Sermon preached at Wesley Centre, North Marston,

on Advent Sunday, 30th November 2025

By Rev Petra Elsmore​

 

READING

Luke 1:39-55 

Mary visits Elizabeth

 

39 At that time Mary got ready and hurried to a town in the hill country of Judea, 40 where she entered Zechariah’s home and greeted Elizabeth. 41 When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the baby leaped in her womb, and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit. 42 In a loud voice she exclaimed: ‘Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear! 43 But why am I so favoured, that the mother of my Lord should come to me? 44 As soon as the sound of your greeting reached my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy. 45 Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfil his promises to her!’

 

​Mary’s song

46 And Mary said:‘My soul glorifies the Lord

47 and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour,

48 for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant.

From now on all generations will call me blessed,

49 for the Mighty One has done great things for me –   

holy is his name.

50 His mercy extends to those who fear him,   

from generation to generation.

51 He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;   

he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.

52 He has brought down rulers from their thrones   

but has lifted up the humble.

53 He has filled the hungry with good things   

but has sent the rich away empty.

54 He has helped his servant Israel,   

remembering to be merciful

55 to Abraham and his descendants for ever,   

just as he promised our ancestors.’

56 Mary stayed with Elizabeth for about three months and then returned home.

 

SERMON  

I’ve told you often enough that our Marcus loves playing Christmas carols long before anyone else. He plays them before they appear on the radio, before the supermarkets put out their Christmas displays, sometimes even before we’re ready to hear them. He used to start in October, that used to be our line, This year we tried very hard not to let him play them before the beginning of the school year. I’ve often wondered what draws him to carols more than to any other hymns. Perhaps it’s the tunes — memorable, hopeful, full of energy and determination. They lift our spirits. And maybe that’s simply what he loves: music that helps us rise a little above the heaviness of life.

 

When I think of Advent, I think that this is exactly the time of year when we need our spirits lifted. The days grow short, the cold settles in, and darkness can weigh on us. It’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the news of the world or even by the struggles closer to home. And of course, the lectionary readings at the start of Advent don’t help much — they’re full of gloom and warning. This year, I found myself unable to face them. So instead, I chose a different doorway into Advent: the story of Mary.

 

Luke 1:39–55 that we’ve heard earlier, gathers together everything Advent is meant to awaken within us. Like the hopeful music of the carols we love, it invites us into waiting, longing, and quiet courage. Mary carries God’s promise within her, and that promise transforms her — from a young girl into a courageous young woman who trusts God enough to move forward, even when the future is unclear. After Gabriel’s startling announcement, the story becomes surprisingly ordinary.

 

Mary goes to visit her cousin Elizabeth. Two women, both surprised by unexpected pregnancies, both facing uncertainty, and both aware that their lives — and the lives of others — will never be the same. And yet they meet in an ordinary home, offering each other support and comfort, giving each other courage. It’s a reminder: we cannot face life’s challenges alone. But with the presence of someone who understands, we can walk through situations that might otherwise feel frightening or impossible.

 

I imagine Mary found exactly that in Elizabeth — a companion who strengthened her as she prepared to say her full “yes” to God.

 

And after that visit, Mary sings. “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour.”

 

Mary doesn’t sing because everything has suddenly become easy. Her future is still uncertain. Her country is still under Roman occupation. Her life is still marked by danger and hardship. Soon she will have to travel far from home while heavily pregnant. And yet she sings. And her singing is full of courage and hope.

 

Where does her hope come from?

 

Not from her circumstances — but from God.

 

Mary sees the world clearly. She names the powerful, the hungry, the proud, the lowly. She doesn’t deny the injustice around her. But she also sees, very clearly, the God who acts within history. She holds both reality and promise together. That is a real hope.

 

Today, when we look at the continuing suffering in Gaza, Ukraine, Sudan, and when we consider the hardships facing by many people within our own country, and at times, our own struggles, hope can feel like the last thing we want to or are able to reach for. When we consider how often humanity seems unable to learn from the mistakes of the past, hope can feel naïve.

 

But Christian hope does not come from our circumstances. It comes from God. Like Mary, we dare to hope because God is faithful, even when the world is not. And in that small home where Mary visited Elizabeth, something very special, something beautiful happened. Each woman carried a fragile promise from God, and together they created a small community of courage. Elizabeth’s welcome strengthened Mary; Mary’s joy encouraged Elizabeth. Hope grew between them — not through grand actions, but simply through presence, by listening, and by sharing their faith.

 

A few weeks ago, I listened to a lecture by a Kenyan theologian called “Weaving Peace and Hope.” She spoke of weaving — pulling different threads together — as an image of how peace and hope emerge within community. People of different backgrounds, stories, and traditions come together, and through listening, sharing memories, and holding differences gently, they weave something strong and beautiful. Such practice enables communities to overcome difficulties and build futures which have hope and peace in the foundation. She spoke of the women she grew up among, gathering to tell stories, to resolve conflict, to work together.

 

I can’t help thinking how different the world would be if our leaders approached conflicts like that — with a willingness to listen, to honour each other’s stories, to search for the common good rather than for power, or by being driven by ambition or even greed.  Mary and Elizabeth wove peace in that small house — not by solving their world’s problems, but by offering each other compassion, joy, and understanding.

 

We may feel powerless in the face of global suffering, but we can weave peace close to home: by being attentive in a distracted world, by listening deeply, by supporting neighbours, welcoming strangers, encouraging one another to trust God’s promise. Seeing the truth of the world can be overwhelming. But seeing clearly is the first step to trusting God. And from that trust grows the courage to weave peace and hope into our daily lives — through ordinary acts: listening, welcoming, blessing, forgiving, sharing meals, showing mercy, holding one another with love.

 

Mary’s song of praise, her Magnificat, is a brave proclamation that God’s mercy and love are stronger than any force that harms. It is very easy to think that the powers of destruction, that we so often witness in our world today, that these powers have the ultimate hold on our world. It takes courage to see those powers at work, yet to put our trust in God and to know that his mercy and his love is stronger that any other power in the world.

 

Mary knew that. And that’s why she sung. She sung with courage and hope. And in this Advent season, we are invited to join her — to become threads in the fabric of God’s peace, to sing hope into a world longing for healing, and to wait for the fulfilment of his promise in Jesus Christ.

 

Closing Prayer

 

Loving God,

as we enter this Advent season,

we thank you for the quiet courage of Mary and Elizabeth,

for their trust, their hope,

and their willingness to carry your promise.

 

Make us people of hope —not because our circumstances are easy,

but because you are faithful.

 

As we wait for Christ’s coming,

may our lives become threads of your love and light.

And may the song of Mary —a song of courage, justice, and joy —

echo in us throughout this season and

into the world you call us to serve.

We pray in the name of Jesus,

our Emmanuel, God with us.

Amen.​