In the hubbub of the angel Gabriel promising a son to the elderly priest Zechariah at the beginning of Luke’s Gospel, it’s easy to miss another important character. Zechariah himself gets most of the attention, even when he nearly rejects God’s promised gift by bringing up exactly why it can’t happen (Luke 1:18). But at the end of Luke’s first twenty–five verses, Zechariah’s wife, Elizabeth, walks into the scene.

Not long after Zechariah returns home from his experience in the temple, Elizabeth does indeed conceive a child. Zechariah questioned the mechanics and plausibility of God’s promise. He can’t speak as a consequence—a reminder that the mouth that spoke in skepticism wouldn’t open until reality proved the skeptic wrong.

But Elizabeth responds completely differently than her husband. She sees her pregnancy as a blessing directly from God that gives her hope and restores her reputation in her social circles. Elizabeth’s hope and joy at the prospect directly contradicts her husband’s reluctance to believe, and sets up an even more dramatic experience in the very next character.

Six months after Elizabeth conceives her child, the divine messenger Gabriel shows up to another main character—an unmarried, virgin woman from the little town Nazareth named Mary. For those of us familiar with the Christmas story, we tend to breeze right through Gabriel’s announcement to the young woman. The words show up in church services and children’s pageants. But Luke crafts his story carefully, and everything in the vignette has a purpose.

Earlier in chapter one, Luke introduced Zechariah and Elizabeth as descendants of Aaron the high priest. Here, Luke introduces Mary as someone waiting to wed a descendant not of priests but of kings. He points out that Joseph—Mary’s fiance—comes from the line of David (Luke 1:26–27). The mention of the famous king David practically screams “messiah,” since most of the ancient prophecies promised that an heir to the great king would rule over Israel (see Isaiah 9:7; 16:5; Jeremiah 23:5; 33:15–17; Ezekiel 34:23–24; 37:24–25). So before we even get to Gabriel’s words, already Luke builds a kind of subtle anticipation in his readers.

Much like his conversation with Zechariah, Gabriel’s sudden appearance and greeting scares Mary, leaving her struggling to understand what is about to happen. The angel—in what is surely getting old for him—tells her not to be afraid, but that she will receive a great blessing. Mary will conceive and give birth to a son, whom she should name Jesus. Once again, names are important to Luke, and “Jesus” has an important role to play in the story. “John” meant “God’s graciousness” looking forward to the gift he would be—not just to his aged parents but also to all of Israel. But the name “Jesus” carries even more weight. It’s a variant of the Hebrew name “Joshua,” which means “savior.”

That would be a pretty auspicious start all by itself, but the angel keeps talking. Jesus will be called the son of the Most High God and would rule on the throne of his ancient father David. And not just for a little while—his kingdom will never end (Luke 1:31–33).

Given how Zechariah responded to Gabriel earlier in the chapter, we’re not really sure what to expect from Mary. And her response was indeed very similar. She asks, simply, “How will this be, since I am a virgin?” (Luke 1:34). Like Zechariah, Mary faced a seemingly impossible promise. If age was the obstacle with the priest and his wife, virginity is the obstacle for Mary. It’s a whole new level of impossible. Sure, Zechariah and Elizabeth were past the age for having kids, but they were married. The biological mechanics were still there.

For Mary, however, there’s a different barrier. She is young enough to have children, yes, but she isn’t married. There are simply no means for her to actually accomplish what Gabriel said would happen. So she asks, “How?” Unlike Zechariah, Mary isn’t challenging the promise. She is simply curious as to how she may accomplish it.

Gabriel then gives her a rundown: The child in her will be the miraculous product of God’s Spirit overshadowing her. The divine empowerment of the Spirit will spark life in Mary’s womb without the input of any man. Gabriel continues—as if to preempt any more concerns—by saying Elizabeth, Mary’s cousin, is already carrying the proof of God’s ability to do the impossible.

In the end, Mary chooses to accept the task assigned to her.

Before we move on in this vignette, it’s important to stop for a moment and look at one more contrast between the characters in Luke’s first chapter. Zechariah and Elizabeth were the right kind of people to be part of something big. They were from the line of the priests. They were blameless. They were the best of the best. The only hiccup was Elizabeth’s infertility, but God overcame that for them. And yet, Zechariah’s response was immediate doubt.

Mary, on the other hand, is not the ideal candidate. Not only is she young, she isn’t tied to an auspicious family. Only her husband–to–be is. We know nothing of Mary’s family line. And, as if to top it all off, Mary isn’t even married. As a single woman in a culture that tied women’s value primarily to their family relationships, Mary seems to be precisely the wrong kind of person for the role. And yet, she immediately accepts the task from God despite the potential damage an out–of–wedlock pregnancy could inflict on her reputation.

God’s words to Elizabeth brought an end to her social stigma. But God’s words to Mary create a stigma for the young woman. Mary knows it, and embraces God’s invitation anyway.

Luke then finishes out the vignette by relaying Mary’s journey to visit Elizabeth, where the Spirit of God himself confirms through Elizabeth’s unborn baby that Mary is, indeed, special. Their time spent together encourages both women, and Luke records the words of a song Mary composed to celebrate her role in God’s grand story. She acknowledges her lowly status (Luke 1:48), but then anticipates what God would do in and through her—not for her own benefit, but for the benefit of the whole world (Luke 1:51–55).

Neither Elizabeth nor Mary woke up that day expecting to be part of some grand plan far bigger than themselves. But both women got swept up into the ancient promises of a redeemer anyway. How they responded is important—not just to Luke’s version of the Jesus story but also to those of us reading today. It’s easy to see Mary’s willingness to participate in God’s design as a natural thing—who wouldn’t want to be part of something far bigger than themselves? But in thinking that way, we miss the point. Mary woke up that morning expecting a normal day. Instead, she got sucked into the grand scheme of God’s work in the world but became a social outcast. She accepted God’s invitation even with the high cost, and in doing so models true trust in God.

Elizabeth had it differently. She responded with gratitude for God’s intervention in her life, because becoming part of the ancient promises for a messiah meant a reversal of her misfortune and social plight. She recognized that immediately and was grateful. But it’s important that we don’t stop there. Elizabeth does more than just say “thank you” and then get on with her life. She shelters Mary in the first months of the younger woman’s pregnancy. She vocally anticipates the work the two women’s sons will do in redeeming God’s people. She looks at her situation and asks how she can continue to be a part of what God wants to do in her life.

The stories of both women demonstrate that getting caught up in God’s plans for our lives can bring both good and bad circumstances. If we’re being honest with ourselves, it’s easy to be thankful when God’s requests benefit us. When the events of our lives lead us into a better job, or a great apartment, or the right college, it’s absolutely the right thing to thank God for his kindness. After all, he loves to be generous to his people (Luke 11:13). But what happens when trusting God inevitably means pain? Or, at the very least, our discomfort? Will we join Mary in saying “let it be done as you said?” Or will we turn our backs and run?

And what happens when God’s plan means good things for us? Will we look for ways to use those good things to show kindness, generosity, and love to others? Will we sweep those around us up into the goals of God? Or will we take it all and run?

The women of Luke 1 ask an important question: When God calls, will you answer? And if you do, what will you do next?