“Mary set out and traveled to the hill country in haste

to a town of Judah, 

where she entered the house of Zechariah

and greeted Elizabeth.

When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting,

the infant leaped in her womb, 

and Elizabeth, filled with the Holy Spirit, 

cried out in a loud voice and said, 

‘Blessed are you among women, 

and blessed is the fruit of your womb.

And how does this happen to me, 

that the mother of my Lord should come to me?

For at the moment the sound of your greeting reached my ears, 

the infant in my womb leaped for joy.’”

The powers of darkness seek to destroy, divide, and dominate. The powers of light seek to create, unite, and liberate. Darkness is insidious. It is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, wrapping slavery in false freedom, exclusion in celebrated identity, and disintegration in aspirational affluence. In the long arc of history, violence, subjugation, and exploitation sweep across centuries. In God’s plan of salvation, he formed and raised up a people of promise. Theirs was a hard road of slavery, exile, and occupation, but punctuated with the hope that God would be their vindicator, that a messiah would come to save them. Sometimes lost in lamentation or pleading for God’s action, their path was one of hardship and trial. This produced a certain irony, occasionally humor, in response. We can see it in the fictional quote from Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof, “I know, I know. We are Your chosen people. But, once in a while, can’t You choose someone else?” Likewise, in the fictional series The Chosen, Peter’s wife says, “When have we ever had anything easy? That’s not our people’s way.” It is reflected in the familiarity of St. Teresa of Avila speaking to God, “If this is how You treat Your friends, no wonder You have so few of them!” Somehow, they laughed in the face of the hardships, injustice, and pain. Hope remained. Resilient and irrepressible, the light could not be extinguished. They longed for a coming messiah. Their hope was unshakable. Through every trial and, even, failure, it was woven into their very identity as God’s people. 

And so it was with Elizabeth. With just the hint of the birth of the messiah through Mary’s greeting, the baby in her womb leaped for joy. Something deep within her stirred. The hope sustained so intensely by generation after generation was coming to pass. The promise was being fulfilled. Her own eyes beheld the mother of the anointed one, the son of man, the son of God. She must have been ready to burst and, at the same time, so profoundly moved as to, like Job, place her hand over her mouth or, like Moses, take off her shoes or, like David, dance with all her might. She was already leaping off the precipice into God’s new reign. This was it. Every dream, every hope, every promise was being fulfilled. Salvation was being born into the world. The time had come, at last. 

And so it is with us. If we honestly ponder the contours of our own soul, we see the darkness and the light. Within us are the capacities to destroy, divide, and dominate and those to create, unite, and liberate. With all that leads us into darkness, our light is irrepressible. It is God’s image within. Our hope is ever new. We long to see it fulfilled. Something deep within us stirs. The birth of the messiah is at hand. Behold our salvation! Silent night! Holy night! All is calm, all is bright!