A Christmas, Sword-Pierced Love ~ Luke 2:25-35 (A Sermon of love for those who are hurting this Christmas)

 

It’s funny how the Christmas season can involve two very different spirits at the same time. On one hand we have the joy of lights and laughter, the cookies, and the music—but for many of us, there’s another weight, a quieter one: the ache of an empty chair at the table, the dull heaviness of fear about the future, or the simple exhaustion of trying to hold everything together when life hasn’t gone according to plan.

If that’s where you are today—if you’re carrying something heavy—then Christmas is actually for you. Not the greeting-card Christmas, but the Gospel one. The Christmas that gives us Mary… and Simeon… and a God who enters the world not in glitter but in grief, not into a perfect Hallmark movie but into real human suffering.

Luke tells us that eight days after Jesus’ birth, an old man named Simeon entered the temple at what must have been a record-breaking pace for someone with arthritis and terrible eyesight. He didn’t know why. He just woke up with an ache—an urge—to get there. He just knew God wanted him to see something or someone.

He rushes into the temple courts, pushing past the crowds, mumbling a prayer under his breath, scanning every face. And then his eyes land on a poor couple holding a baby. Their clothes and sacrifice, reveal their poverty - just two turtledoves. That was the offering for families who couldn’t afford a lamb. But Simeon hardly notices any of that. Because the moment he sees them, something in him breaks open. He starts weeping, stumbling toward them. This… this is the One. The promise he has waited his whole life to see. And then this old man—with more boldness than manners—plucks the baby right out of Mary’s arms. And he sings:

“Then,” Luke tells us, “Simeon blessed them.” That word in Greek—eulogeo—means “to speak a good word.” It’s where we get eulogy. Except here it’s the dying man giving the eulogy to the living. Imagine Mary in that moment. Young. Tired. Poor. Brand new mom. Still unsure of what this calling means. And yet somehow… Simeon sees her. Along with declaring Jesus’ mission he blesses her. Speaks good words over her life.

 Friends, Simeon knows something we forget: Life is short and hard so bless while you can. Speak “good words” to others while you’re still alive.

This is where Mary becomes our model. She didn’t have everything together. She wasn’t powerful or wealthy or influential. She didn’t earn an honor but simply received a blessing—and offered a blessing – Jesus - to the world. That’s all any of us can do.

And I want to speak especially to those feeling weighed down this Christmas: Look for Simeons in your life who want to bless you. And let them. And if you’re one of the Simeons don’t underestimate the power you have to bless someone who feels as unsure as Mary and Joseph. Not with empty platitudes. Not with nostalgia. Not with comparisons. But with the kind of encouragement that points people to Jesus. With words that recognize their struggle, their calling, their need for hope. Good words. Truthful words. Healing words.

Church, we need more Simeons. We need people who bless instead of complain.
Who point to Jesus instead of pointing fingers. Who look at younger parents—exhausted, overwhelmed, trying their best—and say, “Jesus is the savior of all and you are lovely. You can do this. God is with you.”

But Simeon doesn’t stop with a blessing. He looks at Mary and Joseph—perhaps with tears still drying on his cheeks—and he offers a challenging definition of peace:

 

In other words: This baby will comfort you and this baby will disturb you. This baby will make things right and turn the world upside down. He will bring light and expose what’s hidden in the dark. He will inspire love and draw out our greed, our pride, our resistance. The peace this baby brings is not the absence of tension but the presence of justice. And this is where Christmas gets painfully real.

Friends, we love Christmas. We love the glow, the treats, the songs. But many of our Christmas songs are very soft-focus. Very sentimental. Very snow-globeish. They skip the hard parts of the story.

Mary didn’t get a soft-focus Christmas. Neither did Joseph. Neither did Simeon. Jesus was born into political turmoil, into poverty, into violence. And the songs Scripture gives us—the songs of Mary, Zechariah, and Simeon—aren’t sentimental at all. They talk about the proud falling, the poor rising, hungry people filled, powerful people dethroned, a Savior who will be opposed. They talk about the real world. And a real Savior. And a real peace – in all its joy and pain.

Which means this baby is not the kind of Messiah you and I would naturally choose. He doesn’t just join our team. He exposes what’s inside our hearts—the parts that love God and neighbor and the parts that resist  - our preference for a comfortable faith instead of a crucified one. Like Mary, we must become the kind of disciple who can stand at the foot of a cross because she first listened to the hard words at the foot of the cradle. “Peace on earth” and little bundled up blessings of God offer disruption and rejection as they bring true justice and real peace.  “Peace on earth” will bring you joy and bring you pain, will offer grace and entail rejection, will involve unconditional love in the face of incomprehensible hate. “Peace on earth” doesn’t invite us to stand-by but to stand against anything that doesn’t bring the blessing of God. I recently learned Martin Luther King Jr., recipient of the Noble Peace Prize, was arrested 29 times for non-violent, Christian activism. Most of those times he was charged with “disturbing the peace.” Let that vision of “peace” sink in.

 But Simeon isn’t done yet. He ends with the words no one wants to hear:

This is where the sermon touches the very heart of Christmas. Because some of you walked into church today loving Jesus with your own soul‐pain. You are carrying grief that others don’t see. You’re anxious. You’re lonely. You’re exhausted. You’re doing your best—and it still hurts. Mary suffered as a mother, as a believer, as someone who loved deeply and said “yes” to God. And friends, this is where Christmas meets us most honestly:

Being faithful doesn’t spare you from suffering. Loving Jesus deeply will cost you deeply. Love always does. Not because God is punishing you. Not because you failed. Not because you necessarily did something wrong. But because you’re doing it right in a broken world.

Christmas is a love story about a baby—yes. But a sentimental love won’t carry you through life - only a suffering-love, only a sword-pierced love will. God’s love is revealed in both the manger and the cross, and our love for Him is revealed not only in our comfort but also in our scarred hands and broken hearts. And the deeper the love, the deeper the ache.

I know many of you carry grief this season—grief for people you’ve lost, dreams that died, relationships that changed, plans that unraveled, politics that are painful. And maybe somewhere deep inside, a question whispers: “What did I do wrong?”

Simeon answers: “The sword in your soul is the cost of love, not the punishment for failure.” Mary shows us this. She lives love that hurts and heals at the same time. She models trust in a God who doesn’t protect her from suffering but who favors her and meets her inside of it. She models a faith that can bear confusion, heartbreak, waiting, and loss—and still carry good news, of great joy, for all people.

So here is my eulogy for you:
Like Mary, what you suffer for reveals what you truly love.
And more than that—
Like Mary, God can use your suffering . . .
To deepen you.
To restore you.
To make you more like Jesus.

To help bring true justice and peace to the world.
To draw you nearer than joy alone ever could.

You are a blessing. Life is hard. Faith can hurt. I know. But don’t be afraid of what this suffering says about you. Mary didn’t suffer because she did anything wrong… but because she did something beautifully right. Because she loved Jesus and loved others. Because she said “yes” to bearing a blessing. Friends, this Christmas—this “Mary Christmas”—let Mary show us the way. Say yes to God even when you don’t understand. Carry Jesus even when the weight feels heavy. Treasure every glimpse of God’s faithfulness. Stand at the cradle and the grave even when it breaks your heart. And trust that nothing—nothing—you suffer in love is ever wasted. And above all— receive the blessing of God. And give it freely away.

May this be a Mary Christmas:
A Christmas where you are blessed and give blessings away.
A Christmas where courage is born in you.
A Christmas where Christ enters your real life—your aching life— and stays.

Amen.

Mary Christmas!: Responding to God in the Real World ~ Luke 1:26-38

 

Imagine this: You’re driving, baking cookies, wrapping presents—Christmas music playing all around you. You’re not reading theology, but you’re singing it. Every carol is a mini sermon. But here’s the question—Who is Mary in our songs? What would you say? Or better yet—what would you sing?

Here’s the surprise: In 381 English Christmas carols, Mary shows up in only 27 percent. The shepherds and angels beat her. Even the late-arriving wise men almost get as many mentions! And when Mary does appear, it’s usually a quiet cameo—more about her body than her bravery.

Out of the top ten beloved carols—the ones pastors dare not skip—only three even mention her at all. Yet Mary herself once sang, “All generations will call me blessed” (Luke 1:48). But in many churches, she’s not “blessed” but overlooked, more porcelain figurine than courageous disciple.

That’s not the real Mary. The Mary of Scripture is authentic, thoughtful, curious, and brave. More Rosie the Riveter than silent statue. She wrestled with fear, asked hard questions, and still said “yes” to God.

For centuries, the Church called her the model believer—not because she was perfect, but because she shows us how to respond to God. So today, we’re going to walk with the real Mary—through honest anxiety, thoughtful reflection, curious questions, and courageous consent.

Mary experiences honest anxiety. ‘Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.’ But she was greatly troubled by his words . . .

“Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” And Mary was greatly troubled—not because an angel showed up, but because of Gabriel’s words. She knew what it meant to be favored by God. In Scripture, those favored by God—Noah, Gideon, Esther—were called to risk, disruption, and danger. Mary understood that “favored one” was a title offered by God on the other side of terror.

And Mary had every reason to feel afraid. In her world, an unexpected pregnancy wasn’t just awkward—it was dangerous. It could mean public shame, religious trial, and even death. Saying “yes” to God could cost her everything: her reputation, her safety, even her life (Deut. 22:23-24 – note the parallel phrasing with Luke 1:27).

If Mary wished to contest her guilt as a suspected adulteress, she could have experienced the law of bitter waters (Numbers 5). She would have been brought before the priest, required to let her hair hang down and under oath asked to drink a bitter mixture of dust, holy water, and the ink of the priest’s written curse. The curse involved the words: “may the LORD cause you to become a curse among your people when he makes your womb to miscarry and your abdomen swell.”

So she could have said “no” to Gabriel and protected her image. She could have stayed safe, stayed silent, stayed respectable. But she didn’t. She shows us that following God is not fantasy—it’s not neat, clean, or anxiety-free. Real faith is often messy and costly. It brings both great joy and great pain. Mary was the first person to accept Jesus on His own terms—before He was born, before He suffered and carried a cross, she suffered and carried one for Him.

Perhaps the best expression of her bravery is best said by Martin Luther: “How many came in contact with her, talked, and ate and drank with her, who perhaps despised her and counted her but a common, poor, and simple village maiden, and who, had they known, would have fled from her in terror?”

Is it any wonder that in Revelation’s retelling of the Christmas story, Mary is pictured shining like the sun, facing a dragon? Because Mary was not just afraid —she was brave. But Mary did more than that.

She expressed thoughtful reflection— “. . . and pondered what sort of greeting this might be.”

Mary didn’t rush to answer Gabriel; she took time to think. Scripture says she “pondered.” This wasn’t passive meditation—it was active reflection. She probably considered Scripture, the promises of God, and what it might mean for her role in God’s plan. She pondered her role in God’s story as a serious actor. She wasn’t simply a passive vessel but the first apostle – the first messenger of the gospel! No sooner does Gabriel return to God than Mary dashes off to Elizabeth to tell her the good news of Jesus. Mary is one of the first eye-witnesses and story-tellers of what God was up to. Luke reminds us in verse 2:19 that “Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.” Many scholars suggest that she is one of the critical eye-witnesses for Luke’s Gospel (1:1-4). She was the first teacher and the priest that mute Zechariah failed to be. That’s the interesting irony of Luke’s Gospel. He will allow no mansplaining. Men are either marginal to the birth-story or mute. They are not the leaders. Mary was. She wasn’t just a womb but a thoughtful voice, a critical composer of what would become the story we tell of Jesus. She had to rise above the negative stereotypes about women in her context to see herself as a critical thinker and contributor. Mary teaches us that faith is not just emotional—it involves deep thought, imagination, and reflection. The call of God is always worth pondering.

She also held curious questions. ‘How can this be, since I am a virgin?’

After pondering, Mary asks, “How can this be?” She doesn’t doubt God, but she seeks understanding. Unlike Zechariah, who asks, “How will I know?” Mary asks, “How will this work?” Her question comes from faith, not doubt. Mary as our example reminds us that committed Christians can asks hard questions of God’s word and God’s activity. People practicing faith in the real world can feel free to ask real questions to God and one another like “how?” and “why are things this way?”

She refuses to skirt the obvious problems of biology – but addresses it head on. Her deep faithfulness does not gloss over the real challenges. So the mother of our Lord gives us critical advice if we are going to be faithful responders to God’s word: Question authority. Such questioning is not disloyalty and does not lead to disqualification. An unquestioning faith will rarely give birth to the work of God. Mary’s importance has been modeled and expressed by many women. The 19^th century women’s right’s advocate and evangelical Christian Sojourner Truth who was also willing to ask curious questions to question authority. In a famous speech titled, “Ain’t I a Woman” (speaking at a woman’s rally in 1851), Sojourner said, “Then that little man in black there, he says women can't have as much rights as men, 'cause Christ wasn't a woman! Where did your Christ come from?,” she asked. “Where did your Christ come from? From God and a woman! Man had nothing to do with Him.”

Finally, she offered courageous consent. Then Mary said, ‘Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.’

To honor Mary we need to let her define herself. She hears about God’s plan and her critical part in it and then has the courage to call herself “servant” and not “queen.” That, in and of itself, might be the best revelation of why God picked her in the first place. Her specialness wasn’t a title to be proclaimed but a humble sacrifice to make. I’d like to think that Mary would agree with Dorothy Day who once said, “Don’t make me a saint. I don’t want to be dismissed that easily.” Her obedience wasn't blind—it was thoughtful, informed, and brave. She was truly afraid, didn’t know how everything that would unfold, but she trusted the One who called her.

Friends, Mary was the first person to accept Jesus on His terms—regardless of the cost. Christmas is not just about baby Jesus in a manger—it’s about Mary’s response, and our response, to God’s radical invitation. God is still speaking. God is still looking for willing partners, favored ones. And maybe, this Christmas, He is calling you to your own Mary Christmas moment—to say, “Here am I. Let it be with me according to Your word.” So this season, don’t just say “Merry Christmas.” Say “Mary Christmas”—and let it mean an honest, thoughtful, curious, courageous “yes” to God. Amen.