Day 6 - The Conclusion of The Journey

And so we reach the final stage of our journey.  From thankfulness, through hope and faith to advent, and anticipation.  Mary stayed with Elizabeth for 3 months then went home just before John was born.   But not before singing her song of praise.  

Luke 1:46-55 

And Mary said,

I’m bursting with God-news;
    I’m dancing the song of my Saviour God.
God took one good look at me, and look what happened—
    I’m the most fortunate woman on earth!
What God has done for me will never be forgotten,
    the God whose very name is holy, set apart from all others.
His mercy flows in wave after wave
    on those who are in awe before him.
He bared his arm and showed his strength,
    scattered the bluffing braggarts.
He knocked tyrants off their high horses,
    pulled victims out of the mud.
The starving poor sat down to a banquet;
    the callous rich were left out in the cold.
He embraced his chosen child, Israel;
    he remembered and piled on the mercies, piled them high.
It’s exactly what he promised,
    beginning with Abraham and right up to now.

She declared his promises, that the hope of his people had not been in vain, that finally God had come in answer to their prayers, in response to their hope.

So Mary returned home and her waiting continued.  And that’s where we find ourselves today, the beginning of advent and a time of waiting.  Mary waited for the birth of her son, for the birth of her saviour, and in echoing her waiting in the time of advent we wait for his return.

And so I’ll end my days of daily notes with some words from a good friend of mine.

Have you stopped lately? Have you stopped to look awestruck on the fullness of the possibility of that one lonely, dirty, terrifying night in the life of an exhausted, disreputable girl-woman, saviour-mother? In the angry squall of newborn saviour babe, in the rapturous song of stars and heavenly host crying, “Glory!” ? The hard truth is that if you want to find time to ponder the miraculous, you must carve it painstakingly out of too-short hours and too-full calendars because left to itself, the miracle will not force itself upon you. It waits; it yearns for the quiet, softness of a heart that has paused, despite all that may war for its attention, to feel the pull of love. It wants to enter in to eyes wide with innocent wonder once again, to pull back that veil of jaded maturity and caress the unblemished cheek of a child reborn. It whispers soft under commercials, and department store jingles and even under Sunday church music, praying all the while that you will catch it, if only for a moment, and be caught up in its angelic strain. We’re entering into the season of advent, a beautiful, fleeting, pregnant pause in the chaos of a broken world. He’s calling, calling our hearts to quiet, calling our minds to still, calling our joy to awaken. He’s calling.

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