"Live a little," said the bright billboard.
Our local Dairy Queen meant no harm when it erected the thing fifteen years ago. Tourists interpreted it to mean, "come on in. Get out of the heat. Forget your diet." There was one problem. The sign was next to a cemetery.
Ouch. Not position A.
Folks depend on signs for direction in life; where to go ... what to do ... how to live. Sometimes they depend too much. Take Zechariah, for example.
The angel said to him, "Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son." Zechariah answered, "Not!" It wasn’t enough for him to be chatting with a genuine angel. He wanted proof, a lightening bolt, a FAX from God, something to convince him that two old people can still be parents. Zechariah was preoccupied with signs.
Not so with Mary, mother of Jesus.
She took one look at the signs and said to herself, "Let’s see ... a.) I’ve never slept with a guy, b.) I’m about to be pregnant with God’s kid, c.) no one will believe me in a million years. But--"
And then she yielded.
There’s a dirty ditch between Mary’s, "How can this be?" and Zechariah’s, "How will I know?". One believes and is blessed. The other rebels and is rendered as mute as a dead man in a cemetery.
Sometimes to live a little, you’ve got to believe a lot.