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Luke 1:39–56 Advent 4C December 22, 2024

Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father, and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

All Gospel texts are touching in some way, but here is one that is almost as touching as the nativity itself. So many wonderful things are going on. One pregnant mother meets another, both are astonished beyond belief. Both are rejoicing. One little child in utero meets another, both of them are rejoicing. One prophet, in a way the last of the Old Testament prophets, John the Baptizer, meets his Lord for the first time. He has not yet learned to cry, “Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!” But that day is coming. Now, he can only leap for joy. In today’s text, John lets his mother do the talking for him. He lets her speak words that sound like something John himself might say to Mary, if he could—”Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb!” The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Mary, too, sings a song that sounds like something her own Son might sing one day. “All generations will call me blessed,” Mary sings. Indeed, all generations will call the Christ blessed. Indeed, the Father looks on the humble estate of, not only Mary, but also his Suffering Servant son and exalts him. Indeed, Jesus might sing all the words of the Magnificat. He did sing them in ancient days on Sinai and in conversation with Moses and in the mouths of the prophets—”My name is holy. My mercy is for those who fear me, from generation to generation. I, the Lord, make poor and make rich. I bring low and exalt.” The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree in Mary’s orchard, either.

Both Mary and Elizabeth, like all mothers, would make distinctive impressions on their sons. John was living in a barren womb, and so, he would always to feel right at home in barren places. He would grow to be perfectly comfortable crying in the wilderness, “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight! Repent! For the kingdom of heaven is at hand!” And for proclaiming those words, he would ultimately find himself languishing in the barren womb of a dark, damp prison cell—waiting not to be born, but to die.

And in this way, John is a little bit like you and me. Each of us is in our own barren womb, waiting to die. Each of us spends our days eking out a living in this wilderness world. As we grow, we learn all too well how things work here. One little kernel of corruption makes corruption spread like wildfire. One little white lie grows into more and more lies until like so many weeds or like ivy, the good plant, the healthy tree, the truth, is choked out, and becomes invisible. One hurtful word or harmful deed grows into lifelong resentment. One seed of doubt balloons into a complete lack of trust, or the loss of faith. If we’re going to survive, we need to develop a thick skin. To keep from being consumed, we think we must make ourselves bitter. This is what life is like in this barren womb of a world.

But for us, for the Church, there is another way. There is another life, in another womb, coming over to meet us from Nazareth, in Galilee, on a fine May day. Jesus comes to visit and he greets us from a womb of his own, a womb that knows nothing of barrenness or corruption, a virgin womb.

“My soul magnifies the Lord,” sings Mary. Yes, the Lord is growing larger, being magnified within her day by day. He will not be made small. He can only grow. He will only be magnified. Our Lord is fruit of the finest stock, a hearty variety. He can only become more and more ripe, more and more plentiful no matter how many times he is eaten. Just as John lived a life reflective of the barren womb that bore him—Jesus was carried in a virgin womb, and so wherever he lived was made into virgin territory. Jesus would come forth as the first fruits of his own new and glorious kingdom—establishing an incorruptible, imperishable, pure, virgin creation. Blindness, lameness, leprosy, disease, demons, all sin—is eradicated by Jesus’ perfect power. Jesus makes the places where he lives—virgin places. The rottenness of sin is pared off, and the pure fruit of Christ’s forgiveness remains. Lies that have spread seemingly beyond control are cleared away. The seeds of doubt are replaced with the perennially scattered seed of Jesus’ Word. Jesus comes to us, and we find ourselves with something to do, even in our barren place, just as there was something for John to do in his. Like John, we point to Jesus, who is always coming to visit us by his Word and by his Sacrament. We point to Jesus, and we cry, “Behold, the lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!”

Still, we sit in the darkness of our sin-soaked prison, waiting to die. But Jesus claims the womb where we languish. He puts his name on us in baptism. We belong to Jesus now, even as we wait around in what appears to be a barren and corrupted womb. And so, though we hurtle towards death, in faith, we are waiting only to be born. Paul says, “We are treated as dying, and behold, we live.” Peter says “According to his great mercy he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading.” And Paul says again, “He has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.”

“Blessed is the fruit of your womb,” we say with Elizabeth. It is the fruit that will grow to hang on the tree of the cross. Like so many apples and pears and oranges, Jesus was taken down from the tree and planted in the earth only to rise up again in glory. And he gives the fruit of his death and resurrection to you and to me. He grafts us into himself. He moves us from a barren womb to a pure and undefiled kingdom. We are made to be of his hearty stock. By his grace we do not fall far from his tree. And soon he will come to gather us up. Amen. Come Lord Jesus.

In the name of Jesus. Amen.