Purify my conscience, Almighty God, by your daily visitation, that your Son Jesus Christ, at his coming, may find in me a mansion prepared for himself. Amen.
I’m going to be honest – if an angel of the Lord appeared to me and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you…Do not be afraid…you’re pregnant!” I would, without a doubt, be terrified. I likely would have responded similarly to Mary’s initial response – “Who, me?” – and I’m not quite sure if I could have mustered much more in my state of disbelief. Truthfully, I don’t know which part would have terrified me most: To find favor with God and to be told explicitly that you’ve found favor with God, feels a little pressure-inducing. To be told “The Lord is with you” by an angel, could be a little disconcerting, especially given that biblical descriptions of angels depict angels as kind of grotesque. Whenever someone says, “Do not be afraid,” I’m immediately skeptical. Biblically, this is an appropriate response. Any time God, a prophet, or an angel of the Lord says, “The Lord is with you” or “Do not be afraid” tends to be in the face of something about which someone should actually be terrified – war, famine, imminent escape from slavery, regime change, speaking truth to power, seeing someone walk on water, an empty tomb after you witnessed the body being buried… Nerve-wracking stuff, you know? But then lastly, if this angel told me I was pregnant, particularly as a young, unwed teenage girl – as was Mary’s case – I’d be overwhelmed; and this is coming from someone with the privilege of knowing that if I had been pregnant, I would have had the financial and emotional support of my family. Mary, on the other hand? She could have been disowned from her family, her fiancé Joseph, and society at large. And yet, this angel of the Lord, the angel Gabriel, appears to Mary, says, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you…Do not be afraid…you’re pregnant!” Mary takes a second to say, “Who, me?” Gabriel says, “Indeed!” and Mary says, “Well, here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”[1] Amen. Now, we learn a lot about the Mother of God from this exchange… First, we learn that she wasn’t an Episcopalian seeing as when Gabriel said, “The Lord be with you,” Mary didn’t say, “And also with you.” But that’s okay – because we learn something deeper about the woman who birthed and raised the Christ. In this exchange, we learn Mary’s spirit, her heart, and her willingness to be a literal co-creator with God in making a reconciled and redeemed world. Then, in her Magnificat, the song Mary sings when she visits Elizabeth immediately after being told that she would give birth to the Son of God,[2] we get to see even more of Mary’s spirit. In this song, we encounter a woman who, in the face of fear, not only sings praises to God but also professes a new way of being on this earth, both through its words and by its execution. Have you ever looked or listened closely to the words of the Magnificat? Well, luckily for you, it was both read and chanted for us earlier in this video and can be played on repeat! So, if you listened to or read the words, then hopefully you hear and see that it is near impossible to conclude that this was sung by a weak or helpless victim. Rather, the Magnificat is a song of liberation sung by an empowered agent of God. Mary begins by expressing the greatness of God, her rejoicing spirit, and her gratitude for the Lord.[3] As womanist Renita Weems explains, “Mary’s song was not a boast. It was a hymn of praise, sung out of a profound sense of thanksgiving. She sang not just for herself, but for Elizabeth…and for every woman who has ever wondered how to tell God, ‘Thank you.’”[4] And this is where the liberative aspect of the words of the Magnificat begins. First, there is a liberation found by us, the receivers of this song, in knowing that someone else is singing for us – singing with us – when maybe we don’t have the words ourselves. Then, Mary begins to express a vision of what the world could be in God. She says God shows mercy to anyone who fears, or respects, God.[5] Jesus later teaches us that to respect God is to love God, love neighbor, and love ourselves.[6] Mary then continues by inverting the power structures of the world. Under God’s reign, the proud are scattered rather than planted or invested in, the mighty are cast down rather than celebrated, and the rich are turned away rather than granted access to resources and positions. In lieu of what normally is, God stands strong against earthly power, lifts up the lowly and the marginalized, feeds the hungry with literal and spiritual nourishment, and helps God’s people.[7] As I hear it, this song sounds an awful lot like Isaiah 61, on which Jamie preached last week, and whose words Jesus uses to begin his public ministry. Like mother, like son, no? These are the liberative words that the Mother of God sang as she carried the Christ in her womb. Earlier, I said the Magnificat is a song of liberation sung by an empowered agent of God. But who was Mary, this agent? Well, this is where the Magnificat becomes radical in its execution. We all know the story – Mary and Joseph were to be wed when Mary became pregnant. As people who likely grew up hearing this story, we’ve likely become complacent to the implications of that narrative. We’ve emphasized the virginal aspect of Mary, which is a miracle in and of itself, but we’ve sterilized everything else. Mary was not just a virgin. She was a person with a life in a context. Specifically, Mary was a poor, unwed, teenage girl carrying the child of someone other than her fiancé. Each of these identifiers carries with it life-threatening implications for Mary. Being poor, she may not have had access to first century versions of health care. Being unwed, she had no political or social standing. Being female, systems were literally built to keep her in a box. Finally, being a teenage girl is hard enough. For any of these reasons, she could have been disowned for being pregnant. To make it clear, the life-threatening challenges that Mary faced in the first century were not just Mary’s threats. They are still threats faced by many, especially young mothers, today. Threats we, as a society, are responsible for eradicating as co-creators of God’s kingdom on earth. But back to Mary. An angel of the Lord appeared to Mary. God chose Mary – perhaps even for her social location; for her identity. God could have chosen Elizabeth, an older, established, well-off, pious woman to carry the Christ. But, instead, we learn that God chose Elizabeth gave birth to John the Baptist – the prophet who pointed to Christ – and Mary gave birth to Jesus – God incarnate. It is Mary’s social location, her identity, that underwrites the radical nature of the words of the Magnificat because, for Mary to be singing at all, is radical in and of itself. Ultimately, the Magnificat is a radical anthem which, by its words, denounces earthly power structures and, by its execution, asserts the power of youth, women, and the marginalized in God’s kingdom. So as we head into Christmas, the season in which God incarnate physically dwells among us on earth, consider the radical nature of the Magnificat and how we can be co-creators with God in making this vision a reality, given our own calls and vocations. Perhaps, the work that needs to be done is within us. Perhaps, the needed work is in our world. I’d argue that it is in both. But no matter where you begin, may your soul proclaim the greatness of the Lord. Amen. [1] Luke 1:38. [2] Luke 1:35. [3] Luke 1:47-49. [4] Renita Weems, Just a Sister Away, 122. [5] Luke 1:50. [6] Luke 10:27; Matthew 22:36–40; Mark 12:28–31. [7] Luke 1:51-55. |