I have a distinct childhood memory of a conversation with my mother about my wanting to be the Virgin Mary. It was about the Baby. Sure, I loved the cool veil and the animals in the barn, but I knew I wasn’t old enough to get married, so the virgin birth seemed the way to go for getting a baby. Modern medicine has been doing its part with in vitro fertilization, so that.a “virgin” birth can now be a literal reality. But we’re not talking about that kind of virgin birth.

Today’s scripture reading stars two unlikely candidates for pregnancy, showing us what my Committee on Preparation called “fruitful waiting.” What is fruitful about their waiting—other than producing their two hit songs? Mary and Elizabeth show their fruitfulness by expecting God’s promises to be fulfilled—and not just promises for babies. I’m reminded of Springwater’s wait with Renate and Greg for the birth of their wonderful new baby, Neal’s baby sister, Adelia. We’ve all been expecting her. Of course, the family has had the most important roles, but we’ve all been participating—asking Neal how he is doing preparing to be a big brother, watching Greg go from being “Neal’s Dad” to becoming “father of two.” But it has been Renate we’ve been watched most closely, checking her profile, asking after her health and spirits. Renate was, after all, carrying the child. What we were doing, as we waited for Adelia, was acting out a parable of contemplative discipleship—showing how Christians live in relationship with God. Waiting, looking for signs of growth, questioning, anticipating change, listening. Expecting. Receptive. Living this way is how God brings energy and activity to our faith lives.

When I finally became a mother for real, I thought I was prepared. I had been a babysitter since 12, I was a licensed childcare provider, and my college minor was in developmental psychology. I thought I was ready. Allow me to say that nothing anyone else says or does prepares a person for 24/7 child-rearing for 18 years. God knows. In fact, God does know. God mercifully invites us all the time to say “yes” to things to which we can’t even begin to know the implications. It isn’t that God hides things from us. But like wrapping presents and hiding them until Christmas, God surprises us. Did you ever find where the presents were hidden? Did you peek? I did once, and I was disappointed. I decided that, if I had waited until Christmas, the surprise would have made the gift fabulous. I don’t peek anymore.

Would I have had children if I had fully understood what was about to happen to me? Probably not. But from my current perspective, I wouldn’t want to have missed a minute of it. Thank God I didn’t know! As Christians, God isn’t treating us like mushrooms, keeping us in the dark about the implications of our “yes” to God’s plans for our lives. Mary had a partial understanding of what was about to happen to her. But that didn’t keep her from “yes.” Her “yes,” if you’ll remember, eventually meant following her Boy along dusty roads, through demanding crowds, to the lonely foot of the cross, to a Sunday morning upper room waiting for news of the whereabouts of a missing body. What got Mary through this lifetime of implications to one “yes,” was her habit of contemplation—thinking things through in holy listening, still expecting God’s promise of Presence to be fulfilled. Her trip to Elizabeth was communal contemplation.

Our Roman Catholic brothers and sisters have a head start on us, looking to Mary as an example of discipleship. Their understanding of Mary’s life of expectation, her habit of contemplation, is something we Reformed Christians can stand to learn. But Mary’s example is not about a spirituality that goes beyond humanity. She was chosen for her humanness. From her we learn about a humanity that goes beyond spirituality. One of the fictions circulating about Christian discipleship is that the aim is to be so holy that we become “more than human.” As if human isn’t good enough. As if God created us incomplete in our humanity. What happened that first Christmas should point up that lie. God became human. God declared all of creation “good”—and that included humans. And to prove it, God became human.

Mary and Elizabeth’s visit with each other today lets us know that our spirituality needs to be about our humanity, about becoming fully human, even as Jesus was the most complete human. There are few things more human than pregnancy and child-bearing. And few things more spiritual. But Mary has more insights for us than contemplation and being human. Her name means “rebellion.” Her song proves it. Mary’s rebellion is subtle. Her rebellion says “the way things are” doesn’t necessarily mean “the way God intends.” Her song is about a world turned upside down. The oppressed saved, the hungry fed, the top on the bottom, the bottom on the top. Those who are full don’t “need” God; they are full already. If you think there’s only so much to go around—and you’ve got some of it—you might think your job is to protect what you’ve already got. Poverty opens our ears, reminds us about receiving, not defending. The holy poverty Mary sings about sharpens expectations. When you have wealth and power, it is possible to change and control things. When you are poor you have to transform them. Our God is ever about transforming. If you are “accomplishing” your life, you don’t need God. If you are “receiving” your life, expectation must be your primary mode. Expect that God will transform.

This week I read something about that puts this in perspective: “If our hopes are molded to conform to some unrealistic and prideful vision of ourselves and of our tomorrows, God unfailingly whittles us and our false confidence down to size. If, on the other hand, we have steeped ourselves in the waters of despair, God intrudes to point us beyond our pessimism to God’s vision of new life.” God is always acting to orient and reorient us. Turning our worlds upside down. Reorienting our lives, our dreams, our hopes.

We’re Reformed Christians, and so we may hear Mary’s rebellion—her call to action—before we hear her call to contemplation. Today’s text calls us to both. Live in expectation. Expect that God will not only keep God’s promises once. Expect that God will keep those promises again and again and again. God will be present. To you. God will also “overshadow” you with the Holy Spirit, as surely as Mary was overshadowed to begin her pregnancy. She expected to bring forth the Incarnation of God. We continue to be called to that, to incarnate—to make human—God’s love in the world of here-and-now, in our complete humanness. So hear Mary’s call to expectancy, to contemplation, to holy listening. Then hear her call to rebellion. Overshadowed and filled with the love of God, act out that love. Be God bearers to the world around you. Be God’s Word spoken in healing, in sharing, in shalom. Live in that expectation.