We are Called Forward
What Mary teaches us in this moment is not simply how to say yes to God, but where to go after we say yes. As soon as the angel leaves, Mary does not stay alone with her fear.
Excerpt of “We are Called Forward,” preached on December 14, 2025
Luke 1:26-39 | Jeremiah 1:4-10
One of my favorite parts of this time of year as we draw closer to the Incarnate coming are gatherings — large and small. Some of them I love going to and others we do out of obligation. There’s always a balance of the two and typically a fine line between them at times. The Advent season can be a lonely season — full of darkness, with little hope to break through. It can also be this festive season where joy is visible everywhere we look, and then we’re left feeling disconnected in some way — where we’d be okay with one less thing to do in order to sip some hot tea while we work on a puzzle.
It’s also a season that is full of interruption. Plans get canceled at the last minute due to weather or illness, the phone rings and our day changes in an instant, or we deal with traffic delays and miss the family dinner completely. There are so many dynamics in such a short window of time. It’s chaos in so many ways — and year after year, we arrive at Advent and there’s something about it that draws us in, and so we enter into it.
Our scripture readings this morning were two call stories that are paired together in a unique way. Mary and Jeremiah are not the typical pairing that I would have anticipated. Yet, they are two young people who are called to do something daunting and rather than God giving in and moving on to someone else. Instead, the promise is given: “Do not be afraid, for I am with you.” I believe God’s presence and God’s promise is what it is that invites us into this season year after year after year. Don’t we long for that? Isn’t God’s presence worth the wait? That’s what makes Advent so special, the promise of being present with Christ incarnate.
What Mary teaches us in this moment is not simply how to say yes to God, but where to go after we say yes. As soon as the angel leaves, Mary does not stay alone with her fear. She does not try to manage it privately. She does not retreat into isolation or shame. Scripture tells us she hurries to Elizabeth. She moves toward someone who can hold the weight of her story, someone who will not minimize her fear or question her calling, but will meet her with blessing.
That raises an important question for us — not just as individuals, but as a congregation: who is our Elizabeth? When fear unsettles us, when God’s call feels too large or too costly, who do we run to? Who is the person — or the place — where our fear is met not with skepticism or fixing, but with blessing? Who recognizes the holy thing God is doing in us even when we are still trembling?
For some of us, the hardest part of all of this is admitting that we do not currently have an Elizabeth. We have learned to be self-reliant. We carry our fear quietly. We assume we need clarity before we seek community. But the gospel tells a different story. The prodigal son practices his speech, convinced he must earn his way back — but before he can finish a sentence, he is embraced. Blessing comes before explanation. Welcome comes before worthiness.
So hear this clearly: If you do not have a place you can run when you are afraid, may this church be that place for you.
And for those who call this church home, may we have the spirit of Elizabeth within us — the wisdom to recognize when God is at work in someone else’s trembling yes, and the courage to speak blessing before certainty.
Advent reminds us that fear is not the opposite of faith. Often, fear is the very place where faith begins. Mary’s fear was not something to overcome; it was the sacred space where heaven met humanity, where divine calm encountered human frailty, and something new was born. That is still how God works, and that is how God works in us.
So as we move forward — into another week of Advent, into another year of calling, into a world that often feels uncertain and frightening — we do not go alone. We go together. We go toward blessing. We trust that even in our fear, God is calling us forward. May your fear not be dismissed, but transformed into holy attentiveness. May we recognize those moments when heaven meets our humanity, and may we have the courage to take the next faithful step. And when you are afraid, may you know where to run, and may we be the kind of people others can run to — to find welcome, blessing, and the promise that no word from God will ever fail. Amen.