Yes!
Jeremiah 1:4-10, Luke 1:26-39
Have you ever heard that still, small voice nudging you toward something new? A new job, a project, a study group, a class. A new relationship, a new family rhythm, a new way of living. Maybe it came as a whisper: maybe you could, maybe you should. And just as quickly, a louder voice jumped in with all the reasons it never would.
Most of us have had moments like that. Invitations that do not feel grand or glorious at the time, just risky and personal and disruptive. Moments that, looking back, we recognize as turning points, but in the moment feel like uncertainty, fear, and trembling knees.
I remember one of those moments vividly. It was a cold day, much like today, driving from Emporia back to our home in Strong City after a decidedly mediocre lunch at Applebee’s, but a conversation that was anything but average. I had been serving as pulpit supply in Americus for nearly a year when my pastor and the Executive Presbyter invited me to lunch. Somewhere between the lukewarm fettuccine Alfredo and the check, Pastor Phyl looked at me and said, “You know, you should really go down to Austin Seminary for their Discovery Weekend. I think that’s the place for you.”
I had flirted with seminary when I was young, but I had convinced myself that I was not faithful enough, not smart enough, not spiritually deep enough. I was not even sure God was calling me at all. But I had fallen in love with that little congregation. I had fallen in love with the people. And I had fallen in love with sharing the good news in worship in a way that made me look forward to church on Sunday more than work on Monday.
Driving home through the tallgrass prairie, a voice rose up inside me, gentle and persistent and insistent. Maybe you could. Maybe you should. Follow your heart. This is where you are supposed to go. Of course, the second voice was right there too, loud and practical. How will this work? We cannot leave my job. The kids are rooted here. We have no money for seminary. I already have debt and no college degree. I am too old. This is ridiculous. Fear and possibility collided, and I imagine you know that feeling.
Both of our scriptures today begin exactly there, at the intersection of calling and fear. Jeremiah protests, “I am only a boy.” In other words, you have the wrong person. He is afraid of what God is asking, afraid of who he is not, afraid of what obedience will cost.
Mary, too, hesitates. “How can this be?” She is young, vulnerable, unmarried, living under imperial and patriarchal pressure. Divine pregnancy is not just a spiritual mystery; it is a social and bodily risk. Neither of them feels ready. Neither feels qualified. Neither feels brave.
And in both stories, God does not scold them. God does not say, “Be fearless.” God promises presence. To Jeremiah, God says, “Do not be afraid. I am with you.” To Mary, the angel says, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you. You will be overshadowed.” God’s presence comes before performance. God’s grace comes before greatness. Companionship comes before calling.
In Charlene’s portrayal of Mary, we heard her confess, “I’m really quite ordinary.” “I told the angel, ‘I’m nobody.’ I’m not worthy. I’m too young. This must be a mistake.” And then she says something essential: “Maybe heroes are just ordinary people who have the courage to say yes when God calls.” That trembling statement ties these stories together. Mary does not say yes because she lacks fear. She says yes while she is afraid, because she trusts she will not walk the path alone. Jeremiah offers the same witness, trusting the promise that God goes with him.
Ordinary people. Holy hesitation. A trembling yes. Fear is often the front porch of transformation. It does not disqualify us; it signals that we are standing on the edge of possibility. Our culture imagines courage as loud and bold and bombastic, but biblical courage looks more like this: asking honest questions, how can this be; hesitating, how will this work; needing time, taking one uncertain step at a time; trusting that God walks with us. Jeremiah and Mary are not fearless. They are faithful.
There were many trembling steps on my road to seminary. Making a new home and community in Austin. Going back to school after nearly thirty years. Studying beside classmates half my age. Trusting God with finances, family, and the unknown. Many nights of wondering how it would all work out. But grace showed up in the joy along the way: the joy of watching my family flourish, the joy of friendships and fellowship, the joy of ministry and service, the joy of saying yes.
I have come to believe that joy is rarely the reward for having no fear. It is the companion we discover when we trust God enough to step forward anyway.
This Advent, Mary and Jeremiah invite us to listen. Where is God calling you? What fear are you carrying? What invitation are you resisting because you feel inadequate or unworthy? Where might a trembling yes lead you into new life?
Be attentive this week. Be honest about your fears. Trust deeply that God walks with you every trembling step. May Mary’s words become our own: Yes, Lord. Let it be with me. Even when you are filled with fear, doubt, or anxiety. Even here, in the midst of our hectic lives and chaotic world. Even now, whether we feel that we are too young or too old.
Say yes, trusting that God goes with you with every trembling step. Yes? . . . Yes!
