You notice at the end of the extraordinary dialogue between Mary and Gabriel that she is restrained in how she describes her emotional state…restrained in what she commits to. Having offered herself up in service to God, having said, "Let it be with me according to your word," she does not go on to add, "Oh yes, and now I understand everything!"

Rather, the passage never downplays the fact that Mary is perplexed and that Christ's conception is downright confusing, even to his mother. The truth is, Mary is perplexed even before the angel tells her she is pregnant. (1)

"And the angel came to her and said, 'Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.' But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be." So Mary is perplexed from the moment the angel first brings greetings.

It brings to mind that great line from the movie, "Jerry Maguire" when Renee Zellweger interrupts Tom Cruise's lengthy attempt to declare his love to her with, "You had me at hello."

Except that Mary might have concluded the whole dialogue with the angel a tad bit differently. "You perplexed me at hello." From hello to goodbye, there is ample confusion for Mary.

I take comfort in this text. I see it as a great anthem; a symphony if you will in honor of those of us who do not always move forward in absolute clarity, in certainty, in single-mindedness, but with some degree of perplexity. We're the ones at the back of the orchestra, hoping (but seriously doubting) that we are at the right place in the music, playing with gusto nonetheless.

Perplexity as a state of mind is highly underrated in our sure-footed American society. Think about what we want in a leader these days. So often we want someone who knows what he wants, who is clear about what she thinks, who is decisive always. Think how very strange it would be to hear a newscast that began, "Today the President declared, 'Frankly, I'm perplexed.'" We never hear that. Sometimes I wish we would.

There's a news flash right here in the Bible. The most important woman in the world, the one about to give birth to the Son of God, the one who has to tell her beloved Joseph news of this pregnancy that will bring scandal to their new life, the one who will sit heroically at the foot of the cross, suffering her son into eternity, the one who now as a young girl will have to have the strength to travel long distances in miles and even greater distances in faith….this woman begins this adventure in a state of perplexity. From the very moment the angel greets her, she is confused. And what's more, the Bible makes a point of telling us that.

I don't know about you, but to me, that's enormously liberating. I think all people of faith should rejoice in it. I don't mean to make so much over this one narrative detail but imagine how the story changes if it had Mary adding a few upbeat, clarifying remarks….oh, something on the order of, "Thanks for the update Gabe. Consider me in the loop, well informed. I'm moving ahead with total clarity now. You can go now and I'll take it from here."

Instead, there is no surefooted statement to sum it all up. She makes no claim to understand all that she is to understand. Rather, she offers herself up to God anyway, just as she is, confusion and all. Because apparently, when it comes to leaders for God's revolution here on earth, a little perplexity is just fine with God.

But the world wants answers and wants them right now. Can we then believe in a God who can live with the questions?

So often in the life of the church we look around from pew to pew and wonder (admit it now, if only to yourself), "Is everybody else here getting something that I don't? Because this is really confusing stuff."

Never mind the simple liturgical issues of when to stand up and when to sit down and which book to open. That stuff is easy compared to the deeper inner confusion we often feel, "Isn't there a worry that perhaps someone is getting something we don't?"

Or, maybe in another seat, up the aisle, someone else is wondering, "Does everyone question this stuff except me? And if my faith is steady, does that make me question-impaired? Perhaps in my lack of confusion, I'm, confused."

But then, we all sit up straight, stand and sting with church-y certainty, trying to look anything but perplexed.

To which I offer this small comfort. If the mother of God got to be confused, you can be confused as well.

This is Visitors Weekend. You're here, trying this school on for size, trying on this vocation for size, wondering what choices you will make, where, if you come here, you might live or where your kids will go to school, or, if you are married, where your spouse might find a job if your spouse is even going to be able to come. And maybe at a deeper level, even though you have gone through all the Committees on Ministry and walked the labyrinthian ways of discernment, you might still find yourself wondering if you heard a Voice at all. Maybe you have found yourself saying, "What WAS I thinking? Why don't I just stay back in the routine and pattern I know so well? And what on earth is God up to, if God is even up to anything?"

Such questions caused me to go back to the text and in doing so, I discovered something beyond just perplexity. If it's not absolute clarity, it is at least an incredible willingness on the part of this young woman not to remain in her perplexity. It is her willingness to go ahead and step forward, even if all the questions are not answered. It is her great courage to live into what clarity she does have. (2)

The truth is, we cannot hide behind our perplexity. We can choose to stay confused as a way of deciding not to act, as a way of remaining a kind of emotional or spiritual victim, unwilling to make a decision. We can refuse to choose and step forward. Or, we can act, even if the only light we have before us is dim at best. (3)

In lectures given at Harvard Divinity School, Frederick Buechner recounts the turmoil of his own call into ordained ministry. He was twenty-seven at the time, living in New York, working as a writer, having just received a Pulitzer nomination for his first novel, when one Sunday he wandered into Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church to hear the great preacher, George Buttrick. What happened that day eventually led Buechner into study at Union Seminary in New York.

One day he was invited to lunch with his paternal grandmother who lived on the Upper East Side and who had a rather decided disdain for organized religion. She commented once that she had attended worship at Trinity Church, Wall Street and found it "too common for her taste."

His conversation with her ensued as follows:

"I hear you are entering the ministry" she said, down the long table, meaning no real harm. "Was it your own idea or were you poorly advised?"

And the answer she could not have heard even if I had given it was that it was not an idea at all, neither my own nor anyone else's. It was a lump in the throat. It was an itching in the feet. It was a stirring of the blood at the sound of rain. It was a sickening of the heart at the sight of misery. It was a clamoring of ghosts. It was a name which, when I wrote it out in a dream, I knew was a name worth dying for, even if I were not brave enough to do the dying myself and could even name the name for sure. It was a call to death. And it was a call to life. (4)

Whether you are a visitor, wondering, pondering, puzzling, but also listening for the Voice of the Holy One who calls us forward….or, if you have been at this for what now seems almost forever, as it does for me…the reality is the same: perplexity at the ways of God in the world, confusion about comfortable patterns and set-in-concrete plans being called into question and perhaps left behind. And yet, still discovering yourself yielding in trust, still finding a way forward, present to the Mystery in all things.

Let it be with us according to Your word….

Amen.

1 -- From an unpublished essay by Lillian Daniel on the skepticism of Mary
2 -- An insight from Betty Duff, Lutheran theology student
3 -- influenced by a sermon of Steven Cox, Lutheran theology student
4 -- 109-110,The Alphabet of Grace by Frederick Buechner. Harper and Row, Publishers, 1970.