During the Advent and Christmas season we hear a lot about Mary, the mother of Jesus. We hear the story of Gabriel’s appearing to her, then we focus on her obedience, her purity, her faith; we might even speak of her courage.
If you drive around town, you’ll find her in several lit-up outdoor Nativity displays, generally draped in blue, with downcast eyes and heavenly smile. And she’ll either be holding a newborn baby wrapped in swaddling clothes or serenely looking down at a perfect baby laying in a manger.
For a few weeks of each year, we’ll honor Mary’s legacy as the mother of Jesus, and then we’ll forget about her. Maybe until she comes up again on Good Friday and Easter morning, as she is among the Marys at the foot of the cross, then at the tomb. But then we’ll forget her again until we come back around to Advent next year.
But there’s another side of Mary too, rather than Mary, the Virgin Mother, we see Mary, the prophet. Mary, the voice of the downtrodden, Mary, the singer of the prophetic and courageous song that we know as the Magnificat.
It's not a part of the story we often hear; it appears only as an optional and alternate text in the lectionary. It doesn’t seem to contribute to the narrative of the story, so it gets skipped for the parts of the story that make their way into our classic nativity scenes. Or perhaps it gets skipped over the rush to make sure we have time to sing all the right carols, watch a pageant, light the Advent wreath, and all the other things that make their way into Advent worship.
Or maybe it gets skipped because it makes us uncomfortable. Because we far prefer Mary, the mother of Jesus to Mary, the prophet or to Mary the voice of the voiceless or to Mary the singer of hope.
Growing up, I don’t remember hearing a single sermon about this song that Luke attributes to the teenage girl who had just been told she was going to give birth to the Son of God.
No one told me that Mary’s song comprises the longest set of words spoken by a woman in the New Testament.
No one commented on the fact that Mary sang her prophetic song on her cousin Elizabeth’s doorstep, while Zechariah, the official spokesperson of God, had been struck mute when he had questioned how his old and barren wife could bear a son.
I also didn’t know that lyrics of Mary’s song were so subversive and destabilizing that the words have been banned from being recited in worship or in public in places like India, Guatemala, and Argentina at several times in modern history.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer describes Mary’s words as “the most passionate, the wildest, one might even say the most revolutionary hymn ever sung.”
But on Sunday, we will turn to Mary’s words. To her song of hope. To her words of joy.
I hope you’ll join us!
Grace and peace,
Kimmy
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