I have a cousin who was born one week after me. I always think of him when I hear this story of Mary’s visitation to her relative Elizabeth when they were both pregnant. In fact, at his wedding reception, I gave a toast saying that I liked to imagine that I leapt for joy in my mother’s womb when we first met.
Patrick is my first cousin, the son of my mom’s sister, and he is my oldest friend. Though I am a week older, it is only because I was premature by a month. He was expected to be born first. My hurry to enter the world made me the first grandchild in our family—which has been a source of much gentle rivalry and teasing throughout our lives.
Having a cousin so close in age is like having another brother. Almost a twin. First a so-called “belly buddy,” then a “brother from a different mother.” Every year at Christmas, we would always open our presents at the same time—because we typically got the same gifts! But our relationship is different from brothers, too. We had our own houses and parents and siblings. Sometimes we lived in the same city and went to the same school, at other points we didn’t. Our relationship has ebbed and flowed through time.
One of the latest ebbs has been during this last year and a half of the pandemic. Though we only live a few blocks from each other, Patrick and I and our families have only seen each other three times—most recently at Thanksgiving. This is an experience that many of you can relate to as we head into the holidays. Suddenly, the walls that have been separating us have been broken, and we rush back into reunite with family. This week, we prepare for joy, both at the Lord’s coming and for these jubilant reunions.
Yet, reconnecting to family is not always easy or joyful. As we come back together, so too do old jealousies and judgments, resentments, and rivalries. I am convinced it must have been the same way with Jesus and his family. Jesus would not have been the easiest person to have around for the holidays. Or to have in your family at all, for that matter. Can you imagine being his cousin—his belly buddy? How could you possibly measure up?
Though the Gospels describe John being remarkably gracious and deferential towards Jesus … it’s easy to imagine tensions there. John is the older cousin by six months. His father Zechariah is a priest in the Jerusalem Temple, a special role that was hereditary. The two were descended from Moses’ brother Aaron, the high priest, members of the priestly tribe of Levi. Jesus did not have this pedigree. He was the son of a carpenter. Additionally, John has been dedicated to the Lord since his birth, taking special Nazarite vows to safeguard his holiness. He began his ministry much earlier than Jesus—going out into the wilds of the desert—and attracting a very impressive following. John is a much more likely Messiah than Jesus.
Yet, there is a reason that Jesus is the Messiah. Unlike John, Jesus’ baptism was not only for repentant Jews, but for everyone, everywhere, for all times. Jesus’ priesthood was not a matter of heredity and pedigree—but for people of every race, nation, and language. All of us who are baptized share in that priesthood (to some degree).
Jesus tells us that being a member of his family is not a matter of his bloodline, but of his blood. The blood of Christ is offered for all. We become his family through our participation in the Eucharist. You see, we are the family of Jesus.
Yet, John the Baptist also reminds us that Jesus had a traditional, biological family, too. The savior of the world was born into a community of people. Our vision of the Holy Family of Joseph, Mary and Jesus is too narrow. These three were part of a larger, extended family. And that family was messy and broken and confusing like ours. But this family is holy, too.
John treated his irritating, overpowering younger cousin with grace and mercy. We see that grace, too, in the older cousins, Elizabeth and Mary, too.
Mary, who though enduring a very confusing pregnancy, rushes off, travelling 100 miles across dangerous country, in order to comfort and care for her cousin Elizabeth with her own pregnancy.
We see it in Elizabeth, who believed the promises that God made to her and who immediately recognizes who it is that Mary is carrying in her womb. It is Mary’s greeting that provokes John to jump with joy in utero and Elizabeth to be filled with the Holy Spirit and to proclaim the first half of the Hail Mary.
We don’t know what Mary’s greeting was. I would like to speculate, though. When I lived in Bangladesh, you could always tell the religion of a person by their greetings. Muslims said “salaam malekum.” Hindus, “namaste” or “namoskar.” Christians would say, “Emmanuel,” a word that means “God is with us” and is one of the first names for Jesus. I like to imagine that Mary greeted John and Elizabeth with that word, Emmanuel—God is with us.
Emmanuel, St. Agnes, God is truly with us. This Christmas, I pray that we can have the same grace and mercy our own family members that John showed. May Christ to come our messiness and brokenness and make our families Holy Families.
And so as we prepare for joy this last week of Advent, we also pray one of the most ancient prayers of the Church: “Maranatha,” Come, Lord Jesus. Lord Jesus, Come!
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