Joy is Complicated

Luke 1:26-38

In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” The angel said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God. And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son, and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.” Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her.

Sermon

In many ways, Advent is the beginning of the end. In the gospel accounts, we hear these origin stories of sorts, preparing us for the birth of Christ — the very end of this long-awaited, grueling, sometimes-miserable wait for God to fulfill promises. These gospel accounts are the very beginning to the end of that thousands-of-yearslong waiting. This is the finale, when all things are made whole, and the curtain is slowly opening for our main act.

Today’s scripture is also part of this beginning of the end. If God was playing poker, this is when all the cards are shown: Elizabeth is pregnant with John the Baptist, Mary is pregnant with the Messiah, and God is so determined to finally fulfill these prophecies that even the laws of nature are being subverted. God never bluffs.

Just as Advent marks this long-awaited turning point in God’s story, Advent also reminds us that joy has a habit of shaking up our lives. It can be disruptive, and it reorganizes our lives. Even still, even when it might be challenging, God calls us to choose that joy.

In the conceptions of Mary and Elizabeth, they are about to have their ordinary lives completely reorganized. Babies really change everything about the way we live. Babies really change the way we live — they rearrange the relationships and rhythms of daily life.

All of a sudden, Mary has a new title: “mom.” Joseph has a new title of “dad.” Later on, Jesus will get a new title of “brother,” when his siblings are born. Elizabeth and Zechariah might become “aunt Elizabeth” and “uncle Zechariah,” or maybe “cousin Elizabeth” and “cousin Zechariah.” The mouths to feed increases, the economic need increases, and everyone’s relationships are reinterpreted. Simply put, the whole family has to adjust. Everyone’s life shifts around the new family member. So even though there’s all these joyful things happening, there is a lot of reorganization happening. Joy doesn’t just arrive — it shakes up everything around it.

While Elizabeth finds her social reputation vindicated because she is no longer barren, Mary finds the opposite due to her conception. Mary is now the talk of the town. “Did you hear? Mary—yes, that unmarried, single, teenage Mary—is pregnant.” All of a sudden, her community turns on her. That is the cost of joy: even if it’s holy, it doesn’t always lead to a perfect, nice, tidy community. Sometimes it makes things harder, at least temporarily.

“So even though there’s all these joyful things happening, there is a lot of reorganization happening. Joy doesn’t just arrive — it shakes up everything around it.”

Just as God disrupted their lives, God’s is at work within our own church to bring us joy. We’re welcoming eight new members—most of whom are here today—and that’s a big deal. They’re quick on the heels of those seven members we welcomed at Easter, which means that this year, our congregation has grown by over 10%. For reference, 1-3% growth is a good number. This reorganization is most certainly a gift — it means God is bringing new life into this congregation.

But like we learn from Mary and Elizabeth, when we welcome new family members, everything is thrown out of whack, for better or for worse. Our relationships, attitudes, responsibilities, and daily lives are reorganized. Or for a church, leadership and ministries undergo reorganization whether we prompt it or not.

Like we heard last week, and in the words of Henry Nouwen, God asks us to choose joy each and every day. It’s not some feeling of nostalgia or fleeting ecstasy — joy is what happens when we find the God of life in all and through all. So today, this sermon isn’t as much a theological treatise as much as it is a charge to us all: choose joy.

As we welcome new members to this family of faith, our lives and community will undergo reorganization. Our relationships might change, our attitudes might change, our responsibilities might change, our leadership might change. It’s here that we meet diverging paths: we can herald these things like the community around Elizabeth, who greet her conception with joy and acknowledgment that it is God’s gift. Or we can be like the community around Mary, who greet her with complacency or snideness. But God undoubtedly calls us to the former: to choose joy over all else.

“As we welcome new members to this family of faith, our lives and community will undergo reorganization. Our relationships might change, our attitudes might change, our responsibilities might change, our leadership might change... [but] choose joy.”

That’s one of the reasons we partake of this holy sacrament. It’s the practice field of faith where we repeatedly practice what God is calling us. We can choose joy—and savor it even on the darkest of days—by sharing this meal together. It’s real. It’s special. It’s not some abstraction. Christ is with us in this very space, all around us, all in this bread and cup, and we get to have it. And so, this table—these gifts of God—reorganizes our lives, too, if we choose to dwell at it with the risen Christ.

We can’t choose who else gets the grace of God or not. We have to eat at this table with everyone—those we like, those we don’t like, and those we’ve never met and maybe don’t want to meet. And so, by sharing this meal, we practice choosing joy.

We proclaim at this table the glory of God and the ugly death of the incarnate God. We proclaim that there is great suffering in this world, and that there is great comfort in God. And so, by sharing this meal, we practice choosing joy.

We proclaim our isolation from God and that we belong to God in life and in death. We proclaim that we are hopeless in the face of death, and that we have hope in God. And so, by sharing this meal, we practice choosing joy.

If we boil everything down, we proclaim again and again at this table that joy is complicated. We proclaim again and again that joy makes us live in new ways, with new habits, and new families, and new responsibilities, because we are called to herald the complicated, yet saving birth of Jesus Christ. We are called to herald new life—each and every time—by choosing joy.

In this Advent season, may God reshape us, rearrange us, and surprise us each and every day — and may we choose that joy each and every day. Amen.