Emmanuel - St John the Apostle

"Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel, which means, God is with us." Matt 1.23

And a reading from one of my Christmas presents from many years ago – from Winnie the Pooh:

“Pooh”, said Piglet taking his paw.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just checking that you were there…” (The House at Pooh Corner)

Humans, like piglets, are social animals. We need the sense that someone is ‘there’. We are, for all of our lives, in some way dependent on others. It’s why especially at Christmas we hate to think that anyone will be ‘alone’.

You probably heard the huge response there was to the Today programme’s Christmas Eve interview with 89 year-old John Arthur who would be alone at Christmas. One listener even wanted to fly him over to Paris for the Christmas weekend.

God himself is a social being: Father, Son and Holy Spirit in the mystical, eternal intimacy of the Trinity.

And when he creates mankind in his own image, then he wishes to include them in the society of the Godhead. So Genesis tells us that he walks with Adam and Eve in the cool of the day in the Garden of Eden.

In our Old Testament lesson today we hear of his closeness to Moses; as Exodus puts it: “Thus the LORD used to speak to Moses face to face, as one speaks to a friend.”

Then in his incarnation which we celebrate this Christmastide, God became a tiny dependent baby, mewling for his mother’s milk and subject to Mary and Joseph. The boy Jesus, God enfleshed, needed them to be there.

As a grown man too he needed companionship and had many friends: men, women and children.

He had an inner circle of close friends: James and John, and Peter - there with Jesus for the transfiguration; there in the Garden of Gethsemane - Jesus wanted them with him in his most agonising hour of decision. He goes off to pray, but keeps returning: “just checking that you are there”.

And they were there at his crucifixion: his best friend John, and his mother Mary, who had bought him into the world in that stable in Bethlehem – [point to Rood Screen] there are John and Mary, at the foot of his cross as they are in churches throughout the world.

Today in the church’s calendar we remember that Apostle John. He wrote the most reflected and mystical account of the life of Jesus and although his authorship of the fourth Gospel, the three epistles and the mysterious book often known as the Revelation of St John the Divine, is much debated, there is certainly a corpus of literature that can be called Johannine.

John Keble draws from all those sources in our final hymn today. (See below)

The other disciples were obviously slightly miffed that John had such a special place in the affections of Jesus, especially the Apostle Peter. The verse before today’s Gospel reads:

“Peter turned and saw the disciple whom Jesus loved following them; he was the one who had leaned back against Jesus at the supper.” (John 21.20)

And then the recommissioned Peter goes on to ask the resurrected Jesus, who was telling them that he would be leaving them soon, “so what’s going to happen to John? Is he going with you?”

It’s a fascinating passage, but I don’t want to discuss it now, so on to the present day.

Jesus was born – we continue to celebrate that over the 40 days of Christmas and epiphany; and Jesus has died and risen again and is now ascended back to the Father. Physically, he is with us no more. No hand to hold. No one for John to lean against.

But hinted at in today’s Gospel there is an even profounder reality of God’s continuing companionship with John and with all of us.

For Mary has conceived and born a son, and his name is Emmanuel, which means, God is with us.

He is with us because he shared our joys and sorrows; he can empathise with us in all that we go through. He is not distant and unmoved, but he is with us in all the richness and vagaries of our lives.

And he has taught us that all humans are made in his image, and are to be loved and cared for. So all our kinships and friendships are part of God’s being with us.

We cannot hug God, but we can hold the hand of a friend, to ‘check that they are there’.

And in our turn we can sit with friends and strangers, and by our physical presence assure them that God is with them.

But companions leave us and Christmas is always a reminder, especially as we get older, of the empty seats around the table.

At the end of Matthew’s gospel, the disciples are filled with foreboding as they realise that Christ is leaving them, from the manger to the skies.

So the end of Matthew’s Gospel echoes the beginning where our text is written: “they shall name him Emmanuel, which means, God is with us.” At the end of the Gospel he reassures them in his words of parting: “I am with you always, to the end of the age”. (Matt 28.20)

Here is an even deeper spiritual mystery. For it has been the experience of Christians through the ages, that by God’s Holy Spirit, they sense the loving presence of God: Emmanuel - he’s here, with us.

It’s of course very subjective, but nonetheless real for being that. Loving our partners and friends is very subjective, but nonetheless real for being that.

A while back I was in Stockholm with my good friends Stefan and Helena and their third child, a young boy, Einar. We were in a flat he’d never been in before and at one point his parents left the room with our host.

He looked at me, said something in Swedish, then remembered I was that poor simple man who didn’t understand anything. So he came over, put his thumb in his mouth, and held my hand. Just checking I was there.

"Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel, which means, God is with us."

Hymn by John Keble (1792-1866) for St John the Apostle's Day

Word Supreme, before creation

Born of God eternally,

Who didst will for our salvation

To be born on earth and die,

Well Thy saints have kept their station,

Watching till Thine hour drew nigh.

Now 'tis come and faith espies Thee;

Like an eagle in the morn

John in steadfast worship eyes Thee,

Thy belov’d, Thy latest born.

In Thy glory he descries Thee

Reigning from the Tree of scorn.

Much he asked in loving wonder,

On Thy bosom leaning, Lord.

In that secret place of thunder

Answer kind didst Thou accord,

Wisdom for Thy Church to ponder

Till the day of dread award.

Lo, heaven's doors lift up, revealing

How thy judgements earthward move;

Scrolls unfolded, trumpets pealing,

Wine-cups from the wrath above;

Yet o'er all a soft voice stealing,

"Little children, trust and love."

Mary - Advent 4

“Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women.”

Luke 1.28

What is the connection between macaroni and the Virgin Mary?

Give up? It’s Christmas Carols.

I’m sure over the next few days we will be listening to lots of carols like ‘In Dulci Jubilo – Let us our homage show’ and ‘A Hymn to the Virgin’- Of one that is so fair and bright,
Velut maris stella, which both date back to the 14^th century.

And like many other mediaeval carols, they are macaronic. That is, partly in English and partly in Latin.

The adjective ‘macaronic’, is used to describe any text which is a jumbled mixture of the vernacular – English or German or whatever - and Latin or Latinized words; or indeed words from any other languages.

In the secular world this mixture of languages was often used in burlesque or satire.

The word comes from the New Latin ‘macaronicus’, literally, resembling macaroni: presumably, suggesting lack of sophistication or simple rustic wisdom.

And this is one of the hallmarks of these mediaeval carols, which makes them so attractive, and at the same time rather annoying.

They are often full of homespun devotion to Our Lady and theological naivety.

The Latin is perhaps supposed to give them a bit more weight.

But rather like putting on a posh accent while still using appalling grammar, the overall effect is one of lovable, and even laughable, simplicity.

And it is perhaps hardly surprising then that these macaronic carols were often used to depict Our Lady and the birth of Jesus. For the event is both simply profound and yet profoundly simple.

So there is something deeply mysterious and theological about Mary the Theotokos, the God-bearer, who is the focus of the readings and prayers on this fourth Sunday in Advent.

Yet, at the same time, there is something slightly risqué and ‘common’ about a pregnant teenager who claims to be a virgin. There is something of the barrack-room joke about it. We’ve all heard them and laughed at them. It is the human way to laugh at great mystery.

What does this tell us about the Christian attitude to Mary and her place in our salvation and daily living?

It was music that first began to give me an inkling of devotion to Our Lady, back in my teens.

Not surprisingly, my good puritan Baptist church had no images of any kind in the building - not even a cross until the swinging 60s.

So Mary only featured in Christmas Carols. And even then some of the words had to be changed to protect theological sensibilities.

Remember that line in Adam lay y bounden: ‘Ne had the apple taken been, the apple taken been, ne had never Our Lady a-been heavene queen’.

Well you can’t have that! So it was changed to ‘Ne had never Christ’s glory on earth ever been seen.’ A not-so-subtle Christological shift there from Our Lady to Our Lord.

But despite all this, as a teenager exploring passion and fallings in love, it was hymns and carols that often inspired my devotion. I recognised that just as Jesus was the most lovable man; the man from God; the second Adam; the man who was God;

so Mary was the most loveable woman, the woman chosen by God, the second Eve; the perfect Mother of Our Lord; a friend, a comforter, who like any good mother, understands and cares.

Here again is an earthiness that the common man understands. Here in this straightforward peasant girl is a mystery almost too great for us to bear.

In today’s Gospel we read of the Visitation, when Mary visits her older cousin Elizabeth, already six months gone with John the Baptist, to talk about pregnancy and birth, and pain and Joseph and hopes and fears.

She had gone because of the Annunciation (depicted in Arthur Hacker's wonderful painting on the front cover of the service sheet – it looks better in the Tate https://mikefrost.net/the-most-tender-of-all-advent-paintings/ )

– when the angel Gabriel visited Mary to tell her she was to be the bearer of the Word made flesh – Jesus.

Whatever happened between Mary and God, between this Angel and Mary; it was such an exceptional happening that no other human being has ever experienced such, before or since.

And the words of these mediaeval, macaronic poems pile up epithets and allegories to draw us out in love of God, and love of this simple woman who became such a channel of grace. Deep, unfathomable mystery and simple, animal, mother-love, for Jesus - and for us.

So what is our response to this remarkable woman who is at the heart of the unfolding Christmas story?

It should surely be the same as hers – astonishment at God’s intervention, complete lack of comprehension – how could this happen? And yet complete trust that God is working his purposes out in our lives and in our world – ‘be it unto me according to thy word’.

Rainer Maria Rilke in his poem on The Annunciation from Das Marienleben, catches the cosmic significance of this pregnant young woman. He suggests that even the Angel Gabriel cannot believe the message he is to deliver to this young Israeli woman. He is astonished.

When the angel stepped in,

he did not take her by surprise,

It was as though a ray of sunlight or moonlight

had entered her room,

No, she did not even blink!

But when he bent close his youthful face

she looked into eyes that looked into hers,

their gaze so powerful that the world outside

was suddenly empty

and the multitudes' visions, their deeds

and their burdens

all were crowded into them: just she and he;

this girl, this angel, this spot.

And they were both astonished.

Then the angel sang his melody.

“Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women.” Luke 1.28

(Rainer Maria Rilke, from Das Marienleben

translated & adapted by Alice Van Buren and Russell Walden)