As if to ward off seasonal silliness, the calendar of our church surrounds Christmas with a variety of observances indicating darkness, which makes a star shine more brightly.

So did Mary have a choice? Could she have said “Thanks, but no thanks”?

We debated that question at a bible study last week, in reflection on the story of the annunciation. It brought to mind a fine sermon I heard years ago. The preacher (named Mary of all things. Did she know?) posited that the angel Gabriel may have knocked on a few other Nazareth doors before finally finding someone who would say yes. Let’s be clear. The scriptures don’t indicate whether that’s true. But it raised for me a question about how we respond to God’s call. We tout free will, freedom of choice, our own agency. But we could ask: do we have a choice?

Mary’s encounter with Gabriel is only one in a long series of holy callings described in scripture. Often the response indicates that the person hearing the call believes God has the wrong number. Moses heard the call via the burning bush, and asked: “Who am I to take on the Pharaoh? I’m not as good a public speaker as my brother by the way. Try him.” Jonah heard the call to go east and headed west as soon as he could. A rich young ruler wanted to follow Jesus. Jesus said: “Great. Give away your possessions and come on.” The young man went away sad. Isaiah heard the call and declared himself a person of unclean lips. Peter heard Jesus’ call and said to Jesus in response “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man.” Jeremiah heard the call and said “I’m too young.” Zechariah, father of John the Baptist, heard the call and said “I’m too old.”

Mary, in contrast, after understandably admitting some puzzlement (Gabriel, run that by me again,) soon said, “Here am I” believing that with God all things are possible.

Did Mary have a choice? I’m not sure. Sometimes scripture indicates that the people who are called by God see no other pathway. I put a few examples of that holy compulsion in the excerpts above. The first disciples, St. Paul and his companions, the martyrs of the early church answer the call even though it got them in a mess of trouble. Life could have been, would have been so much easier. It’s been true ever since. Martin Luther said “Here I stand. I can do no other.” Abraham Lincoln said he was driven to his knees in prayer because he had nowhere else to go. John Lewis, a modern day witness, crossed the bridge and got in good trouble.

As we move from Advent to the Christmas season, I’m wondering how you have responded to God’s call in your life. It may be a nudge to do something small, like reaching out to someone in the grips of loneliness amidst covid-tide. It may be a major shift in your life’s commitments as a new year starts.

Questions of call can be found all over the Christmas story. Was it a choice? Was there no other way? Mary could have simply said “I don’t think so.” Joseph could have cancelled wedding plans. Shepherds could have attributed the angels’ appearance to too little sleep or too much wine. Magi could have noticed an unusual star and said, “How interesting” and kept on with royal duties. Instead, for each of these characters the response was yes, perhaps a road less taken that has made all the difference.

As we come to the celebration of Christ’s birth, we note that God’s grace has appeared, a great gift. This Christmas, how will you say yes to that gift? How will you find room for it in your “no vacancy” life? How will you give thanks for it, with your lips and with your life? Is it simply unthinkable to say anything but “yes”? Perhaps answering such questions can provide insight into the reason for the season. That is my prayer this morning for you and for me.

My daily routine involves an early morning walk, time for quiet, orientation to the day, and some prayer. It’s a privilege that part of that daily walk can take place on the beach, thanking God as the sun rises again, thanking God for the gift of another day. As it’s gotten colder, the number of people on the beach is reduced. A couple weeks ago I was walking on the beach and I saw only one other person. A tall young man in a wetsuit with a surfboard emerged from the dunes and headed across the wide beach to the ocean.

Our paths came close to intersection as he reached the shore. I was close enough to see that he put down his surfboard. He leaned over and picked up a couple pieces of trash on his pathway on the beach. He stood up and looked around. He saw that a good couple hundred yards away there was a trash can. He left his board and walked all that way to deposit the trash. I thought of how easy it would have been to leave the trash where it was. It wasn’t a lot. I realized that I too often have just passed by litter (literally and figuratively). It has caused me to begin to carry a plastic bag in my pocket on these morning walks, ready to pick up any trash I see. I began to shift the way I behaved because of what I saw this young man do. He was a witness to me.

(I should say that my wife, who is more spiritually evolved than I am, has been picking up trash on our beach walks forever. We have teased her for it. Funny how we sometimes we don’t let those people closest to us to be our teachers. That’s probably a topic for another column. Sorry, honey.)

This beach encounter, perhaps another Advent parable, made me think about witness. This young man didn’t notice that I noticed. We spoke no words. I doubt he was thinking: “I’ve got to convince this guy to pick up trash.” Chances are slim that he’s a subscriber to Monday Matters, able to read this story. He just was doing what he thought was right, just doing good, for no reason except goodness. There was no one except me around to pat him on the back.

In case you haven’t noticed, in our world these days, there is ample opportunity to do good. St. Francis said we should preach the gospel at all times and use words if necessary. That doesn’t get us off the hook from speaking of our faith, being able to explain why it is in fact good news. But it does recognize that the ways we live in the world, the ways we treat each other, the ways we treat God’s creation, speak volumes. The ways we live in the world have the potential to bring change.

On Sundays in Advent, we’ve been hearing about John the Baptist. His whole life and ministry was a matter of witness, pointing beyond himself to Christ, to love breaking into the world. He obviously didn’t care what people thought of him. He was all about pointing to the light. We heard yesterday in church that John was not the light but came to bear witness to the light. And we read about him because in all of his eccentricity (and he gives new meaning to the word “eccentric”), he models what it means to be a witness.

Goodness surrounds us. Where do you see it? Are you noticing, watching, expecting, staying alert to it, even if it’s just a faint glimmer, a small effort? That’s sort of the deal with Advent. Who are the people that have been a witness to you, showing you how to live in the world? How have you been changed by their witness? Think of a moment when you saw someone do good. Maybe thank that person for the moment. At least, thank God for that person. Then consider opportunities before you to be a witness on this day, December 14. Someone might just notice. Or not. But ask the Holy One to place before you this day that chance to do good.

Advent calls us to watch, to be alert. For Jesus’ sake, how can you be on the lookout for goodness?