If You See Something, Say Something

Advent 4C

There is feminist principle for assessing literature and movies called the Bechdel test; maybe you’ve heard of it? It asks whether and how often the work features at least two woman—with names—talking about something other than a man.

So let me say right up front, that the Bible does not fare well on the Bechdel test. Which is not to say that the Bible is not a great and saving text for women as well as men. But because women are rarely named at all in the Bible, the conversation between Elizabeth and Mary—who are two women with names and opinions—fairly jumps off the pages of today’s Gospel. And while it seems like the women might be talking about a man—an unborn baby boy, actually—the conversation is about so much more than that. Mary and Elizabeth are woman of power, speaking words of power to each other. And to us.

The text includes the well-known Magnificat of Mary, a proclamation of God’s justice so powerful that it threatens to overshadow the rest of the lesson. And that would be a shame, because the first half of the conversation between Elizabeth and Mary reminds us that none of us get there alone. Men and woman, courageous and timid, pregnant and barren: we all need someone to help us recognize what we are capable of.

And that’s what Elizabeth does. Even before Mary utters the familiar words—“from now on all generations will call me blessed”— recall her cousin has said to her “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb… blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” The multiple blessings that Elizabeth offers are even more forceful in the Greek, whose verb tenses emphasize that both present and future generations will praise and speak well of Mary and her child.

In a very real sense, Mary’s prophetic words are nothing more than an echo and an amplification of the words her cousin welcomed her with. She hears Elizabeth say blessed are you and the next generation growing within you, and Mary finds it in herself to say “all generations will call me blessed.” She hears Elizabeth say that she is blessed for believing that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord, and Mary recites the Lord’s saving promises spoken to her people. “He has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.” It’s almost like a first-century equivalent of what the Occupy Wall Street movement called “the human microphone.” One person says it, and then the hearer repeats it louder.

Which serves as my reminder that none of our words of blessing or encouragement or prophecy are ever really our own. None of our honesty, compassion or courage happens in a vacuum. We need each other in order to recognize and make use of our gifts. Especially the gifts of the poor and marginalized. Consider Mary herself. Who would have looked to her—a young woman of the oppressed ethnicity living in an occupied country, pregnant under dubious circumstances—as one to bless the generations. It might have made more sense, on the surface of it, for Elizabeth to have said “cursed are you among woman.” But something caused the older cousin to look past the seemingly impossible odds to the holy work gestating within her vulnerable young relative.

If you see something, say something. That’s what Homeland Security tells us to do in the face of potential terrorist threats. But the Bible shows us a more excellent way to do that, on the basis of hope rather than fear. If you see blessing, if you see courage, if you see God’s promises being fulfilled—and especially if you see it among the marginal and the invisible—say something. Yours might be the words that call forth the Christ who longs to be birthed in each of us.

I don’t really need to say this to the congregation of Our Lady of Guadalupe: you of all people live on the brave words of Juan Diego, a humble peasant who saw a holy vision and said something to people in power, even though they doubted him. Despite his own modesty and the unlikeliness of the apparition, he did believe that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to him by Our Lady. And his faith changed everything for Christians in the Americas. And indeed even made this community possible today.

I too am called upon to say something when I see something. And in you I see passion for the Gospel and perseverance in worship. But I also see that you are hurting. Your pastor has resigned. Some of you came here from another congregation that lost its pastor. These are deep losses, and I want you to know that I see your grief. And while I can’t replace what you’ve lost, I can remind you that you are not alone. The Diocese of California stands with you. And frankly, the whole cloud of Biblical witnesses is with you.

Sometimes God’s people have to insist on God’s blessing, even when it seems far away. Isn’t that what Mary was doing in when she spoke the words of the Magnificat? “He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.” That hadn’t happened yet, but it didn’t prevent Mary from telling God how to do God’s business.

There is no reason to think that Mary was feeling especially blessed before she visited Elizabeth. But another woman—another person almost as marginal as herself—bespoke of the power that Mary had within her. And then she was able to speak for herself. Which brings me back to the Bechdel test. Were these two named women talking about a man? Yes of course they were talking about Jesus, although in this passage he’s the one who doesn’t yet have a name. But they were also two human beings giving voice to the power that was within them, and is indeed within each of us. Power to tell the truth, to bless, to prophesy, to imagine and even enflesh the world that God promises.

So in that sense our lesson today was not just a conversation between two first-century woman talking about a singularly holy baby boy, but rather about all of us who would risk saying to each other “blessed are you.” Blessed are you when you grieve, blessed are you when you are shamed, blessed are you when you are oppressed. Blessed are you who bless the one even more vulnerable than yourself, blessed are you when you bless your neighbor and let them know that they are a blessing. So why don’t we try that? Turn to someone sitting near you and tell them, “blessed are you.”

And blessed are you, cousin Elizabeth and mother Mary, for showing us how it’s done.