In 2017, during the senate hearings for approval of Jeff Sessions’ appointment Attorney General, Senator Elizabeth Warren protested. She did so by reading a letter from Coretta Scott King written in 1986, opposing the appointment of Jeff Sessions as federal district court judge.  Part of this letter read “Mr. Sessions has used the awesome power of his office [as United States Attorney for the Southern District of Alabama] to intimidate and chill the free exercise of the ballot,” in particular targeting “elderly black citizens.” Senator Warren was reprimanded for reading this letter as part of her protest, but continued reading. Eventually Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell of Kentucky interrupted her and set in motion Senator Warren’s eventual silencing for the duration of the confirmation hearings for Mr. Sessions. After this, Mitch McConnell said, “She had appeared to violate the rule. She was warned. She was given an explanation. Nevertheless, she persisted.” 

These words quickly became a catchphrase that women, and people in general, all over the USA, and even the world, began using to further their causes. A fabulous organization, Nevertheless She Preached, was founded later in 2017 in Waco, Texas by queer women pastors who protested the lack of women in Baptist colleges and seminaries--and in the pulpit. The word “nevertheless,” resonated and continues to resonate now.

And it is this word that grabbed my attention as Dr. Wilda C. Gafney used it in the Year W translation of Genesis 17:15-22. In the process of walking and talking with God, Abraham is told that his elderly wife, at age 90 well beyond her childbearing years, will conceive and give birth to a son, and name him Isaac. This construction of annunciation of pregnancy and naming of the special child is one we are familiar with in Luke 1, “and his name shall be called…” 

But Abraham doesn’t believe God so easily. He laughs--as Sarah does when listening to the visitors who predict her pregnancy a few verses later. Abraham also recalls his son Ishmael, born to Sarah’s slave Hagar, and who we heard about from Pastor Tim last week. Abraham probably thought that Ishmael was the child through whom God’s covenant with Abraham’s family would be achieved--remember that, in Genesis 15 God promised that Abram’s descendants would be as numerous as the stars. And so as Abraham talks to God, he wishes that Ishmael would be blessed by God. God’s response? “I have heard you,” God says, and shares a plan for caring for Ishmael. 

Here in Genesis 17, God again converses with Abraham, repeating that Abraham and Sarah will have children, thus fulfilling the covenant. Even though God has told Abraham this recently (only 3 chapters ago!), Abraham has reasons why that is preposterous. 

“But I am too old! But Sarah is too old! But what about Ishmael?” But, but, but…

I am always looking for places in the Bible where we are reminded that the characters in the Bible are human--and here is Abraham, doing just that. I wonder if you have ever responded to a situation how Abraham responds in this scripture? I know I have. “But, but, but,” he says in response to God’s declaration of blessing on his wife and family. Are there not always many reasons why something is not possible? Aren’t there always so many reasons not to do something? So many excuses we can find why we ourselves do not have to behave a certain way or show up for something or care? 

During times of stress and uncertainty in our lives, it can be tempting for us to give in to despair, to resign ourselves to hopelessness and helplessness. When we are used to being in control or being knowledgeable or privileged, we can be shaken by an experience that is new, or unknown, or different than expected. We may feel confused, or anxious, or hurt, or sad, or angry. When confronted with stressors, a negative nelly voice may speak louder than our internal voices of grace, generosity and kindness. That voice may ask indignantly, “Why be curious? Why wonder? Why learn? Why even try? I know how this story ends.” Friends, that narrative can be hard to counteract.

But in comes God, saying, “Nevertheless…”, inviting us to wonder at what Love can do. 

And wonder we must. Experiencing wonder is part of the beauty of being human. Whether it is an inspiring view of the star-studded velvety expanse of the night sky or the zoomed-in-close-up observation of a caterpillar winding itself into a cocoon in the process of becoming its true self or the bubbling delight of laughing with loved ones; when we wonder, we experience some kind of awe, some kind of out-of-my-depth-but-in-the-best-way feeling. We wonder when the end is unwritten, the future is undefined, when there are possibilities that we haven’t even known we could imagine. 

On this second Sunday in Advent, we read these texts full of wonder. Dr. Gafney says in her commentary on Mary’s visit to Elizabeth that Elizabeth’s question is nearly inarticulate, a literal translation being “and from where this to me,” “in keeping with the joyful shock of the passage.” And is not Abraham also confronted with joyful shock, as he is prompted to laugh? And when we read about Sarah’s giggles in the next chapter as she overhears the three visitors predicting her pregnancy, is that not also joyful shock expressing itself? 

The joy is easy to understand--a special messenger from God declaring miraculous pregnancies that will have cosmic effects! I’m sure each of you can think of some times of pure joy that remain in your heart long after the moment has passed. In my 3 and a half years in ministry with you, I think of the joy of hearing faith journeys shared, of wondering in Godly Play, of serving burgers to our neighbors, of assembling donation kits for families in need, of playing Say Anything and Apples to Apples, of praying together and singing together and being moved and inspired by guest preachers, of roasting marshmallows and telling silly stories and building snow-people. Take a moment to yourself to hold a moment of joy in your heart. 

 But the shock is part of the wonder of these stories as well. We feel shocked when something defies our expectations in a radical way, or when we are struck unable to process the gravity of an event that is completely unexpected. And shock is not always good, of course; we know that from living in this world full of pain and violence and horror. So where is the shock in these stories? I know Sarah’s story has shocked readers over the years, particularly women of color who have identified so closely with Hagar, who we heard Dr. Gafney and Dr. Renita Weems’ perspectives on last week. And perhaps Elizabeth’s Magnificat, her song of praise, has shocked readers over the years. That’s because Elizabeth’s song of praise recalls scriptures that tell the stories of Jael and Judith, women in scandalous situations: attempted assault, assignation, seduction and murder. Dr. Gafney writes, “Mary’s own pregnancy is scandalous, hinting at sexual infidelity. Elizabeth’s words provide transgenerational support and comfort.” 

Into a space of joyful shock, of cautious optimism, a wondrous moment of solidarity and comfort enters, shared between two women in extraordinary circumstances. A young woman’s situation is witnessed by her elder relation, and her story is known at such a deep, cellular level that the truth of God’s greatness shines forth. The miraculous callings that God has placed upon these women’s lives unite them not only with each other, but situates them in the lineage of God’s covenants with women whose purposes outstrip their reproductive capacity. This lineage includes Sarah, whom God included in the covenant with Abraham, as well as Hagar (who we encountered last week), and the mother of Samson and also Hannah, who we will encounter in the weeks to come. The stories of women and the solidarity that spans generations provides a powerful witness to God’s attention to women’s experience and the importance of sharing stories to people who are disenfranchised by the human power structures of their time and place. 

I love this quote from author Sue Monk Kidd about the power of storytelling and the wonder of meaning created in witnessing each other’s stories. In The Dance of the Dissident Daughter: A Woman’s Journey from Christian Tradition to the Sacred Feminine, Sue Monk Kidd writes, 

“The truth is, in order to heal we need to tell our stories and have them witnessed...The story itself becomes a vessel that holds us up, that sustains, that allows us to order our jumbled experiences into meaning. As I told my stories of fear, awakening, struggle, and transformation and had them received, heard, and validated by other women, I found healing. I also needed to hear other women's stories in order to see and embrace my own. Sometimes another woman's story becomes a mirror that shows me a self I haven't seen before. When I listen to her tell it, her experience quickens and clarifies my own. Her questions rouse mine. Her conflicts illumine my conflicts. Her resolutions call forth my hope. Her strengths summon my strengths. All of this can happen even when our stories and our lives are very different.” 

How we tell stories matters. I will always think of the incredible TED talk by Nigerian author Chimimanda Ngozi Adichie about the “danger of telling single stories,” and, conversely, the importance of seeking multiple sides to any story in order to understand the context and complexity. Single stories share only one perspective, only one narrative, that can be easily bent into stereotypes. But what happens when we witness the stories of others, when we take two or three or four strands of stories or memory and braid them together, as women like Mary and Elizabeth were doing, claiming their place in the lineage of God’s covenant promises? A wondrous thing happens. No longer does one story dominate, but multiple perspectives are honored, even, and especially the experience of people on the margins. 

A single story we see threaded through the entire Bible is the single story about women’s reproductive capacity. Dr. Gafney warns us that “underlying annunciation stories is a reading that valorizes women chiefly for fertility and treats them as little more than incubators.” And we can understand that reading, when we think about how people in power, particularly men in power in the Church, have been the chief interpreters of scripture for the last two thousand years. To further this point, we can think of the children whose conception and birth receive divine announcements--they are all male children! 

But even though these texts have been read for hundreds of years, even two thousand years and more, through the single story of utilizing women for their reproductive capabilities and centering the miraculous male offspring they birth, God says “nevertheless.” And the Holy Spirit moves in the words we receive through Dr. Gafney to illuminate a new reading of these old, old stories for us to contemplate. When we choose what Dr. Gafney calls a “transgenerational reading” of the Scripture, a more equitable and sensitive message can be found than glorifying a human only because of their reproductive organs. In a transgenerational reading, we receive a story that “all who produce and nurture children participate in God’s work in the world and are recipients of the promise of God’s care and keeping.” 

In this Advent season where we so often can struggle to find a quiet place for waiting amongst the hustle and bustle of all that needs to be done, all the transitions in our lives and in our church, preparing for holidays, continuing to deal with the ongoing collective trauma of living through a global pandemic, hearing the news of more school shootings and refugee crises and threats against bodily autonomy in the highest court in the land...nevertheless, we are called to slow down, to rest in wonder. To take a moment to be filled with awe at the stunning creativity of God. We can spare a moment to take in all that comes with the surprise, to be delighted by the remarkable. We are called to laugh with Abraham and Sarah, to be totally overwhelmed by God’s joy. We are called to rejoice with Mary and Elizabeth as they express their solidarity with each other through seeking comfort and understanding together. We are called to reject single stories but weave together the strands of experience and narrative and witness to birth a message that moves us forward, living into our identity as part of God’s beloved family. 

Though there be obstacles, and silencing and censure. Though there is the possibility of scandal, lack of preparedness, or threats of violence. Though around us we hear naysayers and harsh critiques and denial of curiosity. Though the beautiful complexity of all we are is too often reduced into one single story. Nevertheless, God’s extravagant love and grace abound...and cannot be stopped. And I close with a thought from Dr. Gafney, “these texts call us to attend to our place in this lineage, this family, this community, this people, and prepare for the return of this holy child who will complete the work of reconciliation and restoration.”

May it be so. 

Amen.