THE FOURTH SUNDAY OF ADVENT
Year B
December 21, 2014
Luke 1:26-38
Pastor David Tryggestad
Concordia Evangelical
Lutheran Church
Duluth, Minnesota
What if she said No?!
“The Angel Gabriel from heaven came . . . with eyes as flame
. . .”[1]
Though the sight of him brought terror to any who might lay eyes upon him, it
was he who trembled at the news he
brought. She was young, oh, so young. And so unlikely, so un-noteworthy, so
out-of-the-way, so much less than ordinary. How could she be the one? Could such a one as she even begin to comprehend
the profound and eternal consequences of his almost unspeakable announcement? Could
she know that the future of all of creation hung in the balance?
What if she said No!?
And so it was that, at his fiery appearing before her, he
could not determine which of them was the more amazed—she at his blazing glory
or he at her diminutive humility. Would she notice the heavenly messenger
trembling with anticipation as he towered over her, as if it were he himself
who bore within himself the Child-in-waiting that he came to announce?
“How can this be?”
What if she said No!?
Joseph learned of Mary’s state and was beside himself with
indignation and bewilderment. How could she have deceived him? How could he
have been so wrong about her? And who was the other man? Joseph’s lineage had
been littered with too many such encounters—how could it be that he would be
yet another victim of the lurid curse? He was resolved. He would put her away,
but he would do it quietly. He would not stoop so low as to expose her and
humiliate himself.
But then there was this vision—or was it a dream?! In his
restless half-sleep a blazing figure from another world came to him—was he real
or only his delusion? “Joseph,” he said. “Do not be afraid to take Mary to
yourself. Her Child-in-waiting is of God!”
“How can this be?”
What if he said No!?
It was a dark night and all the world asleep. Only the
occasional baying of a lamb for its mother broke the stillness of the night.
Suddenly the sky was filled with a radiance more brilliant than the noon-day
sun. The shepherds awoke with a start and covered their eyes from the blazing.
The visitor hung as if suspended from the heavens and spoke a resounding word
that is still searing the universe: “The Child-in-waiting is born! Go and see
this thing that has come to pass!” Then the sky was filled with a multitude of other
fiery creatures like the first, more than they could count, and they sang,
“Glory!”
As soon as it all began—or so it seemed—the sky was dark again
and silence replaced the heavenly chorus. They pondered the invitation: “Go and
see this thing that has come to pass!” Could they believe what they saw and
heard? Or was this some kind of cosmic joke? “Go and see this thing that has
come to pass!”
What if they said No!?
The stargazers from the East saw the magnificent blazing at
its rising and they asked one another, “What does this mean?” Never had they
seen the likes of it. It was beyond anything their wildest imaginations could
conceive—and their imaginations were wild indeed. “How can this be?” they asked
each other. They consulted all their books and all their scrolls and nothing
could compare.
What happened next astounded them even more—that star began
to move, as if leading them. It beaconed them to follow. It compelled them to
follow. And they were drawn to its light, leading westward. But what of their
lives? What of their homes, their families, their livelihoods? What of
everything they knew? Where might that star lead them? Might it lead to their
destruction? Or would all their acquaintances ridicule and rebuke them for
their foolishness in following a star? Would they follow?
What if they said No!?
That Child grew to manhood. The one who was sent before him
to prepare his way was in the River, and all the people were going out to him,
being baptized by him. Then the One to come after him presented himself to the
one to prepare the way, to submit himself to the water. The one to prepare the
way could see deep within those intense and piercing eyes a deep pool
containing all the hopes and fears, all the griefs and despair of all of
humanity, and he all but recoiled from knowing the toll it would take, not only
from this One to come after, but also from himself. For he knew that the one to
prepare the way would also partake of that way.
What if the one to prepare the way said No!?
He walked the shores of the Sea of
Galilee. He saw two brothers in their boat, fishing. “Come, follow
me,” he said. Then he came across two more brothers, mending their nets. “Come,
follow me,” he said again. They had their boats. They had livelihoods. They had
others at home waiting for them. “Follow him where?” they thought to
themselves. “What might become of us?” “What about our father alone now in the
boat?”
What if they said No!?
He came to his beloved friend Lazarus, already four days
dead in his tomb. His sisters lamented, “Lord, if only you had been here . . .”
Was it their grief? Or were they taunting him? “Where have you laid him?”
“Lord, come and see.” He himself began to weep. “Roll the stone away!” he
commanded. “No, Lord,” his sister protested, “already there is a stench.” “Roll
the stone away!” Then he spoke with the same authority that brought into being
the sun and the moon and the earth and the stars: “Lazarus, come forth!”
What if Lazarus said No!?
“He comes to us as One unknown . . .”[2]
How might we know him? How might we recognize him? He comes knocking at our
door. He comes seeking a home in our heart. He desires us to know him as he
knows us. He longs that we might love him as he loves us. He calls us to follow
him.
What if we said No!?
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