The following is a sermon I preached at Christ Church Cathedral, Indianapolis on Advent 4, 2018. After more than three years of regular preaching, it is one of the sermons of which I am most proud, as it was a chance to highlight the stories of refugee and immigrant mothers. Three years have passed, we will again read Mary’s Visitation of Elizabeth this Sunday, and little has changed for our refugee siblings, who continue to face great suffering. Luke’s account invites us to consider anew: how are we extending hospitality to those who are in harm’s way?
Sculpture of Mary and Elizabeth at Church of the Visitation in Ein Kerem, Jerusalem
Fleeing the threat of violence in her homeland, María makes a lengthy journey to a place of sanctuary. Craving respite from the omnipresent dangers that a woman in her situation faces, she carries in her heart the hope of safe haven from the many forces which pose harm to her.
She travels on foot for days on end in treacherous terrain, navigating rocky ground and dodging duplicitous dealers who would be more than willing to take advantage of a young single mother.
And then, when her destination is in clear view, she is met with teargas and rubber bullets. The image has become iconic. Perhaps you have seen it. María Meza clings to the hands of her twin toddler daughters, pulling them to safety, as together they flee a smoking teargas canister launched by agents of the United States Customs and Border Patrol.
The girls are in diapers. One is barefoot, having lost her shoes in the haste to escape. To gaze at the faces of this Honduran family is to almost hear their cries. The image pierces the heart.
On Monday, after a month of waiting, María and her daughters were finally permitted to file for asylum. But in many ways, Maria’s challenges are only just beginning, as she seeks to make a life for her family in a country that failed to welcome her and lacks the vision to see the good she will contribute.
Like our Blessed Mother -- who faced the threat of being stoned to death for having become pregnant outside of her marriage, and who quite literally headed for the hills -- migrant women like Maria leave behind dangerous circumstances to carve out a new future for themselves and their children. They risk the hazardous journey al Norte in hopes of finding freedom from domestic violence and gang violence, poverty and war.
But where Mary was received with warm enthusiasm, the women who arrive at our southern border are met not with songs of welcome, but with weapons and walls. Some have had children snatched from their arms, while others are forced to wait for months in order to apply for asylum, living on the streets with no protection to speak of.
Elizabeth’s welcome offers a radical counterpoint to the fear-mongering tactics daily employed by our government. The old woman greets the teenager and her unborn child with joyful hospitality at the threshold of her home.
I imagine her enveloping Mary in a comforting embrace, their pregnant bellies pressed close together. Then Elizabeth, with a loud voice -- the Greek is where we get the word megaphone... this woman is powerfully excited! -- she exclaims, “God has blessed you above all women, and God has blessed the child you carry.”
What a welcome! What a relief for the travel-worn María. What acceptance from a beloved friend and family member. The message is loud and clear:
Come in! Come in! You and your child are welcome here.
Put up your feet and rest a while.
Mi casa es tu casa.
God is clearly with you, and you honor me with your presence.
I admire you. You are so strong. You are so brave.
You are safe. You belong.
Isn’t this the sort of welcome we all long for? To know that we belong? That we are wanted? That God has made a place for us? Would that we offered such a welcome to those who seek sanctuary among us.
Now, Elizabeth is not naive. She is a mature woman who knows how cruel the world can be. She knows life from here on out is not going to be easy for her young cousin. But right here, right now, she can play a part in God’s justice by being Mary’s safe-haven. And her faith tells her that the victory already belongs to God!
She is living a powerful sign of God’s favor that attests to this ultimate reality. Long barren, she’s now in her 2nd trimester w/ the baby who will grow to be John the Baptizer. She takes seriously these seeds of hope that she and Mary carry within, trusting that they bear future promise.
Elizabeth is a woman of vision. She sings over Mary the truth of God’s enthusiastic and ultimate YES to Mary’s belongingness in God’s good story of setting the world aright. In the face of insurmountable obstacles, she sings in solidarity with her young cousin. In a world where the forces of violence rage against people like Mary and her unborn child, Elizabeth’s jubilantly defiant song anticipates the victory that is to come:
“There will be fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord,” she sings.
Elizabeth’s song contains echoes of the victory songs that were sung over Yael and Judith, those bold female warriors who took matters of justice into their hands, by killing enemy generals whose armies were attacking Israel. In the book of Judges, Yael is celebrated by the judge Deborah as “most blessed of women.” (Judges 5:24) And of Judith it is said, “O daughter, you are blessed by the Most High God above all other women on earth; and blessed be the Lord God, who created the heavens and the earth, who has guided you to cut off the head of the leader of our enemies." (Judith 13:18)
With her prophetic words, Elizabeth places Mary in the company of these powerful, strong warrior women. She gives her a warrior’s welcome, celebrating her as a bold agent of God’s justice in the world.
It bears saying that those women who leave their homes seeking a better life belong to this same warrior lineage. So it should be of little wonder that Mary’s strength and courage have so captured the imagination of our Latin American neighbors.
The beloved Virgin of Guadalupe, patron saint of Mexico and the Americas, is often depicted crushing the head of a serpent.
Of this Mary it is said,
“Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb.
It is an empowering welcome which lays the ground for Mary to pour out her heart in her Magnificat, sung so beautifully sung by our choir this morning. Together, these women mutually empower each other to participate in God’s work of turning the world rightside up again.
It’s an exchange grounded in hospitality and focused on God’s good future.
It calls to mind a moment at our Visioning Retreat this fall. We’d been asked, “How would life be different in 10 years if God’s vision for us were realized?” After some pondering, one participant raised her hand. Her voice brimming with emotion, she spoke with conviction about what life would be like for the immigrants among us:
“They are here to stay. And they are safe.”
This vision resonates with the vision of ultimate belonging Elizabeth and Mary dreamt about, and which Elizabeth, with her welcome of Mary, participates in bringing it into being.
It’s a vision which I see taking hold in our community. Just this week, a number of cathedral families have opened up their homes for las posadas. They’ve welcomed dozens of people to remember in song the Holy Family’s search for shelter. With tamales and tacos, beans and barbeque, the hosts of las posadas offer the sort of gracious and joyful welcome with which God receives us.
In these spaces of hospitality, we strengthen ourselves for the work ahead, reminding each other of our belongingness in God’s story. And with particular attention to those who have experienced the violence of inhospitality, we might even sing:
You are a sign of the world to come,
where God will set all things right.
You are blessed,
and we celebrate the glorious things God is doing through you!
Amen.