December 12, 2013
The Second Week in Advent

In my first years as a pastor, I did not always know what my day would bring  (I still don't).     My office at the time was near the custodian's room.  I could often hear him belting out Frank Sinatra songs in the hall.  This meant sermon preparation to the tune of  "I did it my way."    One Advent season a Christmas carol serenade was going on outside my door as  a young woman appeared in my office.   She obviously was confused, desperate, and alone.   I tried to calm her in the midst of her somewhat erratic and agitated pleading.   Finally she leaned close and told me her important secret.   "I'm going to have a baby," she said, "and it's going to be Jesus.  I have marks on my body that prove it. "    I chose not to check out her claim;  I remember calling an ambulance, hoping that she might find help in a hospital or treatment center.

But I think of her, sometimes, when I read the familiar story of the Annunciation--when the angel Gabriel appeared to Mary of Nazareth and told her that she would give birth to the mighty Son of God.     Perhaps those who knew Mary feared that she suffered from some delusion, too.   The difference, perhaps, was Mary's simple humility, her willingness to see this promise play out until the story ended on a cross.    "Let it be," she said simply.   My guess is that she never saw that angel again.    But perhaps Gabriel stayed close by, watching, keeping an eye on things.   Smiling at her faithfulness.  Perhaps there are angels all around us, doing the same thing.

Annunciation

It must have been a Spring day,
a day of green grass, and lilies,
birds in full throat, singing,
and apple blossoms swirling like snow.
The great angel would smile
at such a time,
flex shining wings in the sun,
think, "What a fine world
for God to visit!"
Mary was not so sure
about this strange visitation,
but felt some goodness there.
The bright one must have sung his promise,
rejoiced at her assent,
and then was gone.
I don't know if he has come again
to see this fine world
thralled, blind, and broken.
But, once,  I woke from sleep
and glimpsed a face
I did not know,
just at the edge of sight.
There was no troubling message,
no holy annunciation,
just a knowing smile,
a wink from him
before I slept again,
and dreamed.
Was it him, Lord,
wings furled in plaid shirt,
watching me, waiting?

--Timothy Haut, December 12, 2013