The Visitation

Luke 1: 39-45

"When I was a child, I thought as a child. Now, I am a woman and must think and act as a woman."

Mary is hurrying on her way to the hill town in Judah where her cousin Elizabeth and her cousin's husband Zechariah live.

"She can't be. She's old. She must be mistaken. It's simply impossible!" She stops herself. She looks down at her still flat tummy that just gave her "a little tickle".

Impossible.

Seems as if she is going to have to work on her definition of "impossible".

Her mother had gotten word that very day that Elizabeth, who was thought to be quite beyond the years of child-bearing, is with child.

Mary impulsively asked her mother for leave to go and visit her cousin. There is plenty to do around the house. There always is. But, this time, the resistance that Mary had expected from her mother is not there. Anns eyes are sparkling with the joy that is filling her heart after hearing the good news from her cousin.

"Yes, of course you may go, and please bring her our love and good wishes."

Mary puts together a hasty bundle for the trip.

She packs some flatbread sweetened with honey, a handful of dark olives from the earthen jar in the kitchen, a couple of dates and a small bit of sheeps milk cheese. She also brings a clay flask of water from the well, and a handfull of wildflowers that have been sitting on the window sill, patiently drying ever since she picked them in the field at the edge of town. Her mother adds a bit of newly woven cloth as a gift for the child who is to come. Mary scoops up her parcel, rises on tip-toe to give her mother a warm kiss on the cheek, and then she is out the door.

The evening is warm and dry. The road is kicking up a low-hanging cloud of dust with every hurried step she takes. The noises of the village are fading behind her, and the stillness of the road ahead begins to take precedence. In just a little while, all she can hear is her breath, her steps, a gentle breeze moving through the trees and scrub brush off to either side of the road, and the occasional bird being startled out of their complacent little roadside nesting places as she hurries by.

Impossible.

That's why she will be able to understand. What I've heard today is impossible. What has happened to me is impossible. What has happened to her is impossible. What the man said my child (my child!) will be is IMPOSSIBLE!
Things like this do not happen. But if they do not, then how do I explain any of this? If I don't talk to someone about this whole business, and soon, I know that I will burst!

I'm worried about how I'm going to tell Joseph. He's a good man, but how do I explain this to him without sounding like a lunatic! Or worse, someone with something to hide. Yes, of course I'm afraid! I did nothing wrong, but people in town will not want to understand any of this. They will make assumptions. They will talk in hushed tones when they think I cannot hear. From there it is only a matter of time before the momentum that a whispered half-truth gains as it moves from one ear to another will cause this impossible reality to crash into me head on and burst my quiet life into a thousand noisy pieces.

It is dark and still when Mary finally arrives. She is still some distance from her cousin's house. She calls out "Elizabeth! It's me Mary!"

There is no reply.

She calls out again "Elizab..."

The door opens and light spills out onto the street. The old familiar form of her cousin is traced in light from inside the house.

"Is that my Anna's little girl?"

Mary breaks into a run.

Elizabeth steps out into the street, her arms held out wide. She scoops up the child who buries her head in the folds of her robe.

"Mother told me that you are to have a child, and I had to come and see you."

Elizabeth steps back, holds the child at arms length, and with a smile that crinkles her eyes into a dozen little furrows says "Blessed are you!" She stops herself. The look on her face changes to one of amazement. "And, Blessed is your child!"

Mary's eyes open wide. She catches her breath and holds it.

"How is it that the mother of my lord should come to me? When I heard your voice, the child I carry leapt for joy!" Her eyes immediately filled with tears, and she once again, pressed Mary to her breast.

We've shared another "moment" along the way of the Joyful chaplet. Don't leave it where I dropped it. Explore the place. Feel the cool of the evening. Follow the two of them as they walk arm and arm into the house. See the smile on Zechariah's face as he sees Elizabeth enter with Mary. Hear the laughter, feel the warmth of the oil lamp on the stand that throws a dim glow about the room. See it's reflection in the glistening eyes of all in the room. Listen in on the conversation that ensues between the two women as they shoo Zechariah away while they indulge in some "girl talk".

God's greatness dazzles us with it's simplicity. A pair of women, chat the night away. Neither of them is fully aware of the magnitude of the time they are sharing. The future has taken root in the present.

The hand of God has set into motion His plan for the revelation of the kingdom.