“When the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the Law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as children.” Galatians 4:4 

St Paul, in his unmatched style, sums up the Christian message. This verse marks the moment of Christ’s appearing: at the right time, in the fullness of time. It denotes his lineage as a Jewish man “born under the Law.” And it states briefly his purpose: to “redeem.” Christ came that we might become God’s children; he came that we might be free.
And we should remember: all of this was impossible without the Blessed Virgin Mary. 

“God sent his Son, born of a woman…” If we were the Lord God, we might have imagined another way of saving the world: Maybe the Son of God could have come without any earthly parents! You know, it’s not a difficult idea. He could have just made a body for himself and skipped conception, birth, infancy, and childhood. It would have saved a lot of trouble: to just show up as an adult, descending from heaven on a cloud. It would have been very impressive. But then that wouldn’t have made for a human Savior, in the way we ordinarily use the term. No human life develops independently; we all have parents who bore us, and those who raised us.

In any case, whether or not we think God might have picked another way of saving humanity, the Christian faith celebrates the fact that he chose this one. The eternal Son of God was formed in the womb of Mary; he took his flesh (his human nature) from her. He was born of God before the ages; he was born of Mary in the fulness of time. Like us, he had a mother who carried him in her own body, delivered him. She nursed him, cared for him, raised him. And she remained near him through his ministry.

There is no coming to Jesus apart from Mary. We would hardly know anything about him without her. She was one of the only witnesses of his death on the cross. 

How else would we know the words he spoke as he suffered? About the crowd: “Father, forgive them, for they know now what they do.” To the repentant thief: “Today you will be with me in paradise.” To Mary and to John: “Woman, behold your Son.” and “Behold, your Mother.” Mary heard those words, Mary passed them on. 

Of course, too, how else would we know how Jesus was born, how he was conceived and announced to the world, adored by angels, worshipped by Magi – it was Mary who treasured up these things in her heart, until she passed them on to Christ’s disciples, and especially, it seems, to St Luke the evangelist.

“God sent his Son, born of a woman…” 

This is a profound truth. Let me name three more ways Mary is important for us and for our salvation.

Mary is a model to us in the way she heard the God; she is a model as a worshipper of God; and she is a model of our ultimate destiny with God. Let’s take those one at a time. 

Mary is a model disciple. She heard the Word of God and treasured it. In the first two chapters of Luke’s Gospel, she is often hearing God’s Word through others: from an angel, through the shepherds, on the lips of her cousin Elizabeth. Sometimes she understands; at others, she is perplexed. She asks questions, like “How can this be?” But she always treasures the Word, turns it over in her mind, keeps it in her heart. Just as she bore Jesus, the Word incarnate, so did she keep God’s written and spoken Word in her mind and heart. 

We often think the Scriptures present to us things to know or instructions for living; and surely they do. But the Word of God also presents to us mysteries surpassing human understanding, baffling and lofty truths, which we must ponder. Mary is our guide, our model, in learning how to receive these gifts from God, how to treasure them.

Mary is also our companion in praise. Every day in the Church’s prayer we utter her Song, the Magnificat, the Song she uttered when she met her cousin Elizabeth and the two women rejoiced over the coming of God’s Messiah. 

As Luke 1:41-45 records, Mary went to the hill country of Judea to visit her cousin, and:

When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, her child, John, leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”

Mary responded to this moment with those immortal words which have been recited and chanted and set to music again and again:

My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.
For he hath regarded the lowliness of his handmaiden. 
For behold from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed. 
For he that is mighty hath magnified me and holy is his name. 
And his mercy is on them that fear him through all generations. 
He hath showed strength with his arm.
He hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts
He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble and meek. 
He hath filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he hath sent empty away. 
He remembering his mercy hath holpen his servant Israel, as he promised to our forefathers, Abraham and his seed, forever. 

When we sing our praises to the Lord, it is as if we are standing there beside Mary, beside the blessed mother of our Lord. We hear her music, we are inspired by her devotion, we take upon us the invitation of all the psalms and songs of holy Scripture: “Proclaim with me the greatness of the Lord; let us exalt his name together” (Ps 34:3). Mary is our model in praise. 

And she is the picture of our destiny. She embodies the Christian hope to be with Christ. She was with him on earth, as she bore him, cared for him, wept for him, rejoiced over him. She with him now in heaven. She is united to him in his triumph, and shares in the glory of his eternal kingdom. She assures us; she goes before us, happy, holy, blessed.

​“When the fulness of time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the Law…” God’s Son was born of Mary; in this way, he saved us and set us free. Let us rejoice in her example; let us join her in offering praises; and let us look forward to that day, when we shall see her in the clear heaven, accompanied by the saints and angels, as she sings her Magnificat.

When I was about 20 years old, I began doing a dangerous thing. I started attending Mass. I was not an Episcopalian then. I was a student at a Pentecostal university, but wasn’t sure how to identify my faith. I found myself visiting a wide range of churches on Sundays, as I tried to figure out my life and discern what God was calling me to be and do. Those Sunday morning visits to churches were often disappointing and weird. But Saturday night Mass at the Roman Catholic Cathedral of St. Agnes the Martyr in Springfield, MO, was good. It was consistent.  It was challenging. 

The first time I attended St. Agnes, the psalm was number 49, which we’ve just recited together, and the antiphon was the one we’ve just sung, a verse that hits hard, while it set to a charming snippet of traditional American folk: We can never ransom ourselves, or deliver to God the price of our life.

Singing that over and over again is a distinct experience: such a gentle tune, such a hard lesson. It slaps; it slaps like an iron fist hiding inside a velvet glove, looking so soft, but full of weight and power. We can never ransom ourselves, or deliver to God the price of our life. I remember sitting in the pew at St. Agnes, and looking around in amazement at how we were all singing together this mind-blowing phrase.

It reminded me that the Bible has some harsh things to say about money and about those who have it and how they use it. At times, it has dismal things to say about work. For example, our first reading:, “Vanity of vanities! All is vanity…” Everything  is emptiness and “a chasing after wind.” Because everything we work for, everything we pile up, everything we’d like to pass on, can disappear in an instant. It only takes one tornado, one illness, one financial crisis. Of course, if somehow we do live long, and manage to keep most of our goods all the way to the end of our lives, who knows what will come of them? As Ecclesiastes suggests, we might pass them on to a fool or a layabout. The author speaks with frustration:

Sometimes one who has toiled with wisdom and knowledge and skill must leave all to be enjoyed by another who did not toil for it. This also is vanity and a great evil. 

[I feel like the author of this text had a high view of themselves but didn’t like their kids. Who knows?]

What do mortals get from all the toil and strain with which they toil under the sun? 

Nothing, the question implies. “For all their days are full of pain, and their work is a vexation; even at night their minds do not rest.”  

Some of us acquire goods by care and hard work with much anxiety and many sleepless nights; some of us come into wealth – maybe we inherit it and happily waste away the diligent labors of another; of course, some of us don’t acquire much at all. We may live in the wealthiest country on earth, but most Americans have minimal savings and no plan.

Whatever our individual levels of prosperity, let me suggest that all need to be careful with our attitude toward money. Life requires wisdom, no matter our means. As the Psalm says:

Hear this, all you peoples: hearken all you who dwell in the world, you of high degree and low, rich and poor together. 

My heart shall speak of wisdom, and my heart shall meditate on understanding.

I will incline mine ear to a proverb, and set for my riddle upon the harp. (49:1-3)  

It would be too easy to tune out during this sermon, and say to your soul: “I’m not wealthy, so I’m spared. I don’t have any ‘rich lands producing abundantly’. I’m not like the man in the parable, pulling down my barns and building larger ones. I’m barely hanging on here!”

There is something to that; the wealthy and the powerful have distinct temptations, and the Bible admonishes the wealthy in particular: consistently and directly, saying don’t store up your treasures here on earth when they might do good for others. Don’t be rich toward yourselves and miserly toward others and toward God. It is only by generosity that you can store up treasure in heaven.

But let’s not let ourselves off the hook if we feel poor. Examine your inner attitude, and consider that little sentence in Colossians chapter 3: “Put to death whatever in you is earthly: fornication, impurity, passion, evil desire, and greed (which is idolatry).”

In Greek, the word for greed is philargyria (“Love of silver” or “love of money”). It’s not just the desire for more money, though that’s part of it; it’s not just loving what money can do, which is a lot, let’s admit. The problem is thinking money can give us what God alone can give; and the problem is loving money the way we ought to love God and our neighbor. 

We often think money will satisfy our desires: we think of all that we could buy, all that we could do, all that we could make others do for us. We think money will bring us happiness or security, remembrance or even immortality. 

These are really things only God can grant. Traditionally, in the Christian faith, we would say that there is no complete satisfaction of our desires in this world; we await that promise in the life of the world to come; at God’s right hand “there are pleasures forevermore” and they surpass all the base desires and satisfactions we have in this time. 

And we would say that no one should have the power to do anything they want; no one should be able to compel others to do anything they want simply by having of money. That is a fantasy of omnipotence, of being in the place of God. 

Meanwhile, total happiness, security, stability, lasting memory, and eternal life: these are not things naturally within our grasp as mortal creatures. We live in a world of constant change, ups and downs, risks, dangers. There is no hiding from these things; money is a flimsy shield against them. And we cannot ensure we are remembered; we cannot make ourselves immortal. “The ransom of our life is so great,” says the Psalm, “that we should never have enough to pay it, in order to live for ever and ever and never see the grave.” 

We can never ransom ourselves, or deliver to God the price of our lives. Immortality is the gift of God. Eternal bliss, happiness without end, is the gift of God. Security, stability, lasting memory: these are the gifts of God in Christ. 

Do not let a golden idol reign in your heart, where the love of Christ should be. Follow his more excellent way. Be rich toward your neighbor, be rich toward God. As Jesus says, “Be on guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” 

Put to death whatever in you is earthly, and turn your sight to things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God.  

Do not be deceived; God is not mocked; for you reap whatever you sow. 

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Last year, I was invited to be the preacher at the Thanksgiving Service at Chichester Cathedral in southern England. It is a service of Choral Evensong, marked with special readings, music, and prayers for the health of this country. It honors the long connections between that city and county and this nation, as well as the many expatriates living nearby. Among other songs in that service last November, we sang “O beautiful, for spacious skies.” I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I had sung it. As many of you know, Melissa and I lived in England for 13 years. One gets used to other songs, other traditions.

I am somewhat sentimental, easily moved by music and art, and I consider myself a patriot. So I found myself tearing up at that service, as American and English voices blended to sing, 

O beautiful for spacious skies, 
for amber waves of grain,
for purple mountain majesties
above the fruited plain!

America! America! 
God shed his grace on thee, 
and crown thy good with brotherhood
from sea to shining sea. 

That night in Chichester, it wasn’t just the Americans who felt emotional. Person after person reminded me of the central place our country holds in the world and in history, as a beacon for freedom and justice. We have a unique heritage and responsibility: triumphs and failures, a “dark past” and an ever-present hope.

Several national hymns recognize these truths. They acknowledge our limitations, our imperfection, how our “big ideas” are sometimes “buried,” to quote Beyoncé (“American Requiem”). Our flag, with its stars and stripes, does not represent an unsullied people, but a people of struggle, a people who seek to march on, to march forward to a victory that remains ahead.

We have a unique calling as Americans. Our founding documents and so many of our pivotal turns in history have invoked a sense of divine providence around the birth and growth of this nation, a confidence that God is our guide. And while that can turn into distasteful jingoism – all pride and no substance, the political version of cotton candy – well, we retain, sometimes, a sense of accountability. 

We know we are responsible to God – as individuals and as a people. “Do not be deceived,” St Paul says. “God is not mocked, for you reap whatever you sow.” 

Recall the careful yet stinging words of President Abraham Lincoln’s many speeches. For example, the second Inaugural, when he called the Civil War a terrible conflict and the “mighty scourge” of God, dealing out recompense to North and South alike for their offenses, perhaps, he said “until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the word."

Providence, accountability: “Do not be deceived; God is not mocked, for you reap whatever you sow.”

We could cite this as a general principle of human life and religious conviction: that there is a God, who rewards and punishes (Heb 11:6). We may not always know when this is happening, when the hand of God is turning towards us in blessing or to chasten and restrain us, but it is hard to read the Scriptures of our faith and not see this truth. And it would be hard to cast our eye over recent centuries and fail to see it as well. 

We might wonder now how we are doing as a people, this Independence weekend: what seeds we are sowing, and when will they come to fruition – what seeds are sown to corruption,  and what seeds are sown for an abundant harvest of righteousness. 

Let me give a specific example that I hope is very pointed but not partisan or dismissed as merely “political.” 

8 in 10 Americans support the extension of humanitarian aid around the world – 8 in 10 support the provision of medicine, supplies, food, and clothing to those in need. 7 short months ago, our country spent around $20 billion a year on such work. It sounds like a lot, but it was a pittance, 0.3% of the federal budget, like most giving a dime a day to someone begging. But that money has been slashed. And we know people are already dying as a result. 

Now, one could imagine an argument that we should redirect this money toward our own population, for there are many in need in America. I heard this argument before the last election, and have heard it since. Let’s help our own people. And we could have. We could have increased medical assistance or boosted the SNAP program.

But, as many of you know, Congress passed a bill this week that, among other things, has cut medical and food assistance to our own people. So we’re no longer helping those overseas, and we’re cutting aid here too. What do we think the results will be? 

It will affect us locally.

Over 10% of Champaign county’s population depends on SNAP. 16.4% rely on Medicaid. Our farmers supply local food. Our health systems employ thousands of local workers, including people in this congregation. 

We will reap what has been sown, not just nationally but here. This is simple cause and effect. But, still, “God is not mocked.” We should expect unforeseen consequences, other judgments.

As Christians, as Episcopalians, we have a long heritage of civic response and engagement. We are not the kind of people who check out from society. We believe our baptism in Christ calls us to moral action. We have all committed ourselves many times, either at our baptism or at the renewal of those vows every Easter, at least. The questions come:

Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ? 
I will, with God’s help.

Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself? 
[You could say it now:]
I will, with God’s help.
​
Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?
I will, with God’s help.

God calls us to be instruments of his peace, bearers of his message, members of the Body of his Son. His Spirit dwells within us. Just as Christ sent out the 70 in our Gospel reading, so we are sent. We are called to embody the coming of God’s kingdom.

“The Lord appointed seventy others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go.”

The Lord’s intention, his good will, his coming is for every town, for every place – yes, for America, for Champaign county, for the street where you live. He is still summoning his followers to go out and work and labor, to prepare the way, to declare God’s peace, to say, “The kingdom of God has come near.” 

This is a kingdom that comes in power. This is a kingdom of “righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Spirit.” This is a kingdom in which old enemies are reconciled and the sword is put away, a kingdom where “the wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them” (Isa 11:6). This is a kingdom, with goodness and prosperity running to it, “like an overflowing stream.” It is a kingdom of saving health, of comfort and sabbath rest.

God call us to proclaim this kingdom – with our words, and with our deeds, by the life we live.

The way we shape our nation, our cities, our neighborhoods is a testament to what we truly believe. 

Are they places of “righteousness, peace, and joy”, of plenty for all? Are they places of reconciliation? Do we strive to make them so? Or do we multiply division and fear, scarcity and wickedness? Do we forget the poor, whom God loves, and turn aside the naked, the suffering, the stranger, in whom we meet Christ himself?

 “Let us not grow weary in doing what is right, for we will reap at harvest-time, if we do not give up.” 

Come, labor on.  
Who dares stand idle on the harvest plain,
While all around us waves the golden grain?
And to each servant does the Master say,
“Go work today.”

Come, labor on. 
Claim the high calling angels cannot share--
To young and old the Gospel gladness bear;
Redeem the time, its hours too swiftly fly,
The night draws nigh.
Come, labor on.