The text of a sermon preached at the Cathedral Eucharist on Advent 4 - reflecting on the ubiquity of Christmas songs and the way that music can hook us back into childhood memories or cultivate a sense of community. It's Mary's song which takes centre stage. It's family words challenge us to think about the cries of our world and our part in singing God's song of justice. The readings were Micah 5:2-5a, Hebrews 10:5-10, Luke 1:39-45 [46-55 sang by the choir]
December is the season, more than any other month of the year, when our lives accompanied by a communal soundtrack. The Christmas classic is as ubiquitous as tinsel, mince pies and festive jumpers.
Supermarkets set the ‘Christmas vibe’ as play the sentimental schmalz of Bing Crosby’s ‘White Christmas’, and the harmless cheese of Chris Rea ‘Driving Home for Christmas’; the Jackson 5 accompanies the last minute trolly dash with the up beat ‘Santa Claus is coming to town'; we leave to the bell-chimes of Wizzard's ‘I wish it could be Christmas every day’.
On an overcrowded, late running last train, there’s a spontaneous sing-a-long of Mariah Carey’s ‘All I want for Christmas is you’, enthusiasm turning to awkwardness when no one knows all the words; church choirs and music groups gather in their local pub for beer and carols, weaving Slade’s ‘Merry Christmas’ alongside ‘O come all ye faithful’.
Perhaps we lift the needle to play the old vinyl of Elvis’ ‘Blue Christmas’; or, like me, find ourselves catapulted back to our childhood as Bonny M sing ‘Mary’s boy child’.
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Why do these songs get under our skin? Setting aside our inner music critic, they tap into our memories and emotions. When it’s cold outside, Christmas songs remind us of home; of warmth of friendship and community.
But there’s complexity too. The songs which put a smile on our face are also the ones which express our loneliness and or the personal heartbreak of Wham’s ‘Last Christmas’. Others convey and urgency of protest; weaving together hope for change and calls for action.
The Band Aid single ‘Do they know it’s Christmas time?’ remains as challenging as it was in 1984. Simon LeBon sings ‘But when you're having fun / There’s a world /outside your window /And it's a world of dread and fear’. Can we feed the world?
Music is fundamental to celebration but what we sing shapes our hearts and minds. Our scriptures are full of songs of praise and gratitude, lament and protest; justice and hope; they express our human responses and invoke the promises of God’s Kingdom.
Today we are drawn into the intimacy of a precious moment between two women; a moment which has been taken up in our own songs and praise. The angel greeted Mary as full of grace; Ave Maria, gracia plena. Now Elizabeth calls forth blessing; Benedicta tu. Blessed are you; blessed is the child you carry.
Mary journeyed from Nazareth to the remote hill country to give and receive kindness and affection. These woman in their first and second trimesters, share the same hopes and anxieties; the same physical changes and sensations of pregnancy. And in the midst of the expected gift of life, there is immense delight, excitement and energy.
Elizabeth and her unborn son are responding not only to the presence of a beloved younger woman. The Spirit is moving in the face of human recognition to prompt them to rejoice in presence of God. John leaps in utero at the nearness of Jesus in Mary’s womb. There is awe and wonder, joy and dignity. The name of their Lord is on their lips; promises of God are being fulfilled.
But words of blessing and trust, fulfilment and joy are not the end point. For on Mary’s lips, words of praise and gratitude overflow into a song of hope and radical change.
We make her declaring our own as we sing or say the Magnificat every day at Evensong: Mary gives thanks for what God has done for her and she expresses God’s generosity towards her. But she goes on to draw out the consequences for the world. The one whose name is holy will make known mercy from one generation to another. And mercy is revealed in deliverance from poverty, exploitation and domination.
Mary - this determined, trusting, courageous and joyful woman - makes her own the voice of the prophets. The poor are lifted up and the rich sent away empty; the hungry are filled with good things and the powerful are brought down.
Her song is a powerful declaration of what salvation looks like: relationships are transformed, imaginations are renewed and resources are redeployed. This song calls us to embody the compassion and justice of God; the flourishing of the whole of creation is a promised fulfilled in the pursuit of equity.
We are to make Mary’s song our own - committing ourselves to feed the world and banish fear; embracing the lonely, vulnerable and fearful; challenging those gifted with economic and social capital.
The prophet Micah denounced dishonesty in business and superficial religion; he challenged the abuse of power and the exploitation of the poor. He looked forward to a time of peace - when we could set aside our reliance on military might and the false gods of wealth.
And foretold that this work of redemption would begin in a small place; in a city which was home to a small clan. In Bethlehem, this marginal place, blessed Mary will go into labour. In this city her firstborn child - God’s own beloved Son - is born.
Peace breaks in in the cries of an infant; in a babe at his mother’s breast.
Blessing is found in the fruit of Mary’s womb.
We are blessed by God’s love dwelling with us in flesh of our flesh.
We bless as we become receptive to that gift, and channel that love.
Our world cries out for that gift of peace and love: a world of universal credit and food banks; a world of environmental degradation and refugee crises; a world of homelessness and zero hours contracts.
Our world cries out:
His name was Gyula Remes: aged 43, a Hungarian national working as a chef’s assistant; there was no space for him in a hostel. He died at Westminster Tube Station.
Cries are heard:
The baby has no name yet, rescued at two days old from a boat carrying 311 migrants off Malta. The mother is only 23; fleeing in hope of a better future; trusting in the immediacy of medical assistance.
We cry too:
Like Mary, we sing songs of praise and protest, hope and vision. We make her joyful song about God’s with boldness and tenacity.
We respond to cries: singing increases our capacity to act; the Spirit strengthens us to seek justice, compassion and peace. We commit to Mary’s manifesto of struggle and change with hope and courage.
The body Mary carries in her body is God with us. That body will teach and heal, console and provoke. That body will be beaten, mocked and lifted up on a cross. That dying body destroys death and brings new life. In broken bread, we are fed, restored and strengthened by his body; we become his body, receiving dignity and purpose.
We sing out in places of vulnerability and fear; we stand in solidarity with suffering and anxious. As his body we cry out for those seeking healing and hope; we act of those seeking justice and peace. May our lives be blessings of love.
© Julie Gittoes 2018
