On the way out of the Great Hall, there are two large pamphlet racks. You may have noticed them. When I first arrived, I thought about throwing them away. They were dirty and mostly empty. But I thought, “Why don’t I try filling them with new pamphlets, and see what people read?”

Here are my observations. The losers: No one seems to want pamphlets about money and stewardship. Only one or two people have taken the pamphlets about Holy Orders. And the God pamphlet – there’s not been much curiosity about our Lord. I’m not sure how to interpret that one. 

Here are the big winners so far: in sixth place, Welcome to the Episcopal Church (no surprise there, we have had a lot of visitors), fifth, Children and Holy Communion (parents seem to be curious), fourth, the Book of Common Prayer (people have questions about the red volume in the pews), and then there are the big three: the Eucharist, Prayer, and Faith. I have refilled the Eucharist, Prayer, and Faith more than once in the past couple months. 

I have a certain amount of pride that these three pamphlets are being read…because I helped write them, and I created the series of pamphlets that they are in, which is called Anglicans Believe. But more seriously, it is good to see people looking at certain bedrock issues or practices. 

We are here for the Eucharist to give thanks and to receive Christ’s body and blood; we are here for prayer; we are here as people of faith and to bring others into the life of faith. We want people to believe.

But what does it mean to believe? I won’t repeat what the pamphlet says, because you can pick one up on the way out. Instead, let’s consider our readings today, which speak of faith in different ways. Faith comes up as something that guards and keeps us. Faith is an attribute that we see in others, and which can inspire our gratitude. Faith can be troubled; alternatively, faith can be increased. Faith comes up as an attitude, an act of trust, a way of life that confronts the violence, destruction, injustice, unfairness, and confusion of the times. So it has ever been.

The prophet Habakkuk, writing 27 centuries ago, spoke of both difficulty and resolve. He questions God, ‘Why do you make me see wrongdoing and look at trouble? Destruction and violence are before me; strife and contention arise.” 

The prophet speaks in a way we might when we are being honest, when we look deep within our hearts, when we admit that there are seeds of doubt buried within, waiting like weeds for the opportunity to spring up. We look around at the world, and we cannot understand why God doesn’t do more. “The wicked surround the righteous,” the law itself is distorted, judgment is perverted, justice “never prevails,” or so we think.

Habakkuk gives voice to this deeply rooted frustration; he also reminds us of something important. Faith often requires a simple resolve: to wait. It requires the exercise of patience. Faith is the choice to remain rooted, trusting God, despite what we see. It is like remaining in the same place, not flitting about. “I will stand at my watchpost,” Habakkuk says, “and station myself on the rampart. I will keep watch to see what God will say to me, and what he will answer concerning my complaint.” And then, lo and behold, God answers, assuring Habakkuk that there is a vision, a plan, an end to the dilemma. “If it seems to tarry, wait for it; it will surely come, it will not delay.” 

“The righteous live by their faith,” God says.

Faith is not about believing “six impossible things before breakfast,” like the White Queen in Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland. We can boil it down to a few hard things. Faith is about trusting that God is, and is who he claims to be, trusting that God is good and just, trusting that God is at work, and leaving aside your fretting about the wicked, the evildoers, even if you’ve just seen them before breakfast, on the TV or on social media or in the paper. 

We shouldn’t minimize just how hard it is to believe this, to believe that God is and that God is just and good. Humanly speaking, most people have believed in higher powers of some kind, but to believe in the God of the Bible -- the God of love, the God revealed in Jesus, the God in whom mercy and justice both find their origin and their completion – that is a harder task. We may sympathize with the apostles in our Gospel reading, as they cry out to Jesus their Lord: “Increase our faith!” 

It reminds me of another moment, too. In Mark 9, a desperate father brings his sick son to Jesus. He’s struggling, his son is ill, the apostles have not been able to do anything. The man is unsure if Jesus can help. 

Jesus seems a little put off by this. He says, “All things are possible to the one who believes.” It’s kind of a backhand slap: you come to me for help, and you’re not even sure I can do anything. 

The man is not discouraged. He cries out, “I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief.” 

Help my unbelief. 

This is honesty. I trust you, God, but there are parts of me that don’t trust. There are parts of me that think there is no plan, there is no hidden hand at work in the events of history, there is a part of me that fears it all means nothing, a part of me that fears that I am not adequate or strong enough to believe steadfastly, with enough conviction for it to make a difference. 

I believe, but Lord, “help my unbelief.” Increase my faith.

Increase my faith in your love. Increase my faith in your plan. Give me a little bit, a tiny bit more faith, faith the size of a mustard seed, a faith that may be small but it can move mountains. 

Give me the faith that your prophets had. Let me be like Habakkuk, standing tall upon the rampart and watching out for the Lord’s appearing. Give me faith like the Psalmist, that I may “be still” before you, and “wait patiently” for your salvation. Give me faith like St Paul, who relied “on the power of God” and “was not ashamed to suffer” and be put in chains for the sake of the Gospel. 

Give me that faith that lived in St Timothy, that lived first in his grandmother Lois and his mother Eunice, that faith which was stirred up by the prayers of the apostles, by the fellowship of the Church, that faith which rested upon the Scriptures, that faith that comes from the Spirit’s gift, the spirit “of power and of love and of self-discipline.” 
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Lord, increase our faith, and guard those treasures we entrust to you. Watch over our loved ones, guide the course of this wayward world, lead us to the future that you alone can see with clarity. 

Help us – and help “the whole world [to] see and know that things which were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new, and that all things are being brought to their perfection by him through whom all things were made, even Jesus Christ our Lord” (BCP, p. 515). 

We believe, Lord. Help our unbelief. “Increase our faith.

I am glad to be back at Emmanuel after some time away for vacation, and it is especially good to be back to celebrate a baptism. The Church always rejoices to welcome new members of God’s family. Today, in witnessing Cameron’s baptism and in joining with her, and her parents and godparents, in confessing the creeds and renewing our covenant with God, our own faith is strengthened. We need moments like this. It is easy to despair. It is easy to think we are alone in dealing with the problems of this world. But we are not. We are one body in Christ; we are of one Spirit; we share one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father.

That said, I have to admit, when I first looked at the scripture lessons for this Sunday, I didn’t think they were great readings for a baptism. What have we got today? “Hear this, you that trample on the needy…” I’m not sure Cameron can even trample on a bug, let alone engage in acts of devilish oppression. Then we’ve got: “Make friends for ourselves by means of dishonest wealth.” Ellen and Colin would probably be happy for Cameron to make friends, but this baby can’t even carry a wallet, so how is she going to shrewdly use any dishonest wealth? Even St Paul’s Letter to Timothy and its admonition to prayer…I just don’t think Cameron has yet had a chance to form any habits of prayer. Does she have a quiet time in the morning? How do our readings relate to her?

On the other hand, maybe these are great readings for a baptism, precisely because they treat adult themes. We already make serious vows and promises on behalf of helpless infants when we baptize them. This is in character with human life. Right now, Cameron is totally dependent on her parents, her wider family, her godparents, and today on the faith of the whole Church. Cameron did not get herself out of bed today; she did not feed herself, clean herself, clothe herself. She didn’t drive to Church; I’m not sure she could even walk down the middle aisle by herself, without falling or getting distracted. She’s a baby! We do everything for our young children. And today, we are making great commitments on her behalf. 

Colin, Ellen, Jenna, and Drew will renounce Satan on her behalf, along with all evil powers and sinful desires, and they will for her sake turn again to Christ in faith, love, and obedience. And we will vow to do all we can to support Cameron. We are making a big commitment today. 

If we can do all that on behalf of Cameron, maybe we can also listen to these hard Scriptures on her behalf, too, and think about them with her in mind. Because we are preparing Cameron for the fullness of Christian life. She has the honor and gift of living in this world as a child of God. And that means certain things about her life: how she offers her prayers, how she treats the weak and poor, and how she directs all the gifts and powers God has given her.
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To begin with, we are committing as a church to teach Cameron that she should offer prayer for everyone. “This is right and is acceptable in the sight of God our Saviour, who desires everyone to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth.” God’s love embraces all; God desires good for everybody, and so should we, offering “supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings.” 

And just as Cameron ought to learn to pray for everyone, she should also learn to look out for those who are in special need. Our reading from Amos reminds us of this fact. It described a situation of cartoonish villainy: I imagine a man with long fingers and a curly mustache standing in some shadowy lair, as Amos ventriloquizes, 

When will the new moon be over so that we may sell grain; and the sabbath, so that we may offer wheat for sale? We will make the ephah small and the shekel great, and practice deceit with false balances, buying the poor for silver and the needy for a pair of sandals, and selling the sweepings of the wheat.

Cartoonish or not, we all know that there is injustice and villainy in the world -- even at the grocery store. Not every increase in the price of vegetables, grain, or meat is justified. There were any number of studies a few years ago about companies taking advantage of an environment of high inflation to just bump up their prices a little more than was necessary, or (my favorite) reduce the number of chips or cookies in the bag in a practice of shrinkflation. Shrinkflation! (Isn’t the English language great?) These were small margins, of course, but we all felt them and the poor felt them most of all. 

I doubt these things will be on the mind of a little child, but one of the ways that children learn what is right and wrong is by observing what others accept or complain about -- what they value, what they fight against. And I should hope that we provide a model of a community that acts together in raising up the lowly, not trampling them. Our model of behavior is the Lord God in our Psalm: “who sits enthroned on high, but stoops to behold the heavens and the earth. He takes the weak out of the dust, and lifts up the poor from the ashes. He sets them with the princes, with the princes of his people.” This is not a vision of providing the poor with the bare necessities, but recognizing their innate dignity and making sure it is realized in time.

Cameron is more likely to believe those verses are true -- that God is good and a lifter of the poor -- if her community models the same character. So let us be good for Cameron’s sake.

And now, a few words about the Gospel. I have known a few clergy who refuse to preach on this parable of the dishonest manager, thinking it is beneath the dignity of our Christian calling to imitate such an example of shrewd but immoral stewardship. Preachers have complained about this unusual story since ancient times. But let me invite you to enter its world for a minute: imagine that you and I are stewards of someone else’s property. 

Everything around us belongs to God. We belong to God. Whatever is in our power is “on loan;” it’s only ours by divine allowance; we’re managers, not owners. And God will call us all to account for what we have done with his goods, his treasures, his people. 

Most of us will have had a moment where we recognized this truth. We suddenly knew we had squandered the gifts given to us. God’s charges rang out in our conscience, and we knew we had acted falsely.

The parable suggests that if you know this and if you know, too, that your time on this earth is limited, then you should use the means at your disposal to ease the burdens of those around you. The property on loan to you can do good for others. Your deeds and, yes, the wealth you control could do good for others. And those you help now might welcome you later, as the Gospels says; they might welcome you into their homes – not earthly homes, but the eternal heavens. 

In sermons from the early Church, preachers sometimes imagined this dynamic in direct and tangible ways, encouraging gifts to be given to the poor. Cast your coins into the hands of the needy, they’d say, lift the poor from the dust, and at the end, at the pearly gates, you’ll find those same hands stretching out to lift you. You’ll find smiling faces awaiting you, God’s angels and God’s poor ones made one and made together in heaven. A powerful thought to ponder, one that upends our typical view of the world -- an empowering thought for the needy upon whom our eternal destiny may depend.

For now, though, let us remember this little one who needs us, and ask the Lord for grace, that we may live for Cameron’s sake lives of prayer, goodness, and faith, being rich toward God and our neighbor. 

I have a good friend who is a pastor in Iowa City. He and I became friends in college, and our careers have run somewhat in parallel ever since. We were exchanging some messages recently, and I noted that it would soon be 100 days since I started here at Emmanuel. He said, “You should celebrate.” I may open a bottle of Champagne later this week and smoke a cigar. But I thought it might be nice to mark this milestone in some way here today, as well as talk about the future. Because it has been a full and exciting 100 days here with you, and we are just getting started. 

Let me lay out a few things I may not have said here in church, but I have articulated in the past to the search committee and vestry. First, I think the best days of our parish may lie ahead of us. We live in a time when it is common to lament the decline of the church and sigh wistfully for the glory days. I don’t accept that God is done with us; there is more that lies ahead. We worship the God who spoke through the prophets, through Isaiah, promising a bright future: 

If you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday. The Lord will guide you continually … you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail. Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in. 

Across time, every community goes through ups and downs, but the Lord who is present with us is faithful, good, and kind. And he promises great things. We should cherish our past; we must also look to the future with expectation.

A second thought: God is not interested in building up this or any church just for their own sake. Of course, it’s nice to have more people here. But we must take an interest in our neighbors. I mean that expansively. I’d invite you to ponder some questions in the coming weeks. How can Emmanuel and its people bless Champaign and Urbana? How can we make this county a place where God’s light shines? 

How do we help our brothers and sisters in the Diocese of Springfield, the wider Episcopal Church, the Anglican Communion? How can we be a blessing to this nation and the world? 

These things are not beyond the scope of a congregation like ours. Our church may take a central place in God’s purposes for the world, and his blessing upon us should inspire us to do more for one another and for those around us. The promises of God in our reading from Isaiah are promises of health, life, wholeness, and honor – but they are rewards promised to those who repair, who restore, who seek justice and the common good, who honor God and the freedom of his sabbaths, not in word only, but in deed and in truth.

Let us open our eyes wide and pray that God  shows us how he may use this congregation and all its members to bless and to serve. Renewal in church and society is always possible. And for this reason:

We are not working alone. God issues promises, God call us to labor, God also empowers us and animates us by a vision of his glory and kingdom. He promises to be near us. 

“Bless the Lord, O my soul,” say the Psalmist, “and forget not all his benefits.”

He forgives all your sins,
and heals all your infirmities.
He redeems your life from the grave
and crowns you with mercy and loving-kindness.
He satisfies you with good things,
and your youth is renewed like an eagle’s.

It is the Lord who helps us. 

It is easy to look at the future and be daunted. After all, what do we have to do here? 

Well, we need volunteers in essentially all our ministries: to take two examples, to help with hospitality; or to help with the nursery and children’s church, to raise up another generation. Were you to volunteer for that once a month, it would help immensely, and there are other ways, too. 

We have practical building works ahead. We need to engage in a program of improvements in the Great Hall, the kitchen, our children’s chapel, and essentially the whole Mowry Education Building. It will take intention, planning, and money. 

We need to do things to respond to the needs in our cities; we should do our part in healing our civic wounds and the lack of trust that characterize our politics. 

We are part of a shrinking diocese and denomination, both with their fair share of challenges, in a country where organized religion is failing. We live in an uncertain world, too. Everyday brings new surprises: some delightful, some deeply worrying. 

We could think about that list (or several others) and start to feel like it would be easiest to give up. And, I have to say, were it not for the promise of God I might counsel us to do so. But the Lord Jesus is present in our midst, with the same power, the same calling, the same summons as ever. 

Let me remind you of the true context, the true environment you are in when you enter the church, and when we consider what God call us to do. We have this day come, "to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to innumerable angels in festal gathering, and to the assembly of the firstborn who are enrolled in heaven, and to God the judge of all, and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect, and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel."

We are surrounded by innumerable helpers; we have drawn near to God himself; we are promised a kingdom that cannot be shaken. How can we refuse to answer God’s call?

The past 100 days have gone quickly. There’s been a lot of work behind the scenes. We are, Lord willing, laying the foundations for a wonderful and inspiring future. I give thanks to God for you, and I pray earnestly every day for the health and growth of this place. I hope you do the same; I urge you to do the same, and think how you may take a part in building our future together.

May the Lord grant us his blessing, guide us into the future he has promised, and help us to show forth his power and glory. In the name of the Father and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Reading before bed is a habit my mother instilled in me. It’s almost impossible for me to go to sleep without reading at least a few pages. So I keep a small stack of books by my bed: my prayer book and Bible, so I can read Compline or the Psalms; a book of poetry; a light novel; even some comic books or manga. But sometimes I want some serious non-fiction before bed, and a member of this congregation recently dropped off Christian Smith’s new book, Why Religion Went Obsolete: The Demise of Traditional Faith in America. It’s deeply insightful, and I have been recommending it to many people, though its contents cost me a sleepless night or two. 

It’s hard to think your way of life is obsolete.

The book traces a series of cultural changes that have taken place over the past two generations. One chapter called “Perfect Storms Converging” offers a whole series of explanations for why many people no longer attend religious services or affiliate with religions. There’s not just one reason; there are many.

Another chapter that really caught my eye was titled “Religion is Good When…” In it, Smith outlines the series of assumptions or expectations that most Americans have about religion, what they think religion is good for. This chapter should be required reading. 

Smith raises six general themes. On the basis of  survey data, Americans say believe religion is good when it teaches people morals (44-47), that “religion is good when it helps people cope with life, sustain a positive outlook, and feel calm, happy, affirmed, and encouraged” (48). “Religion is good when it fosters community, social cooperation, peace, and harmony” (50). “Religion is good when it provides societal models for basic moral integrity, decency, and honesty—” especially when religious leaders are themselves providing such good models (52). “Religion is good when it is moderate, not too weird, and certainly not fanatical or extremist” (54). Finally, “Religion is good when it strengthens America as a nation” (55). 

Now, as I read that chapter and considered that list, I saw a lot to agree with. The Christian faith does teach morals. It should help people cope. We do aim for peace, and think religious leaders should be models of integrity (though the way we pray constantly for that to be true suggests we think Episcopal leaders may need some special help).  Anglicans and Episcopalians have also generally thought religion should promote a degree of moderation and help bind together civil society. 

But three things struck me about this chapter: 

First, as Smith notes, there are crucial things missing in these expectations: like eternal salvation, union with God, fidelity to the Scriptures – actually most of things you might hear about at church.

Second, American expectations often make religion instrumental, as if people come to church to become good citizens or for the sake of family life or psychological wellness or to be successful. Our faith can often help with all of these things, but it’s not clear to me that they are the purpose of religion or even necessarily the sign of a religion’s goodness. Fidelity to God is more important than allegiance to any nation (our government could, after all, become corrupt: hard to believe, I know in this era in which Americans constantly accuse one another of epic betrayals of fundamental democratic principles). 

There are also times when our faith might call us to make choices that really don’t promote career success. And, then, there are aspects of our faith that just aren’t there to make us feel good or affirm our pre-existing beliefs and psychology or strengthen our family’s cohesion. 

The most serious thing I thought about this list of American expectations was that they fail the Jesus test. Jesus Christ himself might be screened out by what we want from religion. Because, just to take a few examples, Jesus was not moderate in his thinking. He could be weird. He seemed like a fanatic. And he did not always promote peace and harmony. We all heard his words in the Gospel today:

I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! … Do you think I came to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division. From now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three; they will be divided: father against son, and son against father, mother against daughter, and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law. 

Not peace, but division. How can this be?

Let us return to three things in our readings: justice, truth, and faithfulness. We can see how a focus on such things might be divisive. 

Take Psalm 82. In it, God appears as a just ruler, rendering judgment against other gods and, by extension, against the injustice of human life. He takes his stand in the council of heaven; he accuses; he demands an account:

How long will you judge unjustly, 
and show favor to the wicked?

Save the weak and the orphan; 
defend the humble and needy. 

Rescue the weak and the poor; 
deliver them from the power of the wicked.

God “takes his stand.” He has a position on matters of justice, right and wrong. Indeed, throughout the Old Testament, God continually takes a stand, and he has his prophets take a stand, calling out continually the sins of his people, particularly when they favor the powerful and rich over the weak and poor. This is hard; it can be divisive. No one wants their sins pointed out; no society enjoys having its hypocrisies named. But everyone and every society must hear God’s animating voice, even if shakes them. 

Similarly, fidelity or faithfulness might require looking weird, seeming extreme or fanatical. In our reading from the Hebrews, the author retells the story of faith. It is not a story of moderation. 

Time would fail me to tell of Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, of David and Samuel and the prophets, who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, obtained promises, shut the mouths of lions, quenched raging fire… They were stoned to death, they were sawn in two, they were killed by the sword; they went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, persecuted, tormented – of whom the world was not worthy. 

Fidelity required a harder road. It would have been easier -- it might even have promoted community cohesion -- for these religious heroes, these saints, to be a little more moderate, and less fanatical. 

I can hear the voices now: “Why get thrown into the lions’ den, Daniel? Just stop praying to your god.” 

“Why accept death at the hands of a tyrant? Who needs to be sawn in two?” Anyone of the early Christian martyrs could have been told; indeed, they were told to compromise: “Just burn a little incense to the emperor. It doesn’t mean anything.” 

Closer to our own time, I think of Jonathan Myrick Daniels, an Episcopal seminarian and civil rights activist, who was killed on August 20, 1965. You may know the story. He went down to Alabama as a non-violent protestor against Jim Crow policies. He was arrested at a protest in Fort Deposit, imprisoned, stranded in another town without transport. 

And when the group he was with was going into a convenience store to buy a cold drink -- so simple -- he had to step in front of a racist’s shotgun to save the life of Ruby Sales, a nineteen-year-old black student. 

Obviously Daniels made a series of choices to end up dead in Alabama. He could have stayed home. Why disturb the South’s peace? Daniels went down to Alabama because he believed in the justice of God; he believed that the truth of God demanded an end to segregation. Daniels went down and died to be faithful. He served a higher purpose, he sought a greater unity, a unity in the truth that all are created in God’s image. He burned with zeal for justice, burned with that fire Jesus came to bring. “How I wish it were already kindled!” 

The Word of God, the truth of God burns within all the saints. For, as the Lord said through the prophet Jeremiah, “Is not my word like fire, and like a hammer that breaks the rock in pieces?” 

“Let the one who has my word speak my word faithfully.”

Our faith has something to say about morals, about integrity. We aim for a peaceful society; we want all people to be well. Religion is often good for all these things, but it offers more than what the average American imagines. 
Our heavenly Father summons us to powerful acts of faithfulness, to deeds of justice. The Lord Jesus calls us to embody his truth in faithful lives. The Holy Spirit sets us ablaze with the fire of God.

That may sometimes require us to be uncomfortable; it may at times divide before it unites. It may cost us as individuals or even as a community. But it is a cost worth paying, if we are to come into the fullness of God’s kingdom. 

“We are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses,” those who went before us in faith. Inspired by them,

Let us also lay aside very weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God. 

“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.