By the time I came along, the family argument that has been called the Protestant Reformation had been going on in the church for four and half centuries. Some of the arguments were pretty old and worn and some of the distinctions between the different sides of the argument weren’t as clear to us as they had been to first generation reformers. Still, we grew up knowing that there were differences between our church and the Roman Catholic church. Our family was very good friends with a Catholic family, so conversations between us kids about what went on in our various churches were common. It seemed to me that there was a bit more mystery in the Catholic church, with special booths for confession, a bit of incense now and again, and priests who didn’t marry and who wore special clothing. Our ministers, by comparison, seemed a bit more common.

One of the distinctions that we discovered had to do with the rosary. We had no similar device. And we didn’t know all of the prayers that were prayed as Catholic believers worked their way through the beads. Some words, such as the Apostles’ Creed and the Lord’s Prayer were familiar. Others, such as the hail Mary were a bit strange to our ears: “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

At some point, I asked an adult about that prayer, and received an extended answer about we Protestants believing that we could pray directly to God and we didn’t need to go through others in order to offer our prayers. At some other point, someone told me that Catholics worship Mary.

I remained largely confused about the various positions and discussions about Mariology well into my seminary years. Later I learned some language to describe the veneration of Mary and the Protestant objections to Roman Catholic practice. I also learned that there were Protestant versions including Anglican Marian theology that were somewhere between veneration and the rejection of the study of Mary.

Advent is the one season where we Protestants do pay a bit of attention to Mary, and perhaps our focus is a bit sharper these days than it was earlier in my life. These days, we almost always use the Canticle of Mary as a response during Advent and often use it again on Christmas Eve. We Protestants have never rejected Mary, or felt that she was anything less than a major Biblical character, and the pure poetry of Luke’s reporting of her is at the center of our Advent preparation and Christmas recognition.

Focusing one’s attention on Mary, however, does lead one to a great deal of foreshadowing in the season of Advent. Our story doesn’t end with the birth of Jesus, and the rapid change of seasons from Christmas to Epiphany to Lent leads us to be reminded of how short Jesus’ earthly life was and how much our story also is the story of his death and resurrection.

Mary’s song not only focuses on God’s plan for peace and justice for the world, it also reflects God’s plan for Israel and the position of the people of Israel as servants of God:

“My soul magnifies the Lord, 47and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.”

For those of us who know the story, Elizabeth’s greeting of Mary and fMary’s response are bittersweet. We know how the story unfolds. Both women give birth to sons whose lives have tragic ends. John is beheaded. Jesus is crucified. Both mothers outlive the sons they bear that hold so much promise for the world.

Theirs is a position of great joy to be sure, but also one of great tragedy. They give birth not only to great promise, but also to great pain. Becoming a parent involves the risk that this one you love so much may experience gut-wrenching tragedy.

Tomorrow, when we gather to worship, our children will be leading our celebrations. With songs and a simple telling of the story, their worship service is one of the moments of genuine Christmas celebration for our congregation. We call the Third Sunday of Advent Gaudete Sunday. It takes its name from the Latin liturgy. In English the word means “rejoice.” In the midst of the season of Advent preparation, we take one Sunday to focus on the joy of Christmas. On that day we celebrate the good news of the birth, the promise of salvation and the joy of a life of faith.

But even in the midst of our celebrations of joy, even on the day of our children leading us in worship, we cannot escape that our faith is about the totality of our lifespan: the good and the bad, the joyous and the tragic. As we watch the children, we are aware that they will grow up. Many will move away from our community. Others may drift away from the church. None will remain children for long.

So we will light the candle of joy and we will celebrate without reservation, despite the pain, despite the tragedy ever present, despite living in the midst of a hurting world.

Whether Catholic or Protestant, we together share the belief that our faith does not prevent tragedy or death, but reminds us that there are things stronger - and more lasting - than the trials of this life.

Love never dies.

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