Lectionary Commentaries for December 24, 2023
Fourth Sunday of Advent

Imagine an angel showing up at someone’s home or workplace entirely unexpectedly and making a life-altering announcement. Luke tells two such stories in a short span and juxtaposes them. Since the story of angel Gabriel announcing the birth of Jesus comes on the heels of the account of Gabriel’s encounter with Zechariah, it is hard not to compare the two.

Mary and Zechariah respond to angel Gabriel’s announcement in vastly different ways. Unlike Zechariah, Mary’s final response to Gabriel’s announcement was one of complete affirmation.

Luke Timothy Johnson noted that Mary’s response (let it happen to me as you have said) is similar to Jesus’ prayer on the Mount of Olives before his death (Luke 22:42).¹ It is a declaration of trust in God even as Mary, and later Jesus, was going into the unknown.

Initially, however, Mary’s response was very different when angel Gabriel showed up at her door and announced that she was highly favored and that the Lord was with her. Luke tells us that she was greatly troubled by the unanticipated visitor and the announcement that seemed to come out of nowhere.

In describing Zechariah’s reaction to Gabriel, Luke says that fear fell upon him, and he was troubled. Luke employs the Greek verb etaraxthey to describe his troubled state of mind. But Luke uses dietaraxthey, a stronger form of taraxthey, to describe Mary’s state of mind when she heard Gabriel’s initial announcement. Etaraxthey simply means “troubled,” but dietaraxthey means “greatly troubled.”

Mary had every reason to be utterly troubled by a stranger showing up at her door and making a grand but vague announcement. She was certainly in a much more delicate situation than Zechariah. As Luke Timothy Johnson notes, she was among the most powerless: young in a setting that valued age, female, and poor. The stakes were indeed very high for Mary. One wrong move could ruin her personal and family reputation and jeopardize her entire life.

In the end, Mary’s story stands out for the impressive transformation from her initial response of being afraid and greatly troubled, to a query about how this might be possible, to a final affirmation of the announcement. The story also stands out for what really brought about this transformation in Mary’s response to the angel and helped her embrace the announcement.

When Mary seemed greatly troubled, the angel sought to reassure her and convince her to join the mission. Gabriel went about offering many grand pronouncements: “You are highly favored. The Lord is with you. You will give birth to a son. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over Jacob’s descendants forever; his kingdom will never end.”

Gabriel’s suggestion that God will give him the throne of David is a reference to 2 Samuel 7:12–13 where the Lord declares to David that a house, a royal line, will be established for him. The angel—by extension, Luke—highlights that Jesus would be in the Davidic line of royals. The angel also uses the title “the Son of God,” which was a multilayered title within that context. “Son of God” was a theological term that called attention to Jesus’ relationship with God as the beloved son, one that will be formally announced later at the baptism by the voice from heaven. But the term “son of God” was also a political title. It was a term used by the Roman Empire to refer to Augustus Caesar, the adoptive son of Julius Caesar.

The angel made seven major pronouncements to Mary in a matter of minutes. There was a long history in those titles, and those grand pronouncements should have made anyone absolutely joyful. But, interestingly, none of those seven grand pronouncements or the strong final assurance really reassured her or helped her get over her anxiety. She still had questions about it.

“How will this be?” Mary asks. In language similar to the transfiguration story, angel Gabriel responds saying, “The power of the Most High will overshadow you” (Luke 1:35). It is a strong assurance along with the promise that her offspring will be called Son of God. But apparently, that doesn’t do it for Mary either.

In the end, it was the news that Elizabeth had also conceived in a miraculous manner that convinced Mary to accept the announcement. She asked no additional questions after that. The Greek root of the phrase “even Elizabeth” certainly calls attention to the improbability of conception at her advanced age. But in the context of Mary’s reservations, the phrase assured her that Elizabeth, her relative, would have a similar experience. It was the assurance that another woman, someone she knew well, would walk with her during this uncertain journey that convinced Mary. Elizabeth likely understood Mary’s predicament more than anyone else, and it was the prospect of a shared experience that mattered to Mary more than any of those grand promises from Gabriel.

For people at the margins facing difficult situations, what matters most is someone who will share in their experience, stand with them, and walk with them. That’s also the story of incarnation in this reading. Not simple assurances that God cares for us but the fact that God will share in the human experience and journey with us in our everyday lived contexts.

Zechariah, a priest and a person of privilege, loses his ability to speak because of his unwillingness to believe an angelic proclamation about John’s birth. On the contrary, Mary, a person of lowly social and economic status, is celebrated and exalted based on her positive response to Gabriel’s announcement. Mary ponders, asks thoughtful questions, and responds in a mature manner. Mary was not a leader like Zechariah but emerges as one during the course of this story. While Zechariah is silenced because of his response, Mary gets to sing about the mission of Jesus. The reversals announced in the Magnificat have already begun to occur!

Notes

1. Luke Timothy Johnson, The Gospel of Luke (Collegeville: The Liturgical Press, 2006), 39.

At first glance, the lectionary’s juxtaposition of this text—God’s promise to David of a permanent dynastic kingdom—with Luke 1:26–38 might suggest it is only useful as a prooftext, in a supporting role to the Gospel writer’s assertions that Jesus will be given “the throne of his ancestor David” (Luke 1:32). Taken on its own, though, 2 Samuel 7 can be, among other things, an Advent call to look for hope outside of ourselves.

In our passage, following many years of a peripatetic existence and fresh off of his triumphant return of the ark of the covenant to Jerusalem (2 Samuel 6), David is enjoying an interlude of peace and is settled in his own house (2 Samuel 7:1). Perhaps feeling refreshed with time to reflect, David suddenly notices that he has a permanent home of cedar, while the ark of God has no such abode. The prophet Nathan endorses David’s decision to remedy this problem, only to be warned off the project by God in a vision that same night. Nathan reports this message from God to David.

At the center of God’s speech is a word-play on the Hebrew term bayit, “house.” Bayit has multiple meanings in common usage throughout the Old Testament. First is the most literal sense of house as “dwelling place”—a shelter, a home. Sometimes “house” refers both to the structure and metonymically to everyone in it, as when David returns to bless his “house” (in other words, household) after dancing in front of the ark in the previous chapter (2 Samuel 6:20). 

A second, closely related meaning of bayit when used with reference to God is “temple,” or literally “house of God.” In the Old Testament the temple, like the tabernacle before it, is understood as a dwelling place for God—a place for God to remain in the midst of God’s people, and a place where the people can encounter God.  

A third use of bayit is to refer to a familial lineage: a string of descendants associated with a single figure or family. We hear this usage carry over into Greek and then English in the familiar King James Version translations of Luke 2, which explains that Joseph “was of the house and lineage of David” (Luke 2:4b). In our 2 Samuel 7 passage, God tells David that God has done just fine without a settled house so far (verse 6); that God has never asked anyone, including and especially David, to build a house for him (verse 7); and that what’s more, God will build a house for David, not the other way around (verse 11). 

Here is where the text gets especially punny. David’s “house” is not a physical house but a lineage, and God promises it will endure: first through David’s son Solomon, who will build God’s temple (verses 12–15), and then for the long term, with generations of Davidic descendants ruling Israel (verse 16). 

All of God’s promises to David here are a check on David’s hubris, even as they are also a confirmation of David’s special status. Though David is acting out of an impulse of faithful piety, he has presumed to be the actor, the change-maker, the one preparing the future—even God’s own future. David hears from God that he is more than an individual with a successful résumé. Even though he may be credited as the father of this dynastic house, he is part of something bigger than himself. Notice all the first-person verbs employed in God’s speech in verses 6–11; God is the subject who has acted and will continue to act. David is the king, but he does not dictate the future. God is the subject of the verbs, while David is subject to the faithful actions of God.

This year, the Fourth Sunday of Advent is also Christmas Eve, meaning that stories of the birth of Jesus will follow closely on this reading, probably in a service on the very same day. Public spaces will have been piping out Christmas songs for weeks, songs that work hard to manufacture nostalgia for “home” for us, like “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” and “There’s No Place Like Home for the Holidays.” But 2 Samuel 7 could point us toward a different song for the season, one that prods us to think broadly about what “home” and “house” are: Psalm 23.

The closing lines of Psalm 23—a psalm traditionally associated with David, even if he may not be its actual author—echo this idea of rest as a gift from God. Instead of running away from enemies, the psalmist sits fearlessly at a banquet table that God has set in front of them; God is the actor, the provider of the feast (Psalm 23:5). Instead of being chased by those enemies, the psalmist is dogged by goodness and mercy, pursuers from which the psalmist need not run (Psalm 23:6). The psalmist finds rest in God’s house—the temple, perhaps, but implicit here also is the nuance of bayit that implies “household.” In other words, the psalmist finds hope through belonging to God: “Surely goodness and mercy will pursue me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for the length of my days” (Psalm 23:6, my translation).

The great 18th-century hymn writer Isaac Watts paraphrased Psalm 23 in the hymn “My Shepherd Will Supply My Need.” In its last stanza, Watts renders those final verses of Psalm 23 this way:

The sure provisions of my God
attend me all my days.
Oh, may your house be my abode,
and all my work be praise.
There would I find a settled rest,
while others go and come,
no more a stranger, nor a guest,
but like a child at home.

The exhaustion of pregnant Mary on her journey to Bethlehem, the busyness of the holiday season, the incessant work demands that often accompany the close of the calendar year, and the unrelenting violence that plagues our world: all of these realities beckon preachers to speak a word of hope for the “settled rest” that comes with belonging to God. Second Samuel 7 reminds us to seek hope outside of our own desires, capabilities, or nostalgia, and instead inside of the ongoing, faithful work of God.

As is usually the case, the particular verses of the psalm that the lectionary assigns can be more richly understood by reading Psalm 89 in its entirety. Doing this work will help the preacher recognize the traumatic upheaval and theological crisis under which these seemingly joyful and confident verses were written. It will also shed light on why there is so much repetition of words and ideas within them. For example, verses 1–4 heavily emphasize:

• God’s “steadfast love” (verses 1a, 2a; also 14b, 24a, 28a, 33a, 49a)
• God’s “faithfulness” (verses 1b, 2b; also 5b, 8b, 14b, 24a, 33b, 49b)
• That these characteristics of God will last “forever” (verses 1a, 2a, 4a; also 28a, 29a, 36a, 37a, 46a) because of God’s covenant with David.

The theme of “forever” is communicated not only with a repetition of the word itself but with the phrases “to all generations” (verse 1b) and “for all generations” (verse 4b). There seems to be no room for doubt about the eternal nature of this covenant.

Terms like “steadfast love” and “faithfulness” are scattered all over Scripture, especially Psalms, with the result that they may not immediately leap off of the page for the preacher as worthy of attention. But the psalmist didn’t merely pick up a copy of “10 Steps to Writing a Great Psalm.” He has cause for highlighting and underlining them in this particular instance, which starts to be revealed in true color in verse 38: There is no evidence of these characteristics in sight. The psalmist cries out to God, asking, “Lord, where is your steadfast love of old, which by your faithfulness you swore to David?” (verse 49). He angrily accuses God of betrayal, saying, “You have renounced the covenant with your servant; you have defiled his crown in the dust” (verse 39).

Now, the psalmist doesn’t actually believe the covenant has been renounced—at least not completely. Otherwise, he would certainly not have begun the psalm with, “I will sing of your steadfast love, O LORD, forever” (verse 1); he would not have bothered asking later, “How long, O LORD? Will you hide yourself forever?” (verse 46); he would not have concluded the psalm with “Blessed be the LORD forever. Amen and Amen” (verse 52). The intensity of the accusation, however, reveals the weight of bewildered, overwhelming despair the psalmist and his community are experiencing. Their experience cannot be contained within their working theology; their understanding of God has been “hurled … to the ground” and “laid … in ruins” (verses 44, 40).

Steadfast love, faithfulness, and the promise of forever are repeated and repeated because God is not acting like God is expected to act. Perhaps the psalmist is trying to will himself to proclaim what he has been taught about what God is like in hopes that if he keeps repeating it, he will believe it. Perhaps he is reminding God of who God promised to be so that the intensity of the later verses is justified. In any case, God’s character is under severe scrutiny, and the psalmist’s hope is hanging on by a tattered thread.

Thus, while the lectionary verses may seem, on the surface, to have nothing at stake and little to stimulate the preacher’s imagination, the later verses manifest layers of complexity and depth through which to experience the substance embedded in what comes before them.

Lifting up an example or two of the psalmist’s accusations may provide welcome relief for those congregants who are feeling as though they have been “spurned and rejected” by God (verse 38) or as though God has “covered [them] with shame” (verse 45). The knowledge that they are not alone in their experience, that the very Word of God recognizes and names it, may provide strength for them to continue their walk of faith through the plundered “ruins” (verse 40).

Scripture holds space for them and even gives them language to express their disappointments in the presence of God, reassuring them that tension and conflict and confusion and frustration are normal in a relationship with the One whose ways and thoughts are as much higher than ours “as the heavens are higher than the earth” (Isaiah 55:9). How could misunderstandings and shocks be anything but inevitable on humanity’s side?

The placement of Psalm 89 on the Fourth Sunday of Advent practically begs preachers to proclaim that God has, in fact, not forgotten God’s covenant with David but fulfilled it through Jesus. In Christ, by the power of the Holy Spirit, God’s steadfast love and faithfulness are ours forever. “This is most certainly true.”¹ However, that may not change those who hear this psalm from feeling like the psalmist. Our present context of destructive climate change, vitriolic political division, and shrinking congregations understandably makes some wonder where God is and why God, in Jesus Christ, by the power of the Holy Spirit, has not crushed our “foes” and struck down “those who hate [us]” (verse 23).

Thus, it may serve to remind the congregation that steadfast love and faithfulness do not often look like human victory. Jesus is born to a poor, unmarried woman. He is “the son of David” only by marriage and not blood. His first bed is a feeding trough. His family flees as refugees at night to Egypt when he is a baby. In his ministry, he calls disciples with unimpressive or despised careers, and he chooses to spend time with and restore to health more unimportant and despised characters. His actions are criminally offensive to the highly educated and religious (that’s you, by the way). He is inhumanely tortured and put to death as a criminal. This is how God has chosen to save the world “for all generations.”

While these things will sound very familiar to many Christians, their implications for God’s character are continually forgotten and misunderstood. God doesn’t tend to crush foes, but to stand with those who are being crushed. Thanks be to God for that.

Notes

1. Martin Luther, “Luther’s Small Catechism,” accessed August 25, 2023, https://catechism.cph.org/en/creed.html.

Preachers are often distraught when the Fourth Sunday of Advent falls on the morning of Christmas Eve, primarily because one of the major festivals of the liturgical year is just on the horizon. Preaching on the assigned second reading may add stress to the preacher as it is three verses at the conclusion of one of Paul’s most theologically dense letters. Grammatically, these three verses are just one long sentence, consistent with Paul’s writing style throughout the rest of the letter. So, what is the preacher to do?

It may be helpful to remember that Paul often concludes a letter with a summary of what he has written earlier in the letter, to emphasize the main points. Like in other letters (see my 1 Corinthians 1:3–7 commentary on Advent 1B), Paul is dealing with congregations that are having difficulties living together. After the various greetings, Paul gives the Roman congregation some final instructions, reminding them to cease unnecessary divisions, as those are contrary to what they had been taught as disciples of Christ. These divisions are not only selfish (redirecting attention from Christ to the self), but they can also cause harm to those who are young in the faith. As in his exhortation at the end of 1 Thessalonians (see commentary on Advent 3B), Paul reminds the congregation to do good and refrain from evil.

Having an idea of what Paul had just written can help decipher this long multi-clause sentence that concludes the letter. The preacher is advised to work with the lector who reads this text aloud to make sure that the clauses are not swallowed or said too quickly, and to emphasize the appropriate words.

As the preacher thinks through what Paul is saying here, it may be helpful to rearrange the clauses for clarity; I propose the following:

1. Now to the only wise God, through Jesus Christ, be the glory forever! (verses 25a, 27).
2. God is able to strengthen you according to the gospel and proclamation of Jesus Christ (verse 25ab).
3. God is able to strengthen you according to the revelation that once was secret but is now disclosed (verses 25c–26a).
4. God’s revelation is disclosed through the prophetic writings and is made known to all the Gentiles (verse 26ab).
5. God, who is eternal, brings about the obedience of faith (verse 26c).
6. Now to the only wise God, through Jesus Christ, be the glory forever! (verses 25a, 27).

Separating out the clauses makes the lection less of a run-on sentence and more of the conclusion that Paul intends in the letter.

Setting aside the beginning and end for a moment, the preacher can see four specific claims that Paul is making. The first (#2) deals with the gospel, which in the text he labels as “my.” While one could accuse Paul of being arrogant in his writings, his use of the possessive is not to claim the gospel as his own but to remind the reader of what he had written in the previous 15 chapters of the book. This gospel is not just an intellectual exercise but is the source of strength and thus of life.

The second (#3) gives some context to the gospel and proclamation, noting that the revelation had not previously been disclosed but is now made known. God’s mysteries are now unveiled and made known through the work that Paul and others have done. This disclosure (#4) takes place through the prophetic writings so that even the Gentiles are aware of God’s mysteries.

Finally, God’s disclosed mysteries are not cognitive, for they bring about the obedience of faith. For Paul, this obedience of faith is the life-changing power of God through Jesus Christ. And it is because of that power that God is both the giver and the receiver of glory forever (#1, #6).

Paul couches this conclusion to the letter to the Romans in the form of thanksgiving. In his commentary on this passage, 16^th-century Lutheran pastor Tilemann Hesshus, a student of reformer Philip Melanchthon, describes why this might be the case:

Therefore we together with the apostle Paul give thanks to the eternal and almighty God with all our heart and with true sighs, both for all his countless and boundless benefits and for the marvelous revelation of the gospel concerning our Lord Jesus Christ, through which he has also called us into fellowship with his church and offers us forgiveness of sins, righteousness, life, and eternal and heavenly glory.¹

With Paul we give thanks to God for such revelation that has taken place through the witness of Scripture and in the upcoming birth of Christ.

The preacher may be tempted to lean into the Christmas story in the morning, but it is important to remember the countercultural nature of Advent that calls us to wait with patient anticipation. Then this evening, when we sing with the angels “Glory to God in the highest,” we also proclaim with Paul the good news of life in Christ.

Notes

1. Quoted in Reformation Commentary on Scripture: New Testament VIII, ed. Philip D. W. Krey and Peter D. S. Krey (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2016), 257.