TODAY'S SERVICE - AUDIO RECORDING

THE CAROL SERVICE AUDIO RECORDING -
​

The Audio Recording of Beany and Sheenie's Nutivity Quiz

Luke 1:57-80 -  Joy in a Fragile World

Advent is a season of waiting, and anticipation. In this fragile world, where uncertainty and fear often cloud our vision, the Advent theme of Joy invites us to pause and contemplate a deeper truth. 

In Luke 1:57-80, after the story of the annunciation and Mary’s visit to Elizabeth, we read of he story of  the birth John the Baptist and Zechariah’s prophetic song. Again, the narrative is more than a single moment in time. It is a universal metaphor for how the divine speaks into the fragile, human places of our lives bringing joy into the world.  

The narrative begins with Elizabeth’s miraculous pregnancy in her old age reaching its culmination as she gives birth to her son John the Baptist. Her neighbours and relatives rejoice with her, not just because a child is born, but because they perceive in this event the hand of something greater.  Every birth, every new beginning, reminds us of life’s sacredness, even in a world that often feels broken. A few weeks ago in church I mentioned a quote that every new baby born into the world is a reminder that God has not given up on humanity.  But sometimes there is born into the world those who will profoundly shape and change the world… those who will make a huge impact on the world for the better.  The birth of John the Baptist in Luke’s narrative is one of those moments. 

Zechariah’s story echoes and amplifies this joy of Elizabeth and her companions. His silence, imposed earlier in the narrative because of his disbelief, ends when he names his son John, in obedience to the angel’s message. In that moment, his tongue is freed, and he bursts into song—what is often called the Benedictus. Zechariah’s song is a hymn of liberation, a proclamation of joy rooted in the fulfilment of ancient promises. He sees his son not just as a child but as one who will prepare the way for transformation, for a world redeemed by love and light.

This is a joy that transcends his own personal happiness. It is the joy of hope breaking through a collective despair. As Zechariah finds his voice again, he sings of healing, wholeness, forgiveness, and peace, breaking through into a fragile world. His words remind us that joy is not an escape from the world’s fragility but a courageous and defiant embrace of its potential to be renewed and transformed.

This Advent, it feels like our world is more fragile than ever. Yet Advent reminds us to seek joy not as an avoidance of these realities but as a response to them. Joy, like the light of the Advent candles, begins small and tentative but grows as we nurture it. It is found in the small, courageous acts of love and kindness, in the willingness to believe in a better world even when evidence is hard to find.

Zechariah’s prophecy closes with a promise: the dawn from on high will break upon us, guiding our feet into the way of peace. 

On this third Sunday of Advent may we light the candle of Joy in our hearts so that in the midst of a fragile world joy rise like the dawn, guiding our feet into the way of God’s Peace. Amen. 

A Radical Vision of Peace - Luke 1:39-56

The second Sunday in Advent, with the lighting of the second advent candle, invites us to reflect on the theme of peace—not a superficial calm, but a profound and transformative peace that transforms individual human hearts and goes on to reshape the very fabric of our world. It is a peace born of a radical love for others. Nowhere is this vision clearer than in the Magnificat, Mary’s song of praise in Luke 1 as she bursts into song at meeting her cousin Elizabeth.  

Mary has just learned that she is pregnant. The first thing she does is go on a road trip into the hill country to meet with her beloved cousin Elizabeth.  The news cannot be contained in her own heart. It needs to be shared with someone special. Someone she trusts. Someone who will not reject her because she is not yet married. Someone whose heart is big enough to embrace her in this in this moment of both joy and crisis. 

The bond between Elizabeth and Mary is tangible.  There is a shared intuition between them.  Elizabeth’s own heart leaps within her at the arrival of Mary and at the same time, the child in her womb leaps as well. She senses that something deeply significant for the world is unfolding in Mary’s life and growing in her womb. Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb.  And in response, Mary bursts spontaneously into song.  The opening passages of Luke’s Gospel read a little bit like a musical. 

But the song of Mary is no lullaby; it is in fact quite a radical manifesto of love. It is a bold declaration that peace comes not through preserving the status quo but through a radical reordering of society on the principles of love, bringing justice and balance to a world fractured by inequality under the Roman Empire and a corrupt and patriarchal Jewish hierarchy – a symbol of all corrupt and patriarchal religious institutions in this world that undermine the ways of love and peace while pretending to be righteous and religious on the outside. 

Mary’s visit to Elizabeth is thus more than just a meeting of relatives. It is a quiet revolution of love and kindness, a coming together of two women baring within them the seeds of profound change for the world they live in. A change that begins from within.  Elizabeth bares within herself the seed of John the Baptist who will call people to a radical change in their lives.  Mary bears within her womb the seed of Jesus – the King of Love. And in their exchange, we see a glimpse of the conditions for real peace that Mary proclaims. It is a peace born in community and solidarity between two marginalised women, where the lowly are lifted up, and where hope for a better world is rekindled.

Elizabeth’s affirmation of Mary—“Blessed are you among women”—is an act of courage in itself. It recognizes that peace begins in the margins, where the world’s forgotten and oppressed find their voices. This setting prepares us for the song of Mary, which shifts our focus from the personal to a new vision of hope and peace for the world born of reverence to the God of Goodness and Love.  

Mary’s Magnificat is not merely a hymn of gratitude; it is a proclamation of God’s justice breaking into the world. “He has brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty.” These are not abstract ideas—they are a call to reimagine society. 

This is peace as justice, peace as a realignment of power and resources. In a world where the few hold much and the many struggle, Mary’s words are a challenge to all systems of oppression and exclusion that leave people marginalised and powerless, unable to fulfil the potential that God has placed within them. They remind us that true peace cannot exist without addressing inequality or without actively seeking to the flourishing of those at the bottom of society. 

As Khalil Gibran wrote, “You shall be free indeed when your days are not without a care nor your nights without a want and a grief, but rather when these things girdle your life and yet you rise above them unbound.” Peace is not the absence of struggle but the presence of justice and dignity for all and the vision of devoting our lives to creating value in the world.

Mary’s song also envisions balance, a restoration of harmony to a world out of sync. The proud are humbled, and the humble are lifted up. The hungry are fed, and the rich are emptied. This is not about punishment; it is about healing fractured societies that are out of balance and out of harmony with themselves. It is the recognition that a society in which resources and power are hoarded by a few is not only unjust but unstable. The hoarding of wealth undermines the harmony and stability of society.  It is a well known fact that those societies that are the most unequal in the world also have the greatest levels of crime and violence. And so we ignore the needs of those at the bottom of society at our own peril.  And the flourishing of those at the bottom of society is for the benefit and harmony of the whole. 

The Dhammapada teaches, “Hatred is never appeased by hatred in this world. By non-hatred alone is hatred appeased. This is a law eternal.” Mary’s vision aligns with this truth: the peace she sings of is not born of retribution but of restoration. It is a peace that seeks the flourishing of all, not just a privileged few.

In our fragile world, the Song of Mary remains profoundly relevant. We see its echoes in movements for economic justice, environmental stewardship, and human rights. Mary’s vision calls us to ask: Where are the hungry in our world today? Who are the lowly waiting to be lifted up? What are the places of imbalance in the world today where balance needs to be restored? And what is our role in this work of peace?

John O’Donohue offers this wisdom: “May the light of your soul bless the work you do with the secret love and warmth of your heart. May you see in what you do the beauty of your own soul.” I think these were words that Gavin Byrne used in his sermon last week.  The Song of Mary invites us to see our work for peace as sacred, to recognize that even small acts of kindness and courage contribute to a larger transformation.  Jesus suggests that even the smallest act of deep and genuine love and care for others (especially the lowly and marginalised) is like leaven that causes the whole dough to rise. 

And so as we light the second candle of Advent – the candle of Peace, not just on our Advent wreathe, but even more so as we light it in our hearts, may we remember that peace is not passive. It is a bold, radical act of love for others. It calls us to move beyond our own limited and narrow self-interest. It calls us to challenge systems of inequality, to lift up the lowly, to feed the hungry, and to create spaces where balance can be restored and where all can flourish.

And so in the spirit of Mary’s song, may we be peacemakers this advent. Not merely wishing for a better world but actively participating in building one. May we, like Mary, sing songs of justice and joy, trusting that the seeds we plant today will grow into a harvest of hope and harmony into the future.  May we remember that no seed of love planted in the world is ever too small to make a difference… even if it as small as a mustard seed. 

Hope in a Fragile World - Luke 1:26-38 

Advent is a season of waiting and preparing. It is a sacred pause where we symbolically light candles against the gathering dark of winter, trusting all the while that the Light will turn. Today, on this first Sunday of Advent, we reflect on the theme of hope in a fragile world, hope, that fragile yet resilient light that lives on in our hearts even in the darkest of times.

The Annunciation, the angel's message to Mary, is more than a single moment in time. It is a universal metaphor for how the divine speaks into the fragile, human places of our lives. Mary, is a young woman of little status, living in a world dominated by empire, and is asked to carry the impossible: hope for a new world, a world shaped not by fear and power and violence but by love, service and peace. Her response, “Let it be,” (let it be to me according to your word) is an act of radical trust—a trust that the seed of hope planted in her would grow even amidst uncertainty.

In our own lives, we too are often visited by "angels"—not winged messengers, but whispers of possibility in the midst of despair. Sometimes, the hope offered feels as improbable as the angel’s promise to Mary. Yet, hope is not about certainty; it is about courage. It is about saying, "Yes," to the possibility of light, even when the shadows loom large.

Rumi writes, "Try not to resist the changes that come your way. Instead, let life live through you. And do not worry that your life is turning upside down. How do you know that the side you are used to is better than the one to come?"

The world around us feels fragile—climate change, war, division, the cost of living crisis—but hope is not about ignoring these realities. It is about choosing to act in love despite them. In this regard, the Tao Te Ching reminds us: "A tree that fills a man’s embrace grows from a tiny shoot. A tower nine stories high begins with a heap of earth. The journey of a thousand miles starts from where you stand."

Hope starts small, like a seed in Mary’s womb, like the first flicker of a candle’s flame. It is nurtured by each act of kindness, each step toward justice, each word of compassion.

This Advent, may we embody Mary’s trust. May we cradle hope within us, even when it feels fragile. And may we, like her, dare to say, “Let it be,” to the dreams of a better world that the divine plants in our hearts.

I close with another quote from Rumi:  If everything around you seems dark, look again, you may be the light”  -  as Jesus reminds us in Matthew – You are the light of the world… Perhaps God wishes us to become the hope that people are looking for – the hope of the light of Christ's Love shining through us? 
​
Amen.