Wonderfully Made

Coming home: The visitation of Mary to Elizabeth

In the eaves of my horse’s stable, every year a swallow returns from Africa and finds her way back into the small opening between the same two beams. There she builds her nest and hatches out her young. Sometimes one clutch, sometimes two. No journey is too long when you are coming home.

Home is where you belong - your shelter and place of rest. The place where you can be yourself and be known for who you are. The very word speaks to us of our deepest longing to belong, to be accepted, and known. It may be a geographical place (Beverley in East Yorkshire would be my geographical place), or a relational belonging (this weekend I found myself in a context where I felt known and could be myself and extraordinarily - really extraordinarily - I found myself dancing. Please note I NEVER dance - ever! It was possible only because of that relational belonging - and it came from a place deep within). Home, I suspect, is where all human beings yearn to be.

At her time of challenge, Mary returned to a place where she could be understood, accepted, and believed. In fact she went to the only place where that was possible; to her cousin Elizabeth, who would certainly believe her and whose story she shared. They had so much to ponder together. There was so much to come to terms with. Fear, loss, shame, trust, meaning, God whose call disrupts... Elizabeth alone could understand. And they had three months together, the younger woman in her first trimester and her older cousin in her last trimester. I like to imagine how they talked in those three months, perhaps sitting in the shade, Elizabeth heavily pregnant, Mary with it all to come, sharing their stories, praying, learning how God works, making sense of it all, and strengthening each other for the times to come. All of this takes time... The text indicates that Mary was there for the birth too.

But our passage focuses on Mary’s arrival. As Mary arrived there was a leap of recognition; a joyous leap from the very depths of Elizabeth’s body.

The child in her womb, John the Baptist, whose call was always to point away from himself to Jesus, recognises him now as very God of very God. A baby who has no language, no agency, yet is so much aware of the very presence of God.

And his response is with his whole being, from the very depths of who he was in response to the encounter with Christ. He leaps and dances with his whole being.

This is vocation - the leap of the heart as deep calls to deep (as the psalmist puts it) where our deepest need meets God’s all-sufficient presence. This is communion with God - where we are known and filled and completed. ‘Lord you have searched me out and known me. You search out my paths, you hem me in behind and before and lay your hand upon me, For it was you who formed my inward parts, you knitted me together in my mothers womb...' (Ps 139). Neither child has verbal language but holiness and response are of a deeper language than human words.

It is this call and response that makes up who we are as baptised Christians, deacons, priests, bishops, theologians, human beings. We do not just do a job or play a role, we are animated by that call of the deep that makes our hearts leap again. And it is to this that we need to return, time and again, and especially at the time of challenge. Here is the place where we are known fully, and understood, hemmed in above, below and all around by the love of our maker. Here is our home where we are indeed the beloved.

And maybe we forget it sometimes as the years go by, and the machinations of the system wear us down, and the sheer demands of it all exhaust us, and the human frailty of all those who make up God’s gloriously messy church demoralises us, and the inherent tensions of a broad church make us question, ‘do I belong here any more? Is there still a place for me? Can this be home?' (Church can be a cruel place). And we feel the burden each night of the people we have failed this day as we try to fulfill an impossible job description. And the international and global tragedies seem too big and too heavy. Surely there are challenges all around us. Just look and see.

And in these times we are invited to turn again. To return to the place where we are known for who we are. To journey back again to that animating encounter with God where the depths of God's heart speak to the depths of our heart and we remember our foundational call. That call to which we said ‘yes’, with Mary. And then our hearts leap again within us as we allow God to re-member us - to put us back together again. And we, who no longer have any or words to say, may hear Christ's voice, that gentle call to us. “Yes my child, even you.especially you, beloved. For I formed you in the womb and knew you through and through. And I call you over again to be mine.”

And like the little swallow creeping back between the beams, we will know that we have truly come home, and that the journey was indeed worth it.

Amen.