King David has big plans.
He has conquered the Canaanite city of Jebus,
renaming it Jerusalem—“vision of peace”—
and making it the royal capital.
He has brought the Ark of the Covenant,
containing the tablets on which
God had inscribed the ten commandments,
to Jerusalem and placed it in a tent,
making his capitol city the religious,
as well as political, center of his kingdom.
And now he dreams of raising a noble Temple
that would house the Ark—
indeed, would be the House of God.
David, of course, couches his big plans
in pious terms of doing something for God:
“Here I am living in a house of cedar,
while the ark of God dwells in a tent!”
And maybe David even believes
his own pious rhetoric;
perhaps he sincerely wants
to do something great for God.
He has conquered the Canaanite city of Jebus,
renaming it Jerusalem—“vision of peace”—
and making it the royal capital.
He has brought the Ark of the Covenant,
containing the tablets on which
God had inscribed the ten commandments,
to Jerusalem and placed it in a tent,
making his capitol city the religious,
as well as political, center of his kingdom.
And now he dreams of raising a noble Temple
that would house the Ark—
indeed, would be the House of God.
David, of course, couches his big plans
in pious terms of doing something for God:
“Here I am living in a house of cedar,
while the ark of God dwells in a tent!”
And maybe David even believes
his own pious rhetoric;
perhaps he sincerely wants
to do something great for God.
But God knows David’s heart
better than David himself.
God knows how often our big plans
of doing something great for God
are tied up with our desire
for greatness for ourselves:
for renown in our own day
and a legacy that will last into the future.
And God knows the lengths
to which we will go
in order to secure
that renown and that legacy.
In the version of this story found
in the First Book of Chronicles,
God says to David:
“You may not build a house for my name,
for you are a man who waged wars
and shed blood” (28:3).
God reminds David that it is not he
who has done great things for God,
but it is God who has done
great things for him:
taking him from his humble status
and making him a king of great renown
ruling over God’s people.
Moreover, God promises him
that God will secure his legacy,
that God will ensure that his line
of descendants shall not die out,
that God will raise up from his lineage
a kingdom whose throne will endure forever.
Mary has no big plans.
She is just a young woman
betrothed to a carpenter,
probably planning a simple wedding
and hoping for a happy marriage.
Whatever dreams she has
are dreams not for herself
but for her people—
seemingly impossible dreams—
dreams that God’s promises
will come to pass,
that God will raise up from David’s line
one who will restore God’s kingdom,
will free God’s people from Roman occupation,
will make a world where people like her,
people who rule nothing and no one,
can serve their God
and live their lives in peace.
Mary has no big plans,
but God does.
Indeed, it is precisely because
she has no big plans for herself,
no dream except the dream of God’s kingdom,
no hope except the hope of serving her God,
that God can draw her
into his plan,
into his dream,
into “the mystery kept secret for long ages,”
but now about to be made manifest in her.
“Hail, full of grace!...
you have found favor with God…
you will conceive in your womb and bear a son…
and the Lord God will give him
the throne of David his father…
and of his kingdom there will be no end.”
These words will upend Mary’s life
and any plans she may have had,
for who could plan for such a thing?
Yet while Mary has not planned for this,
she is prepared for it,
because God’s grace has cultivated in her
openness to whatever God will do,
acceptance of however God might act in her life.
What God had promised to David—
a kingdom that would endure forever—
will come to pass within Mary,
because her plans are God’s plans,
her hopes are God’s hopes,
her dreams are God’s dreams.
Indeed, something greater
than what was promised to David
will come to pass in her.
For she herself will become
the Ark of the Covenant,
the tabernacle enclosing God in the flesh,
the womb of God’s eternal kingdom.
And what about our big plans?
Probably most of us
aren’t much like David;
we don’t think in terms of building
an empire and an everlasting legacy.
But how much are we like Mary?
How much do we set aside
our plans for securing our own,
small-scale renown and legacy
within our own little empires—
our jockeying for promotions,
our amassing of nest-eggs,
our seeking of recognition,
our bending others to our wills?
How willing are we
to hope God’s hopes
and dream God’s dreams,
to suspend our planning
so as to prepare our hearts
to receive the living God,
to let him dwell in us
and upend our lives?
The Advent season is almost gone;
only a few hours are left.
But in God’s grace there is still time.
There is still time to prepare
by setting our plans aside,
so that we might let grace open us up
to the eruption of mystery into our lives,
God’s dream kept secret for long ages,
but now revealed to us in Christ.
There is still time
to dream God’s dream
because God is merciful.
So may the God of mercy
have mercy on us all,
and to the only wise God,
through Jesus Christ
be glory forever and ever.
Amen.
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