4th Sunday in Advent

It was dark.

Late at night, and she couldn’t sleep. So she crawled out of the bed that she shared with her parents and her sister, stepped over the sleeping dog in the doorway, and quietly slipped outside into the night. In the dead of night, the village slept, silent and still. She glanced up at the stars and crossed her arms over her chest against the chill, a little peasant girl, in a little village in the middle of nowhere important.

Suddenly, and still silently, from behind her shone a fierce light, piercing and white. She whirled around, and there, behind her, huge and terrible, was what could only have been an angel of the Lord. Her arms and legs turned to wax, she began to take a step backward, and collapsed in an undignified heap on the dusty ground.

A voice that shook the earth said, “you will conceive, and bear a son. You are to name him Yeshua, and he will be save his people from their sins.”

And Mary’s whole existence was laid bare in a flash. She began to think of the shame of becoming pregnant without being married, the shame that she would bring to gentle Joseph, the carpenter to whom whe was betrothed. The shame that she would bring to her parents, the shame that she would endure for the long months of her pregnancy, the shame that she would carry for all the rest of her days, an invisible scarlet letter that could never be removed.

And then the rest of the Angel’s words sunk in.

The messiah.
The son of the most high God.

And she dared to look the angel in the face. The Angel saw the fear in her eyes. Shaking with fear, reeling, unbelieving, she asked:

“How can these things be?”


* * * * * * * * * **


It was growing dark in the region of the Gadarenes.

The sky fading from blue to purple, and the villagers watched young Yeshua walk into the graveyard.

In there, in the shadowy corners amongst the tombs, lived the horror that everyone knew, but that no one in the village spoke of. The thing that had once been human. His eyes burned with an alien intensity. He smashed anything in reach. He foamed at the mouth. He chewed ropes in half and broke chains with his bare hands. At night, his tortured screams echoed off the hills and roused the sleeping children.

Yeshua disappeared into the shadow of the tombs. And, as everyone knew was coming, the harsh, grating screams began—and then suddenly and abruptly stopped. The silence hung over the village, and they looked at each other in surprise.

Then, out of nowhere, every pig in the village began to scream. Scream as if hundreds of invisible butchers were wielding their knives all at once. They went wild. They smashed the fenceposts, cut themselves on shards of wood. Blood splattered the walls of the houses. They trampled over each other, over small children, over pots and wagons. The whole herd rushed as one down the hill, screaming and kicking, and then, as one, in defiance of all logic, in defiance of all natural animal behavior, threw themselves over the cliff into the sea.

And all was quiet again.

The crazy monster of a man walked down the main street of the village next to Yeshua, calm, in his right mind. And the villagers looked at each other. And Yeshua saw the fear in their eyes. And they asked,

“how can these things be?”


* * * * * * * * * **


It was dark.

Deep, angry dark, and the Sea of Galilee heaved and pitched like a monstrous thing. Twelve frightened men in a tiny fishing boat, far too many for such a craft, getting in each others’ way. The waves licked greedily over the side of the boat, and it rode lower and lower in the water. The rain came down sideways, the wind howled through and tore the sail to shreds. Invisible fingers in the water tore the oars from their hands.

All was lost. All was lost. And then, right over there, oh God, there’s somebody out there. Somebody walking on the water. And Yeshua stepped into the boat, and the wind stopped. And the waves were still. And the disciples looked at the sea, and looked at each other, and Yeshua saw the terror in their eyes, and they said:

“how can these things be?”


* * * * * * * * * **


It was getting dark in Bethany.

Mary and Martha wept outside the tomb, but Yeshua said, “roll the stone away.” Out of the mouth of the grave flowed the darkness and the stench of death. Yeshua called out with a loud voice, and there, oh God, there is Lazarus. Mary and Martha crept closer and saw. Yes, he’s really alive. They looked at Yeshua, and Yeshua saw the fear in their eyes, and they asked,

“how can these things be?”

* * * * * * * * * **


It was noon in Jerusalem, but the clouds rolled in and blanketed the land in an eerie, thick, oppressive shroud.

Mary stood, not far from the top of the hill, not far from the foot of the cross, trying to avoid catching the eyes of the Roman soldiers. Trying harder to avoid looking up, at her son. Her firstborn. Pierced, splayed out, exposed, whipped almost beyond the point of recognition, bleeding from a thousand wounds.

Yeshua looked down and saw the fear in her eyes. And she whispered,

“how can these things be?”


* * * * * * * * * **


Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, three women went to the garden tomb to care for the body. But the stone was rolled away from the door, and the open mouth of the grave was silent.

As they stood there, in the cold quiet early morning darkness, suddenly there appeared a fierce light. A voice that shook the earth said, “why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here.” And as the others turned to flee in terror, Mary dared for the second time in her life to look into the face of the Angel. And the Angel looked at Mary and saw in her eyes fear, and wonder. And she said,

“how can these things be?”

And the angel said:

Fear not.

For nothing will be impossible with God.