Hi, Everyone,
“Will we be in person?”
This is a question that has echoed throughout both 2020 and 2021. Everyone from performers to lawmakers, from healthcare workers to restaurant workers has been wrestling with the uncertainty of whether Covid would mean switching to an online format. In some cases, the question was about switching back and forth repeatedly between being in person or online (or some kind of hybrid version).
I would contend that there is no group of people who have been asking this question more fervently than teachers. As a teacher of teachers, my work has been significantly impacted by these decisions. Last year, all of my courses were online and synchronous; this year, we were back in person. Last year, I could see my students’ entire faces and that was about it; this year, I can see all of them except a good portion of their faces. Last year, I could be about a foot from my students, albeit on a screen; this year, I was expected to try to stay at least 6 feet from them. Last year, we had to deal with not having any field placements for our students (in other words, no opportunities for them to be in schools contextualizing and applying what they were learning in their courses); this year, they had placements, but they were constantly interrupted, shortened, moved to a virtual format, etc. because of Covid complications.
In short, last year we weren’t “in person”; this year, we were.
On occasion this fall, while I was in my building on campus or just around Millersville, I would run into a student who was in one of my online courses last year. There was always something a bit surprising about it, though I can’t quite put my finger on it. Of course, sometimes they were much taller or shorter than I’d pictured them. But it was more than that. There is something rather stunning—shocking even—when we go from 2D to 3D.
There is a kind of lightly buzzing energy that is generated when we’re with people that can really only be described as presence. Most of the time, I don’t think we notice it much. Introverts might notice that too much time in the presence of people drains them while extroverts notice the opposite. But how often do we pay attention to the specific, unique presence of someone right in front of us? How we feel when we’re with them? How their multifaceted being—embodied spirit/spirited-body—is manifesting right in front of us?
For Christians, there is, perhaps, no better time to ask the question, “What, exactly, does it mean to be ‘in person’?” than right now, during Advent, the weeks preceding Christmas (also the only time of year when I am most likely to update my once-weekly, now-yearly, few-days-before Christmas blog…). This is the time of year that Christians are reminded that God entered creation—quite literally “in person.”
I was reading the first chapter in Luke a while back and noticed something I’d never caught before. It came right after the part where Mary and Elizabeth, both experiencing miracle pregnancies, greet each other shortly after Mary has been told she will be giving birth to the Son of God. Upon hearing Mary, the baby inside Elizabeth (John the Baptist) “leaped in her womb” (v. 41). What follows are two profound exclamations, two monologues, as it were, about the monumental change that the baby Mary carries will bring about.
Up until this point, I’d always seen them as awkwardly disjointed, probably because of how the Bible is cut up visually or how it is read in church services. I’d never before considered these two speeches as interdependent, that Mary’s—known as “the Magnificat”—is a direct response to Elizabeth’s. But now, it seemed so completely obvious. Three times, Elizabeth uses the word “blessed” (twice to describe Mary and once to describe her baby); Mary then famously predicts, “From now on all generations will call me blessed” (v. 48). Elizabeth notes that Mary “has believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her” (v. 45); Mary then expands the scope of the Lord’s promises as she concludes her monologue describing God’s mercy “just as he promised to our ancestors” (v. 55). I have become convinced that it is a mistake to think of these two passages separately.
Okay, fine. Whatever. Who cares about my preference about the best way to read a tiny portion of the Christian Bible (which, depending on your beliefs, may or may not carry any weight for you)? Well, as I have continued to mull over this exchange between these two women, I have come to believe that it has some pretty important implications for how we can think about presence, about what it means to be “in person.”
I’d never thought about Elizabeth’s role in helping Mary understand at least some of the significance of the profound mystery that she was only just beginning to experience. After agreeing to her incredible new role by saying simply, “I am the Lord’s servant [. . .] May your word to me be fulfilled” (v. 38), we get none of Mary’s thoughts about being the earthly mother to the Incarnate God until she travels to Elizabeth and hears her cousin’s jubilant and prophetic greeting.
There were a lot of miraculous and mysterious events happening surrounding these two pregnancies and a few more wouldn’t be all that surprising. For instance, it would be plausible that John the Baptist could have leaped in Elizabeth’s womb the moment God became human as an embryo. Or an angel could have come to Elizabeth and informed her of this most significant news. But this didn’t happen. It wasn’t until the two women met quite un-miraculously face to face that the baby in Elizabeth recognized the divinity in her cousin. In other words, being in person helped both the two women (and John) to appreciate the person—the God—in Mary.
No wonder Mary stayed with Elizabeth for 3 months after this! Elizabeth helped Mary see God inside of her! Who wouldn’t want that?
This scene has got me wondering who does this for me. One of the main things I believe about Christmas (and about my religion more broadly) is that God has chosen to dwell in each of us in a physical, tangible way. Knowing that humans need not just abstractions, doctrine, and spiritual experiences but meals shared, embraces, and spoken words, my religion centers around the idea that humans experience God most closely when God is incarnate—in person—among us.
I’ve had a lot of practice recognizing God in other people, but it can be a lot harder recognizing God in myself. I don’t want to be prideful or narcissistic. But with the help of many people over many years, I am starting to see that to deny or ignore the work God is doing in me is wrong. My job is to look for God anywhere, even in myself. If anything, Mary’s example demonstrates that only profound humility can result from a true recognition of God’s indwelling.
Truthfully, like Mary, I can’t see God-in-me in isolation. I need Elizabeth—many Elizabeths—to help me see the bigger picture of my life. I need Elizabeths who will declare with awe and excitement when they see God in me. I need Elizabeths who will pronounce me blessed and will point out God’s fulfilled promises in my life. And of course, I need to be Elizabeth to people over and over, being willing not only to sense God’s presence in someone but to communicate it to them.
So, will we be “in person”? Will we accept this strange and beautiful challenge to not only be open to divinity in those around us but to communicate our experience of it with reverence, exuberance, and humility? Will we accept it when others do this for us?
To those who celebrate it, Merry/Happy Christmas, and to everyone, Happy 2022!
Sarah/Mouse
