Luke 1:26-38
Words for the Beginning
First Sunday of Advent
12/1/2024
Rev. David Collins
Today, we begin Advent—a season of endings and beginnings. It’s that time of year when the calendar reminds us of all that is winding down, but it’s also the beginning of the church year, with all of its freshness and possibility. (In case you’re keeping track, we have three different calendars we follow. The calendar year which begins in January, our fiscal year that begins in August, and the church year that begins in December, or sometimes at the end of November. Just go with it.)
That kind of tracks with everything else in life, doesn’t it? That’s the kind of world that Jesus came into, and is still in, with all of these beginnings and endings, and sometimes they overlap.
Just look at Mary, young and pregnant, surrounded by a world of endings. Personal endings, political endings—things shifting and breaking apart. Yet in the midst of all that, she lifted her voice and proclaimed hope. She believed in a God who makes all things new. Through Christ’s birth, the shepherds in the field found a new beginning, so did the Magi from far-off lands. At the same time, King Herod tried his best to put an end to the story before it could even begin.
In those seasons where endings and beginnings collide, what we need are words that can guide us. Words that give us hope and sense of direction for the future.
Words for the Beginning
That’s what this Advent series is about: Words for the Beginning. We’ll explore the blessings, scriptures, and stories that anchor us. Each week, we’ll consider the lessons Mary might have whispered to her son. The kind of wisdom you pass on to a child—the kind that turns out to be the same wisdom we adults need to hear over and over again.
These words might sound familiar, we hear them in sacred moment: weddings, baptisms, ordinations— those thresholds that remind us what truly matters. They’ll be our reminders in this season too, as we hold fast to the truths and promises that God speaks to us again and again.
This week, we begin with Mary, whose story reminds us of words we’ve heard, and maybe not believed: “You are blessed.”
Today’s scripture is Luke 1:26-38
26 In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, 27 to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. 28 And he came to her and said, ‘Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.’ 29 But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. 30 The angel said to her, ‘Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. 31 And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. 32 He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. 33 He will reign over the house of Jacob for ever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.’ 34 Mary said to the angel, ‘How can this be, since I am a virgin?’ 35 The angel said to her, ‘The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born[c] will be holy; he will be called Son of God. 36 And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. 37 For nothing will be impossible with God.’ 38 Then Mary said, ‘Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.’ Then the angel departed from her.
Today we’re looking at Mary. Which is hard to do since we’ve looked at her so much and through so many different lenses. Those of you who grew up Catholic probably see her very differently than those who didn’t. So today, let’s look at her through what we know about her and her people from history.
Mary
Mary was from a backwoods town in an occupied country. Nazareth was small, dusty, and easily overlooked—a blip on the map. You might not even call it a town by our standards, more like a collection of homes. Everyone would have known everyone, and life followed the same rhythms it had for generations. People lived simply, scraping out a living from the land, the animals, or small trades. For Mary, that meant preparing for her future as a wife and mother, caring for her family, and carrying out her daily tasks.
Picture her drawing water from the well as the sun rises or sweeping the packed dirt floor of her home. Maybe she’s helping prepare bread, her hands dusty with flour. Maybe she’s daydreaming about her future with Joseph, wondering what their life together will look like, whether she’ll be a good wife. These are ordinary, earthy moments—the kind of life no one notices.
And then, one day, everything changes.
The angel Gabriel appears. Can you imagine the shock? One minute, she’s thinking about what to make for dinner, and the next, she’s face-to-face with a being from heaven. The text says, “The angel came to her,” which doesn’t mean he floated down like some quiet whisper of a spirit. He arrived. Suddenly. Maybe there was light or the sound of wings. Maybe his voice was unlike anything she’d ever heard—clear, commanding, and holy. Whatever it was, it shook her to her core.
Gabriel doesn’t start with the task; he starts with the greeting. “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” But instead of feeling reassured, Mary is perplexed, confused. Can you blame her? The angel has the wrong address, doesn’t he? Surely this message wasn’t meant for her. She’s too young, too ordinary, too small-town to be favored by God. And what does “favored one” even mean in her world? Occupied, controlled, dismissed by everyone important—her people had been waiting for a savior, not expecting one to come through her.
She doesn’t reject Gabriel outright, though. She listens. And when he explains that she will bear a son, not just any son but the Son of God, Mary responds with a very human question: “How can this be?”
It’s not just a practical question. It’s a question loaded with fear, doubt, and wonder. How could this happen? How could God possibly use her? Could she even believe this? Mary struggles to believe that someone as ordinary as she could be blessed and called by God.
In that moment, Gabriel’s words collide with everything Mary knows about herself and her life. She knows she’s just a young woman from Nazareth, and yet here is Gabriel saying, “You are favored. You are called. You are blessed.”
This is where we meet Mary—not as the serene, unflinching figure in statues and paintings, but as a real person. Someone who struggles with the same doubts we do: Am I enough? Does God see me? Could God really use someone like me? Her question—“How can this be?”—isn’t just hers. It’s ours.
It’s like she’s is standing in front of an open door that she has been invited to walk through but isn’t sure that she can.
That reminds me of the doors we have here at church.
Is That Door Really Locked?
A few years ago, we installed a buzzer system to keep the preschool safe during the week. But we have a way to ‘undog’ the doors—unlocking them—so people can come in freely. What’s funny is that even when the doors are unlocked, people who have tried them during the week when they’re locked don’t try to open them. They stand there, assuming they’re locked, and never even push on the door.
We often assume doors are locked, in both our personal lives and our relationships with others. Think about the young adult who feels called to lead a small group but hesitates, convinced they’re not experienced enough to teach others about faith. Or the person longing to reconcile with an estranged family member but assumes the relationship is too broken to mend. Even in ministry, people feel the pull to serve but hold back, thinking, “I’m too busy,” or “I don’t have the right skills.” The fear of failure and the weight of doubt keep us standing before doors we believe are locked, never daring to push.
This isn’t just personal; it’s societal. In our politically divided world, we lock doors on one another, assuming that those who think differently are beyond grace. Liberals might dismiss conservatives as stuck in their ways, resistant to change, or unwilling to see others’ suffering. Conservatives might view liberals as rejecting tradition, overly idealistic, or threatening the social fabric. Both sides stereotype and “other” each other, slamming doors shut with assumptions, name-calling, and even outright contempt. We approach political divides like we approach locked doors: too much hostility, too little common ground, too many reasons not to even try.
Within these divides, certain groups are scapegoated and excluded. Conservative platforms often marginalize immigrants, LGBTQ+ people, and racial minorities—treating them as though they don’t belong or are somehow less than. Liberal platforms, on the other hand, can sometimes dismiss or alienate everyone but themselves, and even most of their own, and sneer at religion—overlooking the real struggles and values that shape people’s lives. The polarization goes both ways, eroding our ability to see one another as people made in God’s image and blessed in our ordinariness, like Mary.
Even within the church, these divisions take root. Churches mirror the political divide, with each side seeing the other as “locked out” from God’s grace. The gospel, however, tells a different story. It calls us to open the doors we assume are closed and see the people on the other side as bearers of God’s image. Like Mary, who was chosen despite being from an overlooked town and a marginalized people, those we’re quick to dismiss may be the very ones God calls blessed.
But what if the doors aren’t locked? What if stepping toward someone with grace—whether it’s a family member, a political “other,” or even ourselves—could change everything? We approach these divisions as if they’re immovable, but God invites us to push gently, to try the door, and trust that it might already be open. Whether it’s a door in our own lives or one that leads to understanding others, God’s grace invites us to see each person—not as a political enemy or ideological opponent—but as blessed and called to His extraordinary purposes.
Mary’s story reminds us that God’s grace transcends the divisions and doubts we create. It invites us to try the door, trusting that the barriers we’ve built might not be as impenetrable as we believe.
If we’re honest, the idea of pushing on those doors—trying the handle and stepping into the unknown—can still feel overwhelming. But this is where the good news of grace breaks in, and we see it so clearly in Mary’s story.
The angel Gabriel’s first words to Mary cut right to the heart of her fear: “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.” These words carry the weight of grace, a grace that transforms everything. Mary wasn’t chosen because of her accomplishments, her status, or her position in society. She wasn’t a princess, a scholar, or a leader. She was an ordinary young woman from a town so obscure that people later joked, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Yet she was favored—not because of who she was, but because of who God is.
This is what makes grace so radical. God’s favor is never something we earn. Mary didn’t audition for her role in the story of salvation; she didn’t need to prove herself worthy of carrying the Messiah. Her calling was rooted in God’s unmerited grace, freely given. Gabriel’s words remind us that God’s invitations don’t depend on our qualifications. When God calls, He also equips. The open door is not a reflection of our capability but of God’s empowering presence.
We also see grace in who God chooses to use. By selecting Mary, God overturns every human expectation about power, privilege, and importance. The world looks for kings and queens, warriors and scholars, but God looks to the humble, the overlooked, and the ordinary. This is a recurring theme throughout Scripture. God called shepherds, fishermen, and tax collectors. He worked through people who were too young, too old, too weak, or too broken. And here, He calls a young woman from Nazareth to carry His extraordinary plan into the world.
Gabriel’s message didn’t just stop at announcing Mary’s favor. It came with a promise: “The Lord is with you.”
God’s work in us is never solitary. He doesn’t open the door and then leave us on our own. He walks with us through it, strengthening us, guiding us, and working through us to accomplish His purposes.
Mary’s story is a powerful reminder that grace puts our troubles into perspective. The door is open not because we are capable, but because God empowers us. Gabriel’s words weren’t just for Mary; they’re for us too. “Do not be afraid…you have found favor with God.” These words speak to our fears, our doubts, and our hesitations. They remind us that God’s grace chooses us, upholds us, and walks with us every step of the way.
Jiggle the Door
God’s grace isn’t just something we read about in Mary’s story—it’s alive and at work in our own lives, relationships, and communities today. It invites us to trust that the doors God places before us aren’t locked. They’re waiting for us to take a step of faith, to jiggle the handle, and to discover the way God has already made.
Sometimes, this looks like personal courage. Maybe there’s a door you’ve been avoiding—a calling you’ve been hesitant to step into or a relationship you’ve been too afraid to mend. God’s grace invites you to trust that He’s already made a way, that His favor is enough. Jiggle the door.
Sometimes, it’s relational. In a world so divided, grace means seeing the image of God in others—even in those who think, vote, or live differently than we do. It means hearing God’s voice saying to them, just as He said to Mary, “You are blessed.” Jiggle the door.
And sometimes, it’s global. God calls us to look for the Marys of today—the overlooked, the excluded, and the marginalized. Those who feel like the doors of opportunity or community are shut tight against them. God’s grace calls us to be part of opening those doors, of sharing His blessing with them, and proclaiming their worth. Jiggle the door.
Sometimes, trying the door is an act of courage—stepping into something new or difficult. Sometimes, it’s an act of grace—looking at someone else and saying, “You are blessed.” Either way, God’s favor makes the way. Jiggle the door: God’s grace invites us to step into our calling, mend relationships, and bless others, trusting that His favor goes before us.
Mary’s story invites us to pause and consider: What doors are we standing in front of, afraid to try? What relationships, opportunities, or callings have we written off because we assume they’re locked? Gabriel’s message to Mary wasn’t just for her—it’s for us too: “You are blessed.” It’s a reminder that God’s favor isn’t reserved for the extraordinary but is poured out on the ordinary, inviting us to step forward in faith.
So here’s the challenge: Jiggle the door this week. Whether it’s an opportunity you’ve been avoiding, a relationship you’ve written off, or a person you’ve overlooked—trust that God’s blessing is enough. Enough for you, enough for them, and enough to open the doors that seem impossible.
Advent is a season where God meets us in our fear and hesitation with a steady, loving reminder: “You are blessed.” Like Mary, may we trust that blessing and have the courage to step through the doors God opens.
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