Author Cole Arthur Riley reflects on how the incarnation of Jesus in Mary invites us to radically embrace our own embodiment:
I have often wondered if Mary, even with full knowledge and proclamation of the glory of her womb, felt shame for it. As her body changed and belly grew, did she question if it was worthy to hold the divine?… Or did she see her flesh for what it was—holy? Weak, powerful, human, and holy.
For me, the story of God becoming body is only matched by God’s submission to the body of a woman. That the creator of the cosmos would choose to rely on an embodied creation. To be grown, fed, delivered—God put faith in a body. In Mary’s muscles and hormones, bowels and breasts. And when Christ’s body is broken and blood shed, we should hold in mystery that first a woman’s body was broken, her blood shed, in order to deliver the hope of the world into the world.
We are remarkably material beings. When we speak of bearing the image of God, I believe no small part of that is a physical bearing. You may have heard it said, “You don’t have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body.” I’m not sure exactly where this notion came from, but the sentiment survives. Many of us, in pursuit of the spiritual, become woefully neglectful of the physical. We concern ourselves with a doctrine of salvation that is oriented around one underlying hope: heaven. And our concepts of heaven are often disembodied—a spiritual goal to transcend the material world eternally….
Our tales of Christian escapism lead us to the place where the physical is damned and the immaterial is gloried. Where the only holy things are invisible. How could you expect me to believe this when I’ve met a God who drank from the breast of his creation? [1]
Riley offers this Advent prayer, reminding us to honor experiences of our own helplessness:
God of the womb,
It is not lost on us that you submitted to the body of a woman, trusting in it to protect and grow you. As we remember the nine months you dwelt in the womb, the body of God being nurtured and carried, remind us that our own bodies are worthy of such care and tenderness. May this be a season of sacred pause, as we allow time to be near to our own bodies, to protect and strengthen them. In a world that demands so much of us, remind us that Christ did not come to us in physical independence, allowing the world to take and use him without limitation. Show us the face of the Christ who was gravely dependent, who needed to be held, fed, washed. Who needed to be soothed and rocked to sleep. If we are to honor the divine in us, may it be this divinity—fully embodied, fully dignified in the body. Amen.
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From Nadia Bolz Weber
A Short Christmas Message I’m Offering Today Inside The Denver Women’s Prison
Years ago I was part of a church that had what was called a “Living Nativity”. A manger was set up in the parking lot, complete with straw and some live animals from a local farm. Members of the church would take 30 minute shifts standing there dressed as Mary, Joseph, shepherds or wise men, and folks from town would drive by for a look.
One year I was inside helping with costumes when a 6 year little boy came in from his shift. I said “Hey Tommy, how’d you like being a shepherd in the living nativity?” “It was ok, I guess” he replied, “but next year, I think I want to be a pirate”
You know, the pirate who was at the birth of our Lord.
Since the Christmas stories from Luke and Matthew that we just heard are so different from each other, it can be hard to keep track, but I’m pretty sure there was not a pirate mentioned.
I actually love that we have two different accounts of what happened that first Christmas. They both have their charm and their own power. But this year for some reason, I’ve not spent much time in those stories, they don’t have the same draw as they have before. I’ve mostly been drawn to the Christmas story in John. There’s no manger or angels in that one just these mystical verses:
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in darkness, and the darkness has not overpowered it…
And the Word became flesh and lived among us and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.
It is this story about the birth of Christ that I couldn’t stop thinking about on Saturday – because Saturday was the Winter Solstice, the very longest night of the year. And man did I feel it. These short days and long night are brutal. And I know being in prison is brutal and being in prison on Christmas is brutal. Raise your hand if this is the first Christmas you’ve been down. Please know that there are women here who know how to get through Christmas in prison and do it sober and without hurting yourself or anyone else. Raise your hand if you have done this before and can support women who are struggling. Look around.
I know today can be rough and that you miss your parent and children and grandchildren. And nothing I can say from this pulpit can change that.
But last Saturday night in the darkness of the longest night, these words from John were on repeat in my head: A light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overpowered it.
This is the thing about light my friends, even the tiniest bit of light scatters the deepest darkness. It never happens the other way around. Never. Darkness has no effect on light. Darkness cannot touch it, cannot extinguish it, cannot do a thing to it.
This is all I have to say to you this Christmas. What happened the night Christ was born over 2,000 years ago and 6,877 miles away is still visible. Like a star.
If you remember how the story goes, they tried to kill him and it didn’t work. They arrested him, put him on trial (didn’t even have an overworked PD to defend him), they beat him, stripped him, mocked him, killed him and put him in a grave and even then the light still shone. He rose from the tomb shining bright as ever.
What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.
Darkness thinks it’s so clever, doesn’t it…thinks it’s so powerful. But compared to the light of Christ, It ain’t shit. Not really.
If there is anything I want you to hear this Christmas it’s that.
A light shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot overpower it.
A light shines in this world and this world cannot overpower it.
A light shines in you and you cannot overpower it.
A light shines in your depression and your depression cannot overpower it.
A light shines in ¹ad seg and ad seg cannot overpower it.
A light shines in the Colorado Department of Corrections and the Colorado Department of Corrections cannot overpower it.
Merry Christmas, beautiful children of God. May the light of Christ scatter the darkness in your hearts and minds. Even if it doesn’t feel like it, may you remember that the days are getting longer now. And as always, may your soul feel its worth.
Amen.
Pass this on to someone you think would dig it:
