Mary’s story begins in a place nobody respected. Nazareth was small, ordinary, even laughed at — the cave dwellers, the “trailer trash” of their day. God did not look for a palace or pedigree. He looked into the margins and found a humble life ready to be used. That disrupts the common habit of measuring worth by status, education, or visibility.
This calls the reader to remember that God’s attention often falls where the world’s does not. Your ordinary neighborhood, unnoticed job, or small acts of faith can become the ground where God begins something large. You are not disqualified by lowliness; your daily life can be the stage for God’s work when you offer it in openness and humility.
Thus says the LORD: “Heaven is my throne, and the earth is my footstool; what is the house that you would build for me, and what is the place of my rest? All these things my hand has made, and so all these things came to be, declares the LORD. But this is the one to whom I will look: he who is humble and contrite in spirit and trembles at my word.” (Isaiah 66:1–2, ESV)
Reflection: Who in your daily life or neighborhood tends to be overlooked, and what one concrete act will you do this week to notice and serve them (send an encouraging message, invite them for coffee, give an hour of help)?
Saying “yes” to God often lands a person in the middle of uncertainty and real risk. Mary’s consent was not a calm, easy assent; it carried disgrace, danger, and potential heartbreak. Faith showed up as a trembling trust—she did not have all the answers, but she chose obedience over self-protection. Courageous faith learns to hold fear and obedience together rather than waiting for fear to disappear.
That kind of faith looks like small, concrete steps forward even when the outcome is unknown. It’s the willingness to surrender plans, endure questions from others, and walk a path that could cost much. Practically, this means listening for God’s call, naming fears out loud, and stepping anyway—trusting that obedience itself will shape both character and destiny.
Now the angel of the LORD came and sat under the terebinth at Ophrah, which belonged to Joash the Abiezrite, and his son Gideon was beating out wheat in the winepress to hide it from the Midianites. And the angel of the LORD appeared to him and said to him, “The LORD is with you, O mighty man of valor.” And Gideon said to him, “Please, my lord, if the LORD is with us, why then has all this happened to us? And where are all his wonderful deeds that our fathers recounted to us, saying, ‘Did not the LORD bring us up from Egypt?’ But now the LORD has forsaken us and given us into the hand of Midian.” And the LORD turned to him and said, “Go in this might of yours and save Israel from the hand of Midian; do not I send you?” (Judges 6:11–16, ESV)
Reflection: What is one specific “yes” you are holding back from because of fear, and what single step will you take this week toward it (make a call, set a meeting, pray daily for courage, tell one trusted person)?
Both Jesus and Mary show a different way of greatness: power and influence are meant to serve, not to crown the self. When influence is used to lift the lowly and meet real needs, it reflects God’s upside-down kingdom. The temptations to use status for self-advancement are powerful, but the call is to steward what one has for others’ flourishing.
This looks practical: time given to someone overlooked, money used to relieve a neighbor’s burden, public voice used to praise and promote others. Stewardship means asking not “What will this do for me?” but “Who will be helped if I use this?” The measure of influence becomes service rather than acclaim.
He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God? (Micah 6:8, ESV)
Reflection: Which resource—time, money, influence, or skill—has God placed in your hands, and what one measurable action will you take this week to use it to serve someone (volunteer two hours, give a specific amount, promote a colleague, teach a skill)?
Christians do not all speak or worship in the same ways, and debates about Mary can become a wedge. Yet beneath those differences are shared convictions: reverence for her faith, gratitude for her role in salvation history, and a common center in Jesus. Unity does not erase honest theological differences, but it does call for mutual respect and a refusal to let secondary issues fracture the body of Christ.
Practically, unity looks like listening more than winning, asking questions instead of assuming motives, and honoring others’ devotional habits while holding fast to what is essential. It means resisting the urge to make a neighbor’s practice a test of faith, and instead looking for the shared love of Jesus that binds believers together.
But take care that this right of yours does not somehow become a stumbling block to the weak. For if anyone sees you who have knowledge eating in an idol’s temple, will he not be encouraged, if his conscience is weak, to eat food sacrificed to idols? And so by your knowledge this weak person is destroyed, the brother for whom Christ died. Thus, sinning against brothers and wounding their conscience when it is weak, you sin against Christ. Therefore, if food makes my brother stumble, I will never eat meat, lest I make my brother stumble. (1 Corinthians 8:9–13, ESV)
Reflection: Name one Christian from a different tradition with whom you disagree about Mary or practice; what one respectful, listening-focused conversation will you initiate this week (meet for coffee, ask to hear their story, listen without arguing) to honor them and pursue unity?
Mary’s “yes” brought unimaginable sorrow but also the deepest joy—the joy of participating in God’s saving work. Obedience to God often means carrying hard things, but those burdens can produce fruit that far surpasses temporary comfort. There is a paradox: the way of the cross leads to the way of joy.
This invites a posture of willingness to bear loss when it serves God’s purposes, trusting that God weaves sorrow into a larger story of redemption. The promise is not that pain vanishes, but that the work of God through humble obedience yields life, renewal, and a joy that sings even after tears.
Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy! He who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him. (Psalm 126:5–6, ESV)
Reflection: What is one invitation from God you have been avoiding, and what specific first step will you take today to say “yes” (a 10-minute daily prayer commitment, sign up for a ministry, tell one person), committing to notice and record one moment of joy this week?
of the Sermon**
In this sermon, we explored the life and faith of Mary, the mother of Jesus, looking beyond the familiar Christmas story to consider her background, her courageous response to God, and her ongoing legacy in the church. We began by examining Mary's humble origins in Nazareth—a place so insignificant it was the butt of jokes—and reflected on how God often chooses the overlooked and lowly for His greatest purposes. We then considered the cost and courage of Mary's "yes" to God, recognizing that her faith was not the absence of fear, but trust in the midst of uncertainty and risk. The sermon also addressed the differences and common ground between Catholic and Protestant views of Mary, encouraging respect and understanding across traditions. Finally, we were challenged to respond to God's call in our own lives with the same humility and willingness as Mary, recognizing that the deepest joys and greatest impact come when we say "yes" to God.
**K
God doesn’t go to the mansions of Sepphoris to find the mother of His Son. He goes to a cave in Nazareth. He chooses a teenage girl that the world overlooked. The last shall be first, and the first shall be last.
The best stuff in life happens when we say yes to God. Mary could have avoided pain by saying no, but she would have missed being part of the greatest story ever told.
This is what faith looks like: not the absence of fear, but trust in the midst of fear. Not understanding everything, but obeying anyway. Not demanding guarantees, but surrendering to God’s purposes.
All of us are called to bear His love and His light to the world. All of us are called to humble ourselves and lift up others. All of us are called to say yes when God speaks.
Mary had a million excellent excuses to say no. She could have said, “I’m too young.” She could have said, “This isn’t a good time.” She could have said, “Find someone else, Lord.” But she said yes.
God is constantly looking for those who are cast down. He lifts up the lowly, fills the hungry with good things, and chooses the overlooked to do extraordinary things.
Most of us have some degree of power. We have influence. We have resources—more than most of the world. The question is: what do we do with it?
If you’re Protestant and you think we’re miles apart from Catholics on Mary—I’d say we’re actually much closer than you realize. There’s room for us to say, “I see it differently than you do. But you may be right.”
Maybe God has been prompting you to step out in faith. To give generously. To forgive someone. To make a change. To take a risk. The question is: what do you do with it?
None of us are called to literally bear the Christ child. But all of us are called to bear His love and His light to the world.
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