The good news was that I’d been to the Antiochan Retreat Center in Ligonier before, although it had been driving in the daylight from a completely different direction. Once I got to the center it looked familiar. The meetings went as expected. The rooms were homey enough, though no TV’s. It’s a regular kind of retreat type place except for one thing, it’s an Orthodox retreat center so their chapel is a bit different than what one might expect for a bunch of Presbyterians discussing "reformation" type themes.

Nevertheless, we did hold some of our prayer times in that chapel. With chant style music playing in the background and a good bit more silence than we’re used to, we sat in the chapel, looking at icons in every direction. Every panel on the wall, every ornamental part of the chancel, every space up toward the ceiling had paintings of saints and apostles, all the heroes and heroines of the Bible and other stories of faith as well. Our instructions were to pick a place to sit, and spend time in reflection and prayer.

For my spot, I chose a stretch of floor in front of Mary, the mother of Jesus. Their icon of Mary is painted on a door that leads to the chancel. I assume this is done because Mary was the door through which the Son of God came. Her eyes are cast downward. She looks old for her years. There’s a somberness present that isn’t portrayed on your average Christmas card Madonna.

I sat. I stared. Papers rustled around me. Some of my colleagues squirmed around or coughed. One of them I think even passed gas behind me. Clergy –types are worse than children about having to keep quiet in church.

But I maintained a connection to this icon. I know that’s not typical of Protestant piety, but we live in a visual culture. After my exhausting trip to get to Ligonier, it gave me great patience to realize that Mary had a much worse travel story, having to go to Bethlehem in her 9th month and deliver in a stable because there was no room for her at the inn. It also gave me time away from my son to reflect about what it means to be a mother, and connect deeply to the mothering images of Mary. As I looked into the expression on her face, I realized that she raised this child Jesus that she could never really claim as “her own.” It’s very easy to get possessive of our children, to live through them, to want them to do things well so we’ll look good as parents. When they do well, we’re proud of them, and say, “Look at MY child. Isn’t he fantastic?”

Well Mary would’ve had more bragging rights than most. Out of all mothers everywhere, she was chosen to give birth to God’s son. That kind of beats the “My Kid’s on the Honor Roll” bumper stickers! However, from the very beginning, even before he was born, she was letting him go to the world. Her spirit song in the first chapter of Luke talks about how he will reverse the usual order of things – that he would fill the poor and send the rich away empty, that he would raise up the oppressed, and be more respected than any earthly King. In my wildest dreams, that’s not how I think about my son even on the days when I do expect him in all his childhood kindness to make a difference in the world.

Staring even longer, it made me think of my understanding of baptism. Since we do baptize infants in our tradition, it raises the question of what are we really doing when we place them under God’s loving covenant before they can answer anything for themselves. I think what we ask parents to do in that ritual is to give their child back to God. While that seems rather benign, think about it for a second. We call the process of putting a child up for adoption – “giving them up.” This is like that. We give our children up to God. They are no longer our own but God’s own. We still accept them back to raise, and nurture, and discipline, and care for – surely – but it takes on a different characteristic when we have to first let them go.

Mary is my role model for “letting go.” It’s hard enough to let go of the annoyance of travel inconveniences, let alone to let go the well being of your child so that they can grow in their own path. In Mary of Ligonier, the letting go put lines on her face. It turned her eyes downward. In swinging open the door for Christ to be born into the world, she endured much hardship and pain. She could not protect Jesus from the life he was about to lead. Did she think of this as she held the baby in her arms in a stable? What indeed did she ponder in her heart? Was it breaking?

Nearly 20 years ago, Mark Lowry was working on an Advent production at his Nashville Church. As part of his inspiration, he imagined Mary holding the Christ child, and he wondered what she knew about this very special child. The questions he asked became introductions to each act of his production, but the questions lingered, and later on another musician set the questions to music in the song we now have called, “Mary, Did You Know?” The song’s dialogue is profound and gets to the kind of questions any of us have when we spend some time reflecting on what it might be like to be parents of such a unique young boy. Keith Jeter used the lyrics as a reflection with the children this morning, but I think they bear repeating tonight. Listen as the Spirit speaks to us:

Mary did you know that your baby boy would some day walk on water?
Mary did you know that your baby boy would save our sons and daughters?
Did you know that your baby boy has come to make you new?
This child that you've delivered, will soon deliver you.

Mary did you know that your baby boy would give sight to a blind man?
Mary did you know that your baby boy would calm a storm with his hand?
Did you know that your baby boy has walked where angels trod?
And when your kiss your little baby, you have kissed the face of God.

Oh Mary did you know---

The blind will see, the deaf will hear, the dead will live again.
The lame will leap, the dumb will speak, the praises of the lamb---.
Mary did you know that your baby boy is Lord of all creation?
Mary did you know that your baby boy would one day rule the nations?
Did you know that your baby boy is heaven's perfect Lamb?
This sleeping child you're holding is the great--I--- AM---.