A Mother’s Voice

Grace to you and peace from God our Creator, from our Risen Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ and from our Sustainer, the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

A Poem by Madeleine Mysko*

“Swaddling”

 mailed to me in 1969, all the way out

to San Antonio, the first year

of my marriage, when I was so sick

with the crushing loneliness that came

of telling no one in the world

how really miserable I was.

Advent, and I’m taking them one

by one from inside the crumbling

cardboard stable, unwrapping them:

the chipped plaster Mary and Joseph,

the shepherds and sheep, the one cow.

Last of all, the baby in the manger:

as plump as he’s represented in paintings

by Raphael, but so small I can close

my fingers over him, make him disappear.

His eyes are closed, him mouth a dot of

red paint. He’s lying naked on the sculpted

straw, except for one stroke of white

across his middle-perfuntory, not like

real swaddling, but think of the loincloths

artists provide, depicting the crucifixion.

Arms outstretched, one chubby foot

fixed to the other ankle:

so dear, but also so exposed.

So dear, but also so exposed.  So out-there. So forth-right. So fearless. So sure. So courageous. So confident. So clear.  The voice of one crying out in the wilderness.  A voice not hiding in the shadows.  A voice not muffled by walls.  A voice not stifled by tradition. A voice not content with the familiar.  Rather – a voice out there in the world, a voice crying out in the wilderness.  The prophet Isaiah hears the voice hundreds of years ahead of time, “See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way; the voice of one crying out in the wilderness.”  The voice of one crying out in the wilderness.

The wilderness was the brand-spanking new Blanche Ames elementary school in Easton and the time was last Tuesday evening.  It is a stunning, new, fabulous, state-of-the art school, but for many it may have been the first time they set foot in this unknown place – this wilderness.  About 60 people gathered for the first in a series of community meetings. 

The Diversity, Equity, Inclusion and Accessibility meetings aim to foster dialogue and understanding within our community.  Gathered in this wilderness, were parents, teachers, school board members, community leaders, concerned citizens and clergy (it was wonderful to sit with my colleague, Rabbi Ken Carr).  In this wilderness were two hosts of the meeting, Dr. Lisha Cabral, Superintendent of Easton Public Schools and Carols Perez, the new Director of Diversity, Equity, Inclusion and Accessibility for the school systems. 

In this wilderness, there were many great presentations by the hosts of what is being done to foster diversity, equity, inclusion and accessibility in the school system. There were detailed explanations of what processes are in place to deal with discrimination and prejudice. There were great talking points about what to do in various scenarios of unacceptable behavior.  Yet throughout the hour and a half meeting there was, for me, one voice crying out in the wilderness.  There was one voice in that wilderness who was a messenger, who was preparing us for what is real. 

A mother stood up to tell the story of her child who was being bullied in school because of the color of his skin. She described what it was like for her child to be the object of hate, and in fact, to such a degree that she is considering pulling her child out of the Easton public school system.

Remember the words at the end of the poem I read?  Last of all the baby in the manger… Arms outstretched, one chubby foot/fixed to the other ankle:/so dear, but also so exposed.

So dear, but also so exposed.  Yes, the baby Jesus in the manger.  Yes, John the Baptist in the wilderness. Yes, the mother at the gathering. So out-there. So forth-right. So sure. So courageous. So confident. So clear.  The voice of one crying out in the wilderness.  A voice not hiding in the shadows.  A voice not muffled by walls.  A voice not stifled by tradition. A voice not content with the familiar. The prophet Isaiah hears the voice hundreds of years ahead of time, “See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way; the voice of one crying out in the wilderness.”  The voice of one crying out in the wilderness for her child. Is anyone listening?

Is anyone listening?  Do you hear her voice?  Do you hear her courage yet at the same time her fear – fear for her child?  This mother chose to leave the comfort of her home. This mother chose to be in the wilderness of strangers. This mother chose to tell her own story and her child’s story in a room already filled with words – so many words. 

Like John the Baptist, this mother chose to speak truth to power and in so doing charted an unsure path.  By leaving Jerusalem and the hustle and bustle of the city, John the Baptist chose to leave behind that which was familiar.  By getting out into the desert wilderness, he gave up what was safe.  He chose to speak truth to power in an unknown, unfamiliar place because that, according to St Mark is where the Spirit of God is found. That is where Jesus, too spent his time – on the edges, on the fringes, with the marginalized, with the outcasts, with those who are judged by the color of their skin, for the bullied, for those who become mere objects of hate by the fearful majority.

Mark begins his gospel – chapter 1, verse 1, which is our text for today – in a very deliberate, intentional, emphatic way.  “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”  It is all about good news.  From the very beginning of Mark’s gospel to the very ending of Mark’s gospel, it is all about good news. And that good news, Mark states clearly, in the story of John the Baptist, is found on the edges of everything.  The good news is found beyond the boundaries of where we think God is supposed to be – in the margins, on the sidelines, away from the crowd, apart from the familiar.

From the prophet, Isaiah, “Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God.  Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term.”  I believe those were the words God spoke to the mother to prepare her for that meeting in the wilderness. In the midst of the unknown, in the wilderness of that gathering, the Spirit of God prepared her, comforted her, and gave her the power of her voice – God’s voice of justice, of mercy, of truth.  She is saying to all listening, “Do you hear the pain my child knows?  Do you hear how hate is hurting my child?”  “Comfort, O comfort this mother, says our God. Speak tenderly to her and assure her that she speaks the word of God.” 

How is the Spirit of God comforting you during this Advent season? Comforting you not for the sake of being comfortable, but comfort for the sake of building you up, strengthening your spirit, empowering you to speak up on the behalf of the suffering – comfort for the sake of giving you a voice to speak out and act on behalf of the marginalized?  Comfort for the sake of giving you the power to share the good news. 

Every step you take alongside those who suffer is the power of God.  Every bit of food or clothing or medicine given to the stranger is the power of the resurrected Lord.  Every moment of compassion expressed to a stranger is the power of the Holy Spirit. Every expression of gratitude to those who give is the power of God. Every embrace of those who are hated and every embrace of those who hate is the power of the resurrected Jesus.  Every measure taken to save an ailing planet is the power of the Holy Spirit.  Every act of kindness is the power of the Good News. Every act of justice is the power of the Resurrected Son of God.

Comforted by the Spirit of God and empowered by the Risen Savior, our collective voice as the people of God, as the church, promises that no child, no one will ever again be judged by the color of their skin.  That is what it means to be living as Easter people. 

But how?  How in the world can we doing anything about such hate? We start by coming to the altar, falling on our knees and receiving the gift of bread and wine, the gift of Jesus himself, the gift of the power to change the world. Amen.

*”Swaddling” by Madeline Mysko     The Christian Century     December, 2023

Gospel

The Gospel of Mark does not begin with a story of Jesus’ birth but with the voice of one crying out in the wilderness: Prepare the way of the Lord.

The Holy Gospel according to St. Mark, the 1st chapter.

Glory to you, O Lord.

¹The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.
 ²As it is written in the prophet Isaiah,
 “See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,
  who will prepare your way;
 ³the voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
  ‘Prepare the way of the Lord,
  make his paths straight,’ ”
⁴John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. ⁵And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. ⁶Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. ⁷He proclaimed, “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. ⁸I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

The Gospel of our Lord.   Praise to you, O Christ.