Mary’s Family Album

A sermon about memory and hope

Summer is a popular time for family weddings, family vacations and reunions, time for bringing far-flung relatives together again. Wherever there are reunions, there are cameras, lenses zooming and flashes flashing to capture the occasion for posterity, and bank a wealth of memories to bring home for those who hadn’t been there.

In the times BC—before camera—word pictures filled the bill, and the Bible—our own family album—has banked for us a wealth of memories our souls can draw on at will.

Today we will do just that. We will go looking in the family album for pictures of Mary, mother of Jesus, and see what we can find.

We first meet Mary when she is hardly more than a teenager, living in a small village named Nazareth, and engaged to a local carpenter named Joseph. In this first photo Mary wears a dazed look. We’re told an angel has just approached her and Joseph separately, bracing them for some unsettling news: if God has his way, their marriage will never be normal. With their consent—and this is a crucial detail we must not to miss, because we’ll find no puppet strings that must be airbrushed out of this picture—with their consent God will father a child through Mary, and Joseph will stand back and let it happen.

Flip the page and we see a candid photo of Mary in labor, giving birth to this holy child in, of all places, a stable. Right next to it is another night shot with the sky over her lit up by a piercing star, and what certainly appear to be angels—we only wish we had the sound track! Meanwhile on the ground a gaggle of ragged shepherds stand about, completely ignoring the mother and child and cranking their heads up to heaven.

On the following page we find a strange sight: wealthy, well-dressed foreigners have arrived and gathered around Mary and her baby. They’re holding out the kind gifts that important guests would present to heads of state. We can’t quite make out the look on Mary’s face…what’s a new mother going to do with gold, frankincense and myrrh?

Here’s another picture that makes more sense, a happy, family scene. Mary and Joseph have brought Jesus, their first-born, to the Temple to dedicate his life to God. Before returning home to raise him, they show their gratitude by leaving behind an offering—a gentle pair of turtledoves.

The next photo is more somber, even scary, as Joseph whisks Mary and the baby off by night…at the very edge of picture we can see why. Herod and his henchman are huddled around a lantern, plotting to kill every boy baby in Bethlehem. As Mary and Joseph escape we can’t quite make out the look on her face…is she relieved that an angel has alerted Joseph in time, so they can get out? Is she grief-stricken over the little ones who will not? Is she fretful over the next occasion for some worldly power to go after her son?

The next several pages are empty. It seems that once Herod was dead, Mary and Joseph felt it was safe to go back to Nazareth, and they kept a low profile. Ah, but there is one taken at the Temple, when Jesus had just turned twelve. They’re in Jerusalem for Passover, they’ve started home, but Mary has suddenly realized Jesus isn’t with them. This picture shows her franticly searching, and finding him still at the Temple. Once again Mary looks drained, while Jesus seems non-plussed. We recall he’s just said something about being about his Father’s business…Mary is fast discovering that his business makes her business hard.

Again we come to some blank pages, and then the next photo shows Jesus all grown up. Joseph is nowhere to be seen, and Mary is with Jesus at a wedding. Over his shoulder we see the groom holding an empty glass, obviously embarrassed; in the center we see Mary, leaning over and looking at Jesus as if he should do something about it. Over his other shoulder we can make out six huge clay water jars. We’ve heard this story before, and we wonder what would have happened if Mary hadn’t prodded Jesus into action.

No more empty pages now. Here’s one of Mary with several guys from the family out searching for Jesus. They hardly look proud—people have been saying Jesus is a crazy man, and Mary wants to put a stop to the gossip by bringing him home. Again, Jesus seems non-plussed.

It’s clear where this story is heading. The next photo is tragic, the kind we’re used to seeing on the 11:00 news. Mary and her friends are standing forlornly at the foot of the cross, somehow bearing the unbearable. She just looks numb.

But the strange thing is, this isn’t the last photo of Mary. There’s one more picture of her, still in Jerusalem, taken a few weeks later at the feast of Pentecost. Mary joins a whole bunch of Jesus’ friends, crammed into a rented room, and the numbness has vanished from her face. She and the others look absolutely radiant—the great light is back. We’re told that the glow in the photo is actually dancing tongues of fire leaping around everyone’s head!

We close the family album and ponder Mary—we ponder her just as she pondered all the riveting events happening in her life. We ponder and we wonder over how much more there is to a human life than we have ever imagined. We ponder and we wonder about the possibilities God has planted in each one of us, and what, by God’s grace, we might yet become. We ponder we wonder, and our hearts grow grateful for the imaginings that stir in us today. Amen.

© Copyright The Rev. Ann Lukens 2004