It was not her fault.

She certainly did not ask for it.

She did nothing to earn it.

But she still chose to own it.

Elizabeth owned disgrace:

“In these days he has shown his favor and taken away my disgrace among the people.” (Luke 1.25)

This sentence has been my focus for months now. At first I meditated on Elizabeth’s personalization of God’s favor…beautiful. Lately, I have been considering Elizabeth’s personalization of disgrace…which is, well, not beautiful.

Elizabeth owned disgrace as evident by her use of the powerful possessive pronoun my to describe it. She was barren and her culture’s prevailing opinion was that barrenness was a sign of disfavor. She simply did not fit within her culture’s definition of the blessed life.

You perhaps feel the same…if you are single on Valentine’s Day or did not have the opportunity to finish college or were the only one in your family who did not “go into the ministry” or your body type is not exactly fitness magazine cover material.

Statistically, we know today that infertility is sourced as often in the man’s body as in the woman’s. (Perhaps that might explain in part why Gabriel appeared to Zechariah instead of Elizabeth? Perhaps the miracle was in both their bodies?) But sourced is not a synonym for fault. Regardless of her cultures’ misconceptions, I am unaware of any way in which barrenness could have been Elizabeth’s fault.

Even so, she still felt responsible. Whether culturally or personally, she could not distance herself from–she could not refuse to take unearned responsibility for–the disgrace.

2000 years-ish later, we see clearly that it was scientifically incorrect, illogical, and unnecessary for Elizabeth to own disgrace over barrenness. It was culturally imposed, not personally earned. It was the creation of cultural shoulds, not volitional sins. However, disgrace does not easily acquiesce to reason.

Indeed, disgrace is quite a stubborn entity. It references something both public and shameful. When a husband’s unfaithfulness is made known, the papers speak of his wife’s disgrace. When a favored son is caught embezzling funds, it is said that he disgraced his family’s name.

Disgrace is never positive. It is the removal of (not the mere absence of) grace. Disgrace, then, is a shaming tool. Its favorite word is should. (As in, you should have done that or you should have been this.)

If you feel shamed by shoulds, you may be owning unearned disgrace.

As Jesus and I talked together about how Elizabeth owned a disgrace that she had not earned, I saw myself in her story. I too have owned unearned disgrace. Oddly, disgrace I have called “mine” was not over sin. Jesus has forgiven me for my sin. No, “my” disgrace has nothing to do with anything Jesus died for on the cross.

“My” disgrace is like Elizabeth’s: I have been beaten up by shoulds. Looking back, I can see how at times I owned unearned disgrace when my life did not fit in my culture’s definition of the blessed life.

The disgrace I have called mine is just as incorrect, illogical, and unearned as was Elizabeth’s.

It took a miracle to banish Elizabeth’s ownership of unearned disgrace: she became pregnant. Only then did she personalize God’s favor to the point where she could relinquish disgrace.

Frankly, I do not think we have to wait for a miracle.

Disown disgrace.

Why carry it any longer?

For Lent, fast shoulds.

Through Christ’s cross, God’s favor rests upon those who believe–whether or not their barrenness is publicly absolved by a miracle.