Vicar at Mount Olive

Jesus gives us bread that endures for eternal life, what are we doing with it to bring God’s reign?

Vicar Mollie Hamre
Day of Thanksgiving, Year C
Texts: Deuteronomy 26:1-11, John 6:25-35

Beloved in Christ, grace and peace to you in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

“What must we do to perform the works of God?” 

This is the question Jesus is asked by a large group in the Gospel today after feeding all 5,000 of them earlier in the chapter. It is asked amidst a series of questions to Jesus as the crowd works to decipher the difference between perishing bread and the kind of bread that gives eternal life. This crowd, who already ate their fill of loaves, is confused because they are following their stomachs–not Jesus’s metaphor. We can quickly see that they are talking about two different things. 

See, the bread that Jesus is speaking of is not the kind that literally fills our stomachs, but the kind that fills our lives and embraces what God seeks for our world. Bread that fills us in the form of connection, caring for one another, peace, justice, even literally feeding one another–these are things that sustain us and bring God’s reign. They are ways that we bring hope for a future of abundant life. This is not a quick fix that involves the perishing bread that the crowd seeks, but bread that endures, living in God’s reign. 

The Israelites from Deuteronomy know this. 

In the first reading, we hear the history of the Israelite people who were exiled to Egypt. People that were separated from their homes, were left seeking out God’s promises and a place where they can peacefully live. 

This painful history is not forgotten because it impacts the way the Israelites moved around and experienced the world. It left them with a constant reminder of where they came from and to welcome those that resided among them because they were once strangers too. The people in the Gospel remember this too as they recount their time in the wilderness relying on God for mana. Trusting in God to guide them. 

Yet, as we recount the history of the Jewish people, which is also ours, it feels complicated.

We live in a country where land that was seen as a refuge by those that colonized, was actually stolen from the indigenous people. Communities that were supposed to have peace were instead torn apart. Stories of war, death, and exile have been left out, leaving us seeking out what truly happened in our history. 

Placing ourselves in the retelling of this story from Deuteronomy feels distressing because a lot of pain comes with it. Not to mention that the lives of people have become more intricately intertwined, leaving healing and restoration to feel distant. It makes one want to simply ask how the works of God are performed instead of seeking out what enduring healing is to the world. How can we be a part of the bread of life that Jesus talks about?

For starters, being in community and breaking bread together is one way.

Jesus says these words to a crowd gathered, not to a single person. Being here, not only in church, but with other people too. This is where Jesus reminds us that these pieces of our shattered histories, must be entered into and remembered with the uncomfortableness that comes with it. 

So that we, with all of creation, can have hope for a life that abides with peace, justice, and love.  That we embrace the bounty that God has given to everyone, creating a community that welcomes the stranger and gives thanksgiving for all that we share.

Which why Jesus comes to us with Bread today, offering life that endures.

This crowd in the Gospel wants to live whole and faithful lives, like you and me. They want to find fullness in the Triune God whether that means a simple meal or seeking out food that endures for a lifetime. But that is a complicated world to imagine living in when we see news reports of shootings, war, and the ever-present impacts of climate change. 

A life that embraces the bread that Jesus is talking about is not a single miracle of feeding 5,000. It is a life that asks us to hold hope for the present, for the future, and to be part of its growth. To look back at our history and believe that there will be change and that we will be changed ourselves with it. This is the life that God calls us to, not just for the world to come, but the one there is here today. Do you dare to reach out for that kind of bread for the world?

A world where life endures is one where people are fed. Where hope is held for a sustainable Earth. Where people are not oppressed for their sexuality, gender identity, and race. Where people are not living in fear for their lives when going for a night out. Where painful histories are truly grieved and began to find healing. Can you imagine what our world would be like?

Jesus tells us today that this bread is here and present for all.

Sometimes it might be literal bread, but other times this bread takes different forms: welcoming in the stranger, advocating for justice, and caring for the neighbor. Finding this life does not mean “performing the works of God” properly or seeing the specific “signs that God is going to give,” as the crowd around Jesus asks. 

But it has everything to do with embracing God’s promises and hope for the world. Everything to do with loving the neighbor, and knowing that you were once a stranger too. As we enter into Thanksgiving at our tables today and the celebration of the Eucharist, know that God reaches out to you with bread. The kind that brings life. All this is asked of you is an openness to trust and be transformed by the Triune God who is already there, working inside of you.

In the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

God declares everyone righteous and seeks us out to be healed, but what about when we are persuaded righteous to ourselves instead?

Vicar Mollie Hamre
Twentieth Sunday After Pentecost, Lect. 30 C
Texts: Luke 18:9-14

Beloved in Christ, grace and peace to you in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

In 4th grade, I got detention. 

I had gotten in trouble for splashing paint onto a classmate of mine, which ruined her new white shirt. Most would think that the time that I spent in my classroom quietly contemplating my actions would have been the punishment, but that was the easy part of my day. The hard part was the reaction and the judgment that came from my fellow 9 and 10-year-old classmates. My spot in the front of the classroom had been taken, I was shunned during lunch hour and I was pushed to the back by myself. 

Needless to say, young Mollie never wanted to experience judgment that came from detention ever again. Because judgment creates separation and divides. Pushes away each other when in those times, we are in need of the opposite. 

Which is why the parable leaves me uncomfortable. 

Luke tells us a story, appearing to compare two people, leaving us imagining where to place judgment. Who do we want to be?

The Pharisee in the Gospel doing all the right things. This person is fasting, tithing, and doing their best to live out their faith. The Pharisees are known in the Jewish tradition as people that expanded theology, oral tradition, and engaged in lively discussion. This person is not a “bad guy” despite the way we have become accustomed to hearing the parables in Luke. 

And tax collectors, as we know, were despised in the ancient world because of their direct connection to the Roman Empire. The job of tax collectors was to get a certain sum of money determined by Rome from the communities they were in. Any extra money they collected would be their wage, which would mean the more money collected, the more wealthy one could be. With a history like this, no one could believe such a parable stating that a tax collector would be declared righteous when standing next to a Pharisee. 

But God does. 

God knows that healing can happen when we reach out, because God is already there waiting. Yet, here we are. Stuck in this judgment loop, deciding who we want to be and who to push out. 

You might be thinking, “What if I am the Pharisee? I’m doing the right things–but I don’t want to be judged. I do not want to be separated. Or maybe you feel like you are the tax collector, unworthy, not feeling that you can look to God. 

This is not the first time we have interacted with this dynamic. 

In Luke 15, a conversation between the tax collectors, Pharisees, and Jesus begins with Jesus being told that he “welcomes sinners and eats with them.” This is where we hear the parable of The Lost Sons. As we know, the parable ends with the younger son coming back home and his father rejoicing. In doing so, the eldest son becomes angry with his father for the celebration of his brother’s return. What the father says in return, is not judgment or condemnation, but love. 31 “‘My son, you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. 32 But we had to celebrate because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’” Jesus is not interested in judgment and rejection, but in healing, embracing, and celebrating. 

And even earlier in Luke 5, Jesus calls the tax collector, Levi, which the Pharisees question and Jesus answers, 31 “Those who are well have no need of a physician but those who are sick; 32 I have not come to call the righteous but sinners.”

This same theme is happening in our parable today with our Pharisees and tax collectors.

You might ask then if Jesus comes for the tax collectors, “what about the Pharisees?”

They were doing the right thing, just like the eldest brother. They should be part of the healing too. 

Let’s think back to my elementary classmates on the day I received detention. They correctly followed the rules, and did what they were supposed to do, why associate with someone who got in trouble? Yet, in this moment of self-validation came judgment too. A decision to create separation from the person who messed up instead of embracing as Jesus, God with us does. Maybe they were in need of healing but didn’t know it. And what about if you do not think you need healing? 

Where else do we do that in our own lives?

In decisions to separate from those people with differentiating politics? Those that are just too unlike oneself? What about ignoring those that are oppressed? Because Jesus does not plan to leave them behind. The need for healing can go both ways, healing is not just something that is seen as held for the people that need it more, but given to all.  

Honestly, I do not think we can receive too much grace, mercy, and love, even on our well-behaved days. We should welcome healing within ourselves and alongside those who seek it out too. 

I recall going to my mom with the detention slip, holding back my tears, and then erupting once she saw my face. 

When I later asked my mother about her side of the story, she recounted that I looked so emotionally exhausted by the end of the day she realized I had already learned my lesson before she could get to me. So, she told me it was okay, checked in about why I had received detention, gave me a hug and we moved on. 

Any form of judgment, shame, and hurt I had experienced that day rolled off my shoulders because I was given grace for the times I had messed up. And amidst it all, I was told that I was loved and it will be okay. 

It does not matter if you are a Pharisee, or a tax collector. 

There is no correct answer or judgment call for this parable. Jesus comes to those that are sick and in need of help, and that frankly, means everyone. God seeks out those with detention slips shaking in their hands as well as calling back those that push others away. And that is great news because we all need that kind of grace, healing, and mercy–even when we feel persuaded to think the opposite. And each time we separate ourselves, casting judgment on others, persuaded in our own righteousness, we are called back, promised by the Triune God that all that are lost will be once again found and healed. 

In the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

God understands us and calls us as we are, while continuing to hold onto God’s promises.

Vicar Mollie Hamre
Eighteenth Sunday After Pentecost, Lect. 28 C
Texts:  2 Kings 5:1-15c, Luke 17:11-19

Beloved in Christ, grace and peace to you in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

There is a lot more than just healing from leprosy in the readings today.

We are reading about people from two vastly different places in society who find healing and restoration in their lives. These 10 individuals and commander, are experiencing the shame and rejection that comes from the disease of leprosy, but the internal and external impacts appear in drastically different ways.

Naaman is the commander of the king’s army and is important. Or rather it appears in the text that Naaman finds it important that you know he’s important. So as he goes to seek out help from Elisha, Naaman brings his importance with him–horses and chariots as ways to prove to the world that he has power, that he is in control of his life. But when Elisha sends a messenger instead of appearing himself, Naaman becomes irritated. Curing leprosy is not enough, because Naaman wants a big show, not a simple dip in the water. 

And on the opposite side of society, we have the 10 lepers that Jesus encounters. These people are not located in a place of power like Naaman. Instead, they are between Samaria and Galilee in a village, an unnamed place on the outskirts, ignored and pushed away. In the Gospel, we hear them cry out to Jesus, God with us. And Jesus says to them “Go, show yourselves.” This is not a quiet appearance, but a kind of showing that demands attention as they run home to their lives.

These two readings hold strange tension with each other. 

Naaman is asked to contemplate the idea of God working quietly within him while the 10 lepers are asked to show themselves to society. Both passages hold people that are enduring the toll of a devastating disease, yet it leaves us wondering what healing through the Triune God truly looks like. How does God reach out to us? 

The readings side by side show us that there are times that we cry out to God and times we are seeking control–sometimes both simultaneously. Yet, our God continues to work within people, within us, holding on to God’s promises. Up lifting the lowly, bringing the mighty down from their thrones. 

Consider Naaman. 

After taking the word of a young woman who serves his wife, Naaman begins to seek out healing. He initially does so on his own terms complaining about traveling to Israel, the river that he has to step in, and even down to the process of the healing itself. 

We hear Naaman constantly asking “Elisha, can this healing just happen my way?”

Yet, his ears open when it is his servant, of all people, state the ridiculousness of it all. Naaman. Just jump in the water. 

As a stubborn person myself, I understand this. I have days where I would rather overly complicate the simplest of tasks to know that I had it done my way. When all that is needed is simply to jump in the water. Release the control that is deeply craved. Trust God in being present. Despite being in a place of privilege and trying to ignore guidance in healing, Naaman is not left behind by God, but welcomed into new life in the waters.   

Naaman’s journey is not the only way God reaches us with healing. There are the lepers too.  

When the 10 lepers cry out in the Gospel, they are waiting and listening. Sitting with pain–calling out for directions, answers, guidance. This forms in different ways for us too, in broken relationships, questions about illnesses, seeking out direction in major life decisions, with hope that something will make sense. 

Which means when the lepers hear Jesus’s call back, they are up and moving. Moving home towards healing, focused on the goal. 

As we know, one turns back, but remember that all were healed. The one leper that comes back is not meant as a place for the reader to shame the others that do not come back. They were following what Jesus told them to do. 

The one that comes back is a moment for Luke to remind us that God is working within all. Not only who we assume, not only those that appear in our first reading, but through all and bringing healing to all. This man who comes back has already been made whole through the grace of God. He has already been healed and does not need to do anything to change this. This moment of praise calls us back, telling us that God comes for all in the fullness of who they are and continues to hold that promise. 

And amidst that promise, we once again hear Mary’s words from the beginning of Luke.  

Promises of uplifting the oppressed and bringing down rulers from their thrones. This kind of bringing down does not involve Naaman or the 10 from the Gospel being condemned, or rejected. Diseases and illnesses are not punishments or lessons from God. What I am pointing at is that Naaman’s healing brings him from his place of power to listen to those around him and to give up the control he desires to hold. While God lifts up the lepers so that they may be seen and restored to their communities once again.

Healing, restoration, and walking with people as they are. That is what these passages are about.

God reaches out and welcomes. Reaches out to us crying and listens, welcoming us to the water and welcoming us into healing. The Greek tells us in the Gospel that when Jesus saw the 10 suffering from leprosy, he did not just see with his eyes, but he saw with understanding. Understanding for Naaman’s internal distress appearing as outward want for control. Understanding for the 10 lepers wanting to go back to their homes. And understanding for you, in the challenges and questions that are faced each day. 

God sees you, people of God–in your stubbornness, in your cries, in your questions reaching out with healing, love, mercy and grace. All things that are already inside of you, a part of you, and how God works within you. 

In the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

We are called to be children of light and do so intentionally in our lives, no matter how little or big of acts. 

Vicar Mollie Hamre
Fifteenth Sunday After Pentecost, Lect. 25 C
Texts: Luke 16:1-13

Beloved in Christ, grace and peace to you in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

My friends and I love a good board game. 

I am not talking about shorter games such as Candyland, although Candyland is dear to many, I am speaking of the games that have instructions that take an hour to read and once you get around to playing the game itself–it takes even more hours. I am talking about the games where you spend time standing around the table, investing in reading the rule book, leaning in close, and asking questions about strategy. 

As I read the parable for today, I wanted to know: what kind of game the manager is playing. 

The Gospel tells us that the manager who, in a last-minute attempt to find some security in his life, changes the debts of people that owe his master. That way, when the manager no longer works for the master, he will be welcomed into the homes of the people whose debts he lessened. 

Unexpectedly, when the Master discovers this, he commends the manager for his quick thinking. Instead of getting angry, the master praises the manager for being wise, or shrewd as the text says. This tactic pays off for the manager: he receives security in his future, gains friends, and gets a pat on the back from his boss. What a win! 

Except for the parts of the text that makes us shift in our seats. 

The parable describes the manager as both shrewd and unjust. How can this person, who has been unjust, be taken seriously? We are used to stories where the person we learn from has integrity and seeks honesty, but the person we are left to look to, the manager, does the opposite. Instead, we see that he plays the game. He finds his opening and takes a risk against the odds for a big reward. 

And that leaves us asking what Jesus is saying and how we are involved. 

Jesus tells us “for the children of this age are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light.” Here is where we begin to see that Jesus is making a parallel between two groups: the children of the manager’s generation and the children of God. Leaving us asking what is the manager doing with his own generation, that we, the children of God, are missing?

The most prominent feature of the manager is his responsiveness to the situation. 

We can tell the manager knows the rule book and acts in order to seek out his goals. As Jesus turns to the disciples to tell this story, he knows these people before him should understand what’s going on. The Triune God is among us, have the disciples not been listening to the parables? If this manager can act with this level of intentionality in his own generation, why are the disciples, the children of God, not? Work for justice, care for the neighbor, and love one another. This is what God tells us to do. 

Yet, these lines get blurred. 

These two lines which are supposed to be parallel, begin to intersect. We focus more on our finances than our neighbors and our mental energy centers on getting ahead instead of living in the moment. We assume someone else will figure it out, rather than asking what we can do. While it is obvious that the manager has his own agenda and goals in the story, we know that ours, as children of God, are different. We look to the Gospel for freedom, we look to the law to guide, and we look to the cross, knowing that God with us, is amidst it all. The manager knows where his priorities lie and what he values. Do we know ours as children of God? Whose values are we following and for what reasons?

In these questions, we look back at the Gospel. 

Jesus tells us “Whoever is faithful in very little is faithful also in much” and consequently, “whoever is unjust in a very little is unjust also in much.” Jesus tells us that even if we have little faith, we are doing much. So if we are moving towards loving God and the neighbor even when it does not feel significant, we are doing God’s work. And when we are engaging in things that feel bigger than ourselves, we are doing God’s work. Reaching out to check in on a friend. Picking up litter on the ground. Going on strike to call out exploitation in power structures. 

The manager knows that these odds can be turned when he acts, because he knows the world around him. He has an awareness of the challenges he faces and pushes on regardless of them. What would happen if we trusted God with the same conviction? Jesus tells us that once we begin to live intentionally by doing those acts of little faith towards peace, justice, and loving the neighbor, they become big. Not only in the sense of the world to come, but the world that is happening right here, right now. With intentionality, People will know they are loved. Oppression will disappear into justice. And our world will find peace. 

We know being a child of God is not a game, it is a way of life that pushes us to be intentional, held by grace to turn ourselves towards God.  

Despite the strategy that the manager uses, he seeks out creative ways to solve problems and knows that he needs a community to do it. Similar to my friends and I playing board games, the manager invests his time, leaning in close, learning about the world and people around him. What would it mean for us to do the same in our faith lives? We have a community full of ideas and neighbors that are reaching out. We just need to ask, Children of God: how will you live with intentionality?

In the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Answering the call of discipleship involves unexpected challenges and conflict, we choose if it leads us to destruction or to grow together, rooted in justice, peace and loving our neighbors.

Vicar Mollie Hamre
Thirteenth Sunday After Pentecost, Lect. 23 C
Texts: Psalm 1, Philemon 1-25, Luke 14:25-33

Beloved in Christ, grace and peace to you in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Today’s readings are not the warm embrace one might be looking for. 

Jesus makes declarations about hate and about the cost of discipleship. Paul challenges Philemon about welcoming his slave, Onesimus, as a brother. And we are left to figure out how to connect the pieces.

I found myself asking, really Jesus? Hate? Isn’t that what we are trying to get away from? I would imagine that Jesus’ statement grabbed the attention of the crowd around him as the Gospel asks if we’re ready to consider what the cost of discipleship may be.

While the second reading helps us discern what the cost of discipleship could look like. As we’ve traveled through the Gospel of Luke, we know that Jesus is not a stranger to conflicting relationships. And when looking at the world today, we’re not strangers to this either. Except for today, the question about discipleship and conflicting relationships is asked directly to us. 

Are we willing to open ourselves up to conflict and unexpected difficulties that come with being a disciple? And are we willing to let the call of discipleship change us, allowing us to grow into the promise we made in baptism, even if that means letting go assumptions we have made about the world?

Paul opens up this question to Philemon. 

The book, Philemon, consists of a single chapter containing a letter from Paul to his “dear friend and co-worker,” Philemon. In the letter, Paul asks Philemon to take back his slave, Onesimus, and asks that when Onesimus returns, he be welcomed as a brother. 

On the surface, Paul’s letter appears to be a phenomenal cover letter for Onesimus. Paul speaks about having a father-like relationship with Onesimus and even states that he will take the blame for any form of debt Onesimus has. 

But Paul’s ask should not be taken lightly. Knowing the inhumane history of slavery, Philemon has the legal ability to choose what happens to Onesimus. Despite this, Paul asks Philemon to live into the choice he made to become a disciple of God. Paul points to what actively living out discipleship looks like, even if it means challenging one’s close friend. 

Paul holds both love and accountability for his friend, Philemon

Paul gives thanks for Philemon, expressing how Philemon has brought him joy and encouragement. After acknowledging that friendship, Paul pushes on in his letter saying “for this reason, I am bold enough in Christ to command you to do your duty.” Welcome back Onesimus – not as a slave, those old days are gone – instead, live into your call of discipleship. Welcome home your brother. 

We’re looking at a conflicting situation that feels all too familiar today. Opposing sides, friends being torn apart, both feeling justified in their thinking. We’re seeing that when Paul says, “there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female,” he means it. 

The letter ends unclear as to what Paul’s expectations are for the outcome or even if Philemon chooses to follow through with Paul’s appeal. While this may be a cliffhanger for the reader, it leaves us to think about Paul’s words. Paul leaves his request open-ended, saying: “Knowing that you will do even more than I say,” “welcome him as you would welcome me.” A true challenge to the call to discipleship. 

Although Paul mentions he would like to make this a command to his friend, Paul reminds Philemon that he has an option in this. Will Philemon decide to answer with hate? Or will Philemon and Paul grow together, bringing God’s reign of peace, and justice, and caring for the neighbor?

Paul puts himself at risk of losing his friend and the whole situation ending in conflict. And we are left asking if Philemon is going to pick up his cross to be a disciple, even if that means ending his assumptions about how his world operates and reaching instead to his foundation found in God. 

Philemon’s call to discipleship is a call for us too.     

How can we as a community keep each other rooted in this call? And how can we as individuals, answer the call of discipleship, trusting God’s teachings to guide us when conflict arises? Will we choose to be grounded in God’s teachings of peace, justice, and loving the neighbor when political divides emerge? What about when in arguments with loved ones? What about when anger rises to the top and we begin to even feel hate towards those close to us?

The psalm gives us an answer. 

Meditate on God’s teaching, look to the law of the LORD to guide, and be like a tree. It is no wonder that we find the answer in the texts of scripture that are known for having raw emotions because those that wrote the Psalms knew about conflict. Yet, when writing in conflict, they looked to God and remained rooted. 

Note that the Psalm speaks about being planted by a stream of water, a place where trees can be fed, grow, and prosper. Know that this rooting by a stream does not mean ultimate safety. Our summer storms remind us of that. But having rootedness means leading to growth. It means enduring the change of the seasons and growing tall via the nutrients we find when going back to one’s foundation. 

Those roots for us can be found in the sacraments, in God, and in our communities. Do you find your identity being empowered by God’s spirit and trusting in the Triune God? Do you find yourself welcoming all to the table, despite the biases and the doubts poured into our ears? Do you have the boldness in your relationships to both walk with and confront the challenges of life? These things are by no means easy, but show the risk that Jesus is speaking of in the Gospel and what is at stake in the book of Philemon. Discipleship is a big commitment. Paul’s letter shows us this while continuing to act with love towards Philemon. It shows us this is what growth can look like. 

So, where will you choose to plant your roots?

In places where questions are not asked and the call of discipleship is disregarded when it gets too complicated? Or in places where we’re pushed to grow, to branch out, reaching toward God’s promises? If we’re to be bold enough to hope for peace and justice and reconciliation for the world, we, in partnership with God, are to work toward that with each other, too.

In the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

God comes to turn the world upside down – Mary knew she was a part of it and we are too.

Vicar Mollie Hamre
St. Mary, the Mother of Our Lord  
Texts: Isaiah 61:7-11, Psalm 34:1-9, Galatians 4:4-7, Luke 1:46-55

Beloved in Christ, grace and peace to you in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

When I was little, I heard a similar story of Mary.

Mary was a young woman, who was a virgin that gave birth to Jesus. She often signifies motherhood and comfort. That was about as much as I knew growing up.

But if we stop there when describing Mary, we miss the way that God disrupts world views. We miss the way God rattles the world through this seemingly undistinguished woman. And we miss the magnitude of Mary boldly choosing to accept a future where the outcome is unknown. In a society that would not think much about her, Mary suddenly comes to the forefront of where God is appearing in the world. And God, once again, challenges us to rethink where we assume God to be.  

Mary knows from the start that her choice to make an impact on humanity will be much more than a womb carrying God.  

The Magnificat begins with Mary speaking about how God is working in Mary’s life. She speaks about actively seeing God changing what she assumed for her life when she answers “yes” to the call of God. We hear Mary embody this new call with her breath, magnifying the Lord and rejoicing. Mary declares that God has done great things for her. Holy is God’s name. 

This is a big proclamation of trust and fearlessness for an individual who is about to endure rejection from being pregnant without being married in ancient times. Chances are, Mary knew the consequence of pregnancy before marriage: being stoned to death. 

Mary embraces the risk that she is about to enter into and does so willingly. She praises an active God who is turning the world upside down before her eyes. She knows that big things are about to happen. 

As Mary finishes out her self-reflection, she reaches a startling realization. 

If this is how God is working in her own life, what does this mean for the rest of the world? Scattering the proud? Flipping power dynamics? Filling the hungry and sending the rich away empty? These are the promises that God has made to God’s people and suddenly she realizes she is a part of it. What is at stake is a lot more than Mary’s life, but all our lives. As Mary says, God turns the world upside down from “generation to generation.” Through people like Mary, and like you, and like me. 

God has called generations to be the hands and feet of the Triune God. This does not quite mean exactly like Mary, raising Jesus, but Mary’s proclamation causes us to ask about our own lives. 

Where do we see God turning the world upside down and are we willing to risk answering yes? Yes to the turning of food insecurity. Yes to the turning of oppressive legislation that seeks to divide instead of unify. Yes to the turning of reducing people to statistics and instead of looking at our fellow humans with compassion. 

If it feels that Mary’s proclamation is a lot to digest, that’s because it is. 

What would it look like to be hungry in order for others to be fed? What would it mean to challenge power structures at the polls? What would it mean to lift up those that are oppressed? You do not need to solve all of these, but it can not be ignored because this is the turning upside down of the world that God is doing through us. This is not turning the world upside down by violent revolution, but through transformation of the heart and the choices we make to bring God’s reign.

Do not be mistaken, there is risk involved. 

Scattering the proud of hearts, having those in power brought down from their thrones, and sending the rich away empty–for those experiencing any form of privilege, these can be alarming. And even when we are at our best, this is a high bar to keep. The struggle between these two vastly different feelings of alarm and proclaiming could leave one unsure what kind of good news this is. 

So, we look back at the Gospel. Mary tells us this is a proclamation of praise, not of condemnation. Mary proclaims that if God is calling to her, this must mean that God is calling to all everyone else. 

Just ask the Galatians in the second reading.

Paul has preached to the Galatians about what happens when God enters into communities: All receive the spirit and all are received as adopted children of God. This is a big proclamation moment!

Yet, after Paul leaves, all is forgotten by the Galatians. 

Paul, in a rather compassionate letter, metaphorically, throws his hands up in the air and asks “don’t you see what is going on here?” This is not a competition about Jew or Gentile, but about being united together in Christ. 

It is a larger piece of an argument outlining Paul’s appeal to the people to tell them one simple truth: God comes for all to turn the world upside down. Not just for the Jews. Not just for the Gentiles. But for all in the wholeness for WHO they are. What is incredibly revolutionary about Paul’s writings is he is continuing to proclaim what Mary is: all are called and welcomed into God’s reign, exactly how they come. 

God looks to the Jews and Gentiles saying, “I need you to be a part of the change across the world, not by proving superiority over one another, but by the transformation of your hearts and how you see your siblings in Christ.”

Mary answers God with a brave yes. The Galatians answer is unclear. What about ours?

Similar to Mary, we have a choice about how we answer to God turning the world upside down. Similar to the Galatians, our world struggles with embracing that change. God did not choose sides for the Galatians and gives Mary, the Galatians, and us a choice. And God is there to walk with us in that choosing. All of us. This takes trust, awareness, and patience, characteristics that do not always feel attainable.

When the angel Gabriel appears to Mary earlier in Chapter one, we know that Mary was “greatly agitated” and “pondering” over what was being asked of her. Knowing that these two intense feelings of fear and hope go side-by-side. Mary was not instantly only-happy about her life being turned upside down– we know better that the Gospel is not a static story. 

This intensity of emotions existed together at once. These emotions can exist for us too. God asks that we trust and imagine what our world could be with all being fed, all living in peace, and all neighbors loving one another. That is what is found when the world is turned upside down.

Mary’s Magnificat brings us face to face with hard decisions. 

For Mary, it meant risking her life, putting her future on the line and trusting God. For us, it can feel heavy too, but just like Mary, we as a community and individuals have a choice. Are we going to answer the call to abundant love and life?

The good news is: we have a community that works with us through these decisions and a God that continues to have grace and love as we navigate through the turning of the world. Mary knew that, despite being at risk, she had God with her and a community to guide her. You do too.  

In the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.