Dear Friends,
In a few days, it will be Christmas once again. This year, everyone is coming home to Granville for Christmas – everyone except one son-in-law whose work in the New York financial world requires him to be in the city as 2024 comes to a close. To keep track of all the comings and goings, Terry and I have put together a color-coded calendar. If I read it correctly, everyone will be together for at least a few hours on December 26 – adult children, grandchildren, dogs . . . all in one place filled with happy chaos.
Our third child, Kate, and her husband, Mike, are expecting their first child in April. I haven’t seen Kate in person since her pregnancy began, but the photos she’s sent leave no doubt that she is “with child” as they used to say.
The Gospel for the Fourth Sunday of Advent – this week’s Gospel – is the story of not one, but two pregnant women – cousins – meeting. One of the women is Elizabeth, who will give birth to John the Baptist. The other is Mary, whose son, Jesus, will be born in humble circumstances in Bethlehem. I’m grateful that we acknowledge and honor Mary now in The Episcopal Church. It wasn’t the case when I was growing up – probably a resistance to seeming “too Romish.” Restoring her as an important figure during Advent is just right, it seems to me. Birth is inevitably preceded by a time of preparation, and the birth of Jesus is no different.
Just as a “pregnant pause” is a moment of hesitation that creates a sense of anticipation, so does a human pregnancy create a sense of expectation. Such is the case for Mary, who is known by many titles: Madonna, Theotokas (God-bearer), Star of the Sea, Queen of Heaven. The simplest and most profound of them is Our Lady – or in French, Notre Dame.
The Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris recently reopened after the catastrophic fire of 2019. One of the stories that came out of its re-opening was of Thomas Weinbeck, a land and environment manager from Bourgogne. His family had come to Parish to celebrate a friend’s birthday and had made it to the cathedral after visiting the city’s catacombs. “We didn’t even know there would be a Mass!” he said. I was particularly taken with what their friend, Annabell Kasynski, had to say about her experience, “To be honest, I also came to pray a little, even though I don’t really believe in it. There’s always hope that there may be someone up there, and this is not just any place, so maybe in here He’ll hear me.”
I suppose you could interpret her statement in many different ways, but the way I choose to read it is that there may be something waiting to be born in her. “There’s always hope that there may be someone up there. . . “ That hope, however tiny, has the potential to give birth to a full and rich faith.
If you see yourself at all in Annabell Kasynski, then this coming Sunday, with its theme of waiting for someone or something to be born, is especially for you. Please join us as we make our final preparations for the coming of Jesus.
Blessings,
Stephen
