being
unable to have a child, and especially a son, was considered to be a curse from
God Himself. For a woman, who desperately wants to be a mother but is
biologically unable to have a child, it was as if God had turned His very back
on her, shunning her, condemning her to a lesser class of womanhood.
In Genesis, Sarai wanted a son
desperately, pleading and praying for God to be merciful to her. Since He
didn’t seem to be listening, she took matters into her own hands, having her
maid-servant be a surrogate mother. But, she grew so jealous of the servant,
who was able to have a boy with Sarai’s own husband, further demonstrating her
seeming cursedness, that she drove the mother and baby out into the wilderness
to die. Finally, the Lord sent three angels to deliver the news that she and
Abram would have a son. Her laughter at the impossible news turned to joy when
she gave birth to a son, naming him Isaac. Isaac means laughter. In a terrible
twist, the Lord would demand Isaac be sacrificed by his father’s own hand,
later rescued by the vicarious substitution of a ram caught in the brush.
Or, how about Hannah? In my mind,
she’s an older woman but the book of first Samuel doesn’t actually tell us her
age, only that she was barren. Nevertheless, she was deeply loved and cared for
by her husband, Elkannah. Hannah sat in the temple courtyard, murmuring her
prayers, that the Lord would grant her a son. Finally noticed by Eli, who
thought she as drunk, God promised through Eli that she would have a son. When
the boy was born, she set him apart, dedicating her firstborn son to service in
the Lord’s temple. A mother who wanted a son so desperately surrendered her son
to the Lord.
And then there’s Mary’s cousin,
Elizabeth. Like Sarai, Elizabeth and her husband, Zechariah, were both “advanced
in years,” Luke notes in his first chapter, and she, like Hannah, was
childless. This time the Lord delivered the news to her husband, that he would
be a father. Not believing it, he was struck mute, unable to celebrate the gift
of God’s promised blessing with anyone around him. But Elizabeth does believe,
thanking God for taking away the reproach against her. You and I know this
child as John the Baptizer who goes before Jesus as the one who prepares His
way, calling people to repentance and baptizing in the wilderness.
Sarai, Hannah, Elizabeth. All
three were women who begged and pleaded in prayer for the gift of a son and the
joy of motherhood. All three were women unable to have children; at least two
of the women – possibly all three – were advanced in years and beyond the
normal age of childbirth. All three were given the gift of sons. All three had
births that were truly miraculous.
But of all the miraculous births
in the Bible, there is none more miraculous than story of Mary. In almost every
way, she was opposite these three other women. She was young – possibly as
young as 14 or 15. (While that makes us shudder today, it was not an uncommon
thing in that day and age, so please understand it in the context.) She was
betrothed – we would say engaged in modern parlance – but unlike modern
engagements, their relationship had not yet been consummated; she remained a
virgin. Being practically a child herself, having her own child, her own son,
was most likely far, far from her mind as she had many years ahead of her to
rejoice in the gift of a baby.
Yet, Gabriel appears to her with
the angelic message and Divine announcement of a miraculous pregnancy and birth:
Mary would conceive and bear a son and call his name Jesus. Mary identified the
first impossibility of this – she was a virgin. Gabriel’s answer to that
question identified the second miracle: not only would it be a virgin birth,
but the Holy Spirit – God Himself – would be the father. The Baby would be her
son; the Baby would be God’s Son. Virgin birth – impossible. God becoming flesh
in the womb of a woman – impossible.
There is yet one more miracle
that takes place in Gabriels’ announcement: “Mary said, ‘Behold, I am the servant
of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.” The miracle is that Mary
believes the angel’s news for her, that she would be a virgin mother; she would
be the mother of the Son of God, and all this would come true as the Lord
promised.
A trinity of miracles, as it
were, all in Gabriel’s announcement to Mary and in Mary’s faithful acceptance
of the message for her.
I have to wonder, although Mary
believed the angel, what was going through her head. Amazement and wonder, I’m
sure. When you go home this afternoon, you can get a sense of this by reading
the rest of Luke 1. You’ll read the song Mary sings to her cousin, Elizabeth, a
song speaking of the mercy of God, singing His praises for rescuing and
redeeming Israel through her Baby, a song remembering His promises to His
people of old, now coming to fruition in her womb.
But, I do wonder if she
understood what the name “Jesus” would all mean. Did she consider her
miraculous pregnancy in light of the other miraculous births, especially Sarai
and Hannah? Did Mary wonder if her Son would also be sacrificed, but unlike
Isaac, Jesus’ life would be demanded and the sacrifice complete, that His life
would be the vicarious substitute for the world and no one – not even His
heavenly Father – would intercede? Could Mary begin to imagine how her Son
would be set apart, not merely for service in the temple, but that He would be
the fulfillment of the Temple, itself, God enfleshed to dwell among us?
No. Not yet. That was all ahead,
all on the horizon. Faith is not the same as understanding. She may not have
understood it all – she certainly did not yet know all that would happen in the
life of her son – but she believed that with God, all things, including this miraculous
message of a Child, were possible.
But even on that day, with
Gabriel’s words still hanging in the air of the Galilean afternoon, the cross
is already ahead. It’s hiding, but it is present. It’s hiding in the very name
of Jesus, that He will be the Savior. His throne will be greater than David’s –
not encrusted with gold and jewels, but with slivers and His own blood as He
reigns in glory from the cross. And He will reign and rule without end.
In the name of Jesus.
Amen.
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