December 7, 2025
Making Room for the Spirit
Luke 1:26-40
(Begin with humming… “Mary did you know, that your baby boy…) Mary Did You Know?
In 1984 Mark Lowry was working on a Christmas pageant at his church, a “living Christmas tree” production where the choir stands on risers shaped like a tree. The director had asked him to write some transitional material, something to bridge between songs. As a comedian, and creative thinker, Lowry started imagining what a modern interviewer might ask Mary. Some questions were serious, and some humorous.
He never imagined his questions would turn into a song! He gave the poem to his friend, Buddy Green, a songwriter, as a joke. It’s now become part of our seasonal canon: Mary Did You Know? What grabbed Lowry’s imagination, and what makes his song so memorable, is the wild juxtaposition between Mary and Jesus: an ordinary young woman birthing and raising the Savior of the world. Did Mary have any idea the magnitude of what was happening to her?
The way Luke writes this birth narrative, he wants us to see the cosmic significance of this event, and the human simplicity of Mary’s response. I’d like to think with you about both of those things this morning: the cosmic significance of this announcement, the simplicity of Mary’s response, and what that might mean in our lives.
The text comes from Luke 1, verses 26 through 38. Let me set the scene for you. Mary lives in Nazareth. A very small town, insignificant in the grander scheme of anything, so insignificant Nathanael would later ask, “Can anything good come from Nazareth?” She’s young, engaged but not yet married, living under Roman military occupation. Her people have been waiting for centuries for God to fulfill the promise made to King David that his throne would last forever.
But the throne is empty. The psalm we read echoes in the background of this story. Psalm 89 captures their despair: “Lord, where is your steadfast love of old, which you swore to David? You have cast off and rejected; you have renounced the covenant with your servant; you have defiled his crown in the dust.” It’s time a time of political chaos and despair. Rome rules with violence. God’s promises seem broken.
And into this chaos, this small town, to this ordinary person, the angel Gabriel appears with impossible news. What’s really going on here?
The clues that Luke gives may be lost on us unless we unpack the biblical story. Gabriel tells Mary that “the Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.” If you don’t know the Christmas story, that could song vaguely threatening. But the language echoes scripture in way that would have resonated deeply for anyone, like Mary, who regularly went to synagogue.
The Spirit “overshadowing” takes us back to Genesis 1, where the Spirit of God hovers over the chaos, over the formless void, over the waters, bringing forth new creation. That Hebrew word is translated different ways—hovering, brooding, overshadowing. That’s the idea we find here with Mary. God is doing creation work. The Spirit is sitting with Mary in creative power.
The image also takes us to Exodus 40, where the glory of God fills the tabernacle, overshadowing the ordinary tent of canvas and wood. God’s presence filled the place, making it point where heaven and earth meet.
So, when the divine messenger says to Mary the Spirit will come upon you and the power of the Most High will overshadow you, he’s saying, “Your life will become the location of a new creation.” What happened in Genesis is happening again. What happened at the tabernacle is happening again. Mary’s becomes the meeting place of heaven and earth.
She becomes the instrument through which God’s keeps the promise. Jesus’ birth will surprise everyone, threaten some and delight many. No one expected God to keep the promise like this. Mary’s encounter with Gabriel is the hinge on which the door of history begins to turn. Those are the cosmic implications of this announcement.
But what about the human simplicity? If you put yourself in Mary’s shoes, you might want to ask a few more questions. What exactly am I saying yes to? And do I have the option to say no? Can we negotiate the timing? Can I talk with Joseph? Is there a plan B, maybe in the next town over?
In our presbyterian heritage, our forebearers were so eager to tamp down on the worship of Mary in the protestant reformation that we lost sight of the fact that Mary is the first and the model disciple. She is the first example of faithful discipleship in the New Testament.
Verse 29: She was “greatly troubled.”
You and I would be too. The Greek suggests she’s turning this over in her mind. She’s a deep processer. Discipleship to God does not have to be blind faith, or immediate response. There is room for discernment, to think and pray, as you seek God’s will.
Verse 34: “How can this be, since I am a virgin?”
That’s an honest question and a very good one. Mary is not protesting; she is asking: “I don’t understand how this is possible given my actual circumstances.” Faithful discipleship is honest about our humanity, about our lives and limitations, about our real circumstances and our real questions. God, how can this work?
Then verses 35 through 37: Gabriel explains and Mary listens. Except this explanation is not really an explanation. “The Holy Spirit will come upon you… Nothing will be impossible with God.” It’s not really an explanation of how, but it is an invitation to trust. Following Jesus doesn’t require knowing the future, or even the implications of the next step. Following Jesus is always moving into an unknown future with a God who is good and who is there.
Verse 38. Mary’s response: “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”
“Let it be.” What kind of response is this? In the Greek grammar, this is in the optative mood. What does that mean? It means it is what you “opt” for. This is Mary’s wish, it her desire, it is her longing. You and I know that mood even if we don’t know the word. It’s something you cannot do on your own, but you want to happen.
Let it be. Yes God, that would good. Let it be.
And notice what happens next in the text. Mary got up and “went with haste” to the hill country to see her cousin Elizabeth. After that news, she could have turned inward in contemplation or even in fear, but she ran out into the world driven by love, and wonder, and curiosity. Mary puts hands and feet to the good news she heard and believed. Her thoughtfulness, her questioning, the expression of her desire to participate with God, her movement out into the world with love and joy is a model of faithful discipleship.
And somehow, on the way to Elizabeth’s house, Mary became an incredible theologian. At Elizabeth’s house, Luke records Mary’s song known as the Magnificat. But the song is not about her or her baby, it’s about God saving the world.
This might be the best answer we have to what Mary knew. She didn’t know the details of Jesus’ life, but she had an intuition for implications of the gospel, shaped by the Old Testament prophets and promises. What did Mary know? She knew God was doing great things for justice and peace. God was defending the poor. God was scattering the proud, bringing down the powerful from their thrones, lifting up the lowly, filling the hungry with good things.
When Mary thought of the future, Luke wants us to know, that her hope wasn’t for herself only, or even only for her own people, but for the Savior of the world. That’s the ultimate, the cosmic, good news of the gospel in Mary’s story: that God is saving the world through her son.
That’s the ultimate good news, but there is more immediate good news for us. What you might call, penultimate good news—good news that is not earth-shattering but may be life changing.
God’s Spirit still hovers over ordinary people in out-of-the-way places to do new things with people who say “let it be” to God’s invitation. God’s Spirit still invites ordinary to join God in kindness, their trust, their simple humanity to be a witness to God’s goodness and love.
A friend and mine and of this congregation recently wrote a newspaper column celebrating the ordinary work of teachers. You may have seen Margaret Whitt’s column. She told a story about her daughter, who teaches elementary school. One day her class was planning to celebrate a student’s birthday. The daughter called the office and learned that the child’s mom had forgotten to send cupcakes, and I could have done that too. (I could relate to that; my mom might have forgotten to send the cupcakes.)
So, the teacher quickly went to the school nurse and asked her to run out and buy two dozen cupcakes and take them to the office. When the time came for the party, the teacher went to the office and got the cupcakes. “Did Mom bring them?” the child asked. “They were in the office,” the teacher answered.
This teacher was attentive. She noticed what was needed. She was creative. She acted in the direction of love and care. It did not save the world. But saved the child from embarrassment in front of her friends, it saved the mom from guilt over a mistake that she would feel decades later. Let it be. Let the goodness of God bless these two lives. Let it be. It is a good thing God, let’s do it together.
As I was pondering that phrase, I was thinking about how next week I will mark my tenth anniversary since I became your pastor, and you’re so kind to celebrate that with me. I was thinking about what it meant for us to say “let it be” – you as a congregation, me as a pastor, us as a family.
At the time, I was serving a small church in New Jersey—we were living in a town very few people, and no on the committee, had ever heard of. When the Pastor Nominating Committee from First Presbyterian Asheville called to say they wanted to arrange a visit, after one phone call with the committee, we were intrigued but skeptical. We came, we had a wonderful visit, we met amazing people – a wonderful PNC.
On the last day, I learned I was the first of half a dozen candidates they planned to interview. Caitlin and I stood over by the wall on Church Street and said, “Well, that was a nice trip, but nothing’s going to happen.” Then a few months later, they called to extend a call.
Suddenly Caitlin and I had to do a lot of wondering and questioning. I know we kept the committee waiting longer than was comfortable. We even did our own secret shopper trip here to Asheville to worship on a Sunday morning. We had to work our way to our own “let it be.”
And we did. We trusted the Spirit’s creative work, even as our feet and hands got busy with the details of moving a home with three young children—leaving friends and family to resettle in a new place far away. We didn’t have a lot of time to contemplate the bigger picture once the logistics got going.
Now, almost ten years later, Caitlin and I are grateful we said yes to the Spirit’s invitation. Let it be. It is a good thing God, let’s do it together.
That story is not really about us, nor any of the other wonderful individuals who were part of that call process. That story, really, is about the work of the Spirit, in our lives and in this congregation, the Spirit hovering over ordinary people inviting us into God’s purposes.
Here’s what I want you to hear: The Spirit still hovers and broods, and sits close, and keeps promises, and creates new life.
Many of us feel acutely the chaos of the world we live in. The Spirit hovers over chaos and has done since the beginning. The Spirit hovers over powerful people bent on violence, over poor people scratching out bread with sweat and blood, over refugees and immigrants who flee their homes to save their kids, over ordinary people hoping for a better life for them or their children. The Spirit stays close to chaos.
Many of us feel very ordinary, that we’re living a life that feels very small in the world. The Spirit hovers over ordinary people, as has always done that since Adam was made from dust and Mary said yes to the angel. Our plans can feel small, our routines can feel small, our efforts can feel unsure. Sometimes we come to the end of a day and wonder if we did anything that matters. Sometimes we come to the end of all our days and wonder if we did anything that matters.
Yet the Spirit hovers over us creatures of dust, filling our earthly tents with the glory of God’s presence. The divine messenger says, “Blessed are you.” The Spirit is close.
Where might the Spirit be hovering in your life right now? What divine possibility is close to you? What desire, what longing, is worthy of saying, “That is a good thing God, let’s do it together. Let it be.”
I can’t tell you what that is. That’s between you and God. But I can tell you this:
God hasn’t stopped working through ordinary people in ordinary places. God hasn’t stopped hovering over chaos to bring forth new creation. The coming of God’s kingdom, the kingdom promised to David, the kingdom for which Mary waited, the kingdom that will be finished when the Savior comes in glory, that kingdom still arrives through people who say “let it be” to the expression of God’s goodness and love. It is a good thing God. Let’s do it together. Let it be.
Amen.
Rev. Patrick W. T. Johnson, Ph.D.
First Presbyterian Church
Asheville, North Carolina