His Name Is John

When Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary, the baby leaped in her womb . . . “And why is it granted to me that the mother of my Lord should come to me?  For behold, when the sound of your greeting came to my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy.  And blessed it she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord.”  Luke 1:45

This was no ordinary baby—everybody agreed about that.

His father’s inability to speak, so sudden in onset, and now so suddenly undone, signaled great things to come for those who saw it.  The very sight of Elizabeth—wrinkles, gray hair, and all—waddling about with her swollen belly like a barely-wed bride, was the talk of the town.  When was the last time something like this happened?  Does the name Sarah ring a bell?  Not since the days of the patriarchs had something like this come about, a sure sign that a new age was at hand.  Would the “God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob” henceforth be known as the “God of Zechariah, Elizabeth, and John”?  It could happen!

John, the name they originally protested because it had no family pedigree, was obviously divinely ordained.  They didn’t call him that: in Hebrew, the name is Yochanan—“the Lord is gracious.”  Very fitting, because the Lord’s hand was on him (vs. 66) in such an obvious way that his friends and neighbors probably watched him intently while he was growing up—parsed his every word, noted his every pious action, and nodded sagely to each other when he wandered off into the desert to join the Essene community: “Mark my words—we haven’t seen the last of that young man.”  It’s very likely that their hopes and their attention followed him into the desert and seemed close to fulfillment when he appeared again, calling sinners to repent.  Could this be the Messiah?

But did any of them know of his encounter, while yet unborn, with the gracious hand of the Lord?  The johnincarnate Lord, that is, barely formed enough to possess an actual hand.  Only John’s mother knew at the time: imagine her sitting quietly in her own house with her six-month belly, expecting a visit from her young cousin.  Word had come to her of a band of pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem, and Mary among them.  With news.  Now her ears perk up at the sound of a young woman’s voice calling her name.  And then she bolts upright, clutching her sides.

She’d felt the baby kicking for some time now—the normal twitches and jerks that every expectant mother feels.  But this is different, not a random jerk of an arm or a leg, but a whole-body, intentional movement.  He springs, he dances—he may even have turned a somersault.  She holds her breath as Mary’s voice comes closer, and when the young woman enters the house, slim and breathless, Elizabeth is so full of her own news she doesn’t even pause to embrace her.  Words bubble up, fill her mouth, pour out: Blessed are you, above all women . . . the mother of my Lord . . . My baby heard your voice, and do you know what he did?

Mary stands there, the mother of our Lord, speechless with surprise.  First at the sight of the old pregnant lady, and then at what she said.

In days to come, she will not always feel blessed: eyebrows will raise, whispers will increase the bigger she grows. The joyful wedding she had always hoped for will be hasty and quiet, if Joseph agrees to take her.  But those are only the obvious, predictable inconveniences.  She doesn’t yet anticipate giving birth anywhere but her mother’s house, not in a smelly cave 90 miles from home.

But blessed is she who believed in the fulfillment, though she doesn’t know what fulfillment will look like.  Her own heart fills with spilling-out words: My soul magnifies the Lord . . .  David could have sung this song; it’s all about the Almighty showing strength, scattering the proud, bringing down the mighty and exalting the humble, filling the hungry, sending away the complacent.  But where is all this happening?  All we see is two women clutching hands, prophesying giddily to each other with one bouncing baby between them, destined to become a superstar.  Much more famous, for a while, than his embryonic cousin, before whom he dances like David before the Ark.

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Then It Happened

And the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.  And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus . . .” Luke 1:30-31.

About six months have gone by on earth before Gabriel again leaves the presence of the LORD to appear in Galilee, a province of Roman-occupied Palestine and the breeding ground of prophets, cult leaders, and zealots. The object of the angel’s visit is none of those notable persons, just an unremarkable Jewish girl of fifteen or so, going about her business.

She’s a good girl; we can say that much.  An obedient, dutiful girl, most likely busy with the same domestic chores as all her friends and acquaintances, and her mother’s and grandmother’s friends and acquaintances.  Like most girls in their mid-teens, she is engaged—betrothed, in the formal, legally-binding sense of that word.  Her parents have made a suitable match with Joseph the carpenter, and within the year she’ll be married.  A good girl, but nothing in the record indicates she was notably pious or holy.

Then Gabriel shows up.

Does her world go sideways when he appears?  Yes, although she may not recognize at first just how disruptive his presence is.

How can this be? is her first question, and though it sounds similar to the response of Zechariah, it’s not.  He was asking for proof; she, for clarification.  She knows how babies are made, and is quite certain that the necessary deed has not yet taken place.  Gabriel’s explanation can’t be that helpful, for he describes something that has never, ever, happened before—not even to the revered matriarch Sarah, who conceived in her nineties.

“The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be called holy—

the Son of God.”

We only see Mary.  We can’t read her mind.  I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me as you’ve said is a positive response—but really, what can you say to a heavenly being who suddenly blazed up beside your kneading trough?  The angel’s words make grammatical sense but don’t match up with anything in her experience or knowledge.  Her answer does not indicate comprehension, merely obedience.  And that is enough.  Her faith may be smaller than a mustard seed, but it’s real faith.

Perhaps not even Gabriel knows the full dimensions of what he’s saying, or how this story will tell itself.  The Lord of Hosts is making his move, that’s certain, but what does it mean?  The very heavens will look on with growing wonder while events unfold.

Meanwhile, Mary waits.

When did it happen?  Sometime between the messenger’s visit and Mary’s journey to visit her cousin Elizabeth; that’s all we know.  The Holy Spirit will come upon you . . . In the old days, the Spirit was known to “rush upon” people, like the mighty Samson;1 Mary may have wondered if it would be like that.  Did she recognize the moment of conception, or did it steal secretly upon her?  Only one thing we can know for sure: There was a moment.  A biological clock was ticking as a tiny egg made its way down the fallopian tube, in the manner of all women since Eve, and in a moment, the power of the Most High overshadowed it.

They say the universe exploded from a single, impossibly dense speck of matter.  The power that exploded the universe is suddenly packed into a single cell.

How can this be?

The first time Yahweh visited his people it was on a mountain with thunder and lighting and an earthquake—they couldn’t miss it.  This time, almost everybody missed it. The last time, Yahweh delivered detailed instructions for a tent and holy furnishings and elaborate sanctification rituals to accommodate his Presence.  The main ingredient was blood—lots of blood.

This time he delivers his Presence, slipping silently into the forward motion of time.  Rather than gold and incense, he is surrounded by pulsing veins and twitching cells.  The holy has taken up residence within the lowly. From a single cell, Christ is formed.

And he brings the blood.  Six weeks pass as cells feverishly divide and separate, knitting the Son of God in the form of a son of man: a head, eyes, limbs, lumps of flesh that will become fingers and toes and then . .  .

With a spasm, a tiny, mighty heart clenches in its first heartbeat.  Ka-thump ka-thump ka-thump Ka-thump Ka-thump—

            the life  

             is in    

            the blood.2

It beats and beats and beats and floods the little body with the same oxygen, the same fuel and food as we all receive in this stage of our lives. But the life of the world is in that blood.

Our mothers don’t know exactly when our hearts began beating, and Mary isn’t aware of it either. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit keep their counsel.  But she knows the unthinkable has happened—she has been caught up in heavenly councils and entrusted with a heavenly secret. “My soul magnifies the Lord, sings the peasant girl, because her soul has been magnified.

  • When did your heart begin beating? When will it stop?  Does it make any difference to you knowing that there was a similar moment for Jesus (both starting and stopping)?  Do you think his heart beats even today?

1 For example, Judges 14:6

2 Lev. 17:11

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