At our Bible Study this week, someone noted that Mary is so often depicted in art as quiet and pensive, her gaze downcast. Perhaps artists thought that conveyed her deep devotion, and then it became a convention, like associating her with the color blue. But if I were drawing a picture of Mary, her face would be upturned, her gaze focused toward heaven, and her expression fierce and energized.
This Mary portrayed in the Gospels is not “round yon virgin tender and mild.” (I know, I’m butchering the lyrics – it’s the holy infant who’s tender and mild, and love’s pure light that’s “round” her... but that was my impression as a child.) She is quick and tough, brave and prophetic, alive to the cosmic implications of what God is doing in her as well as the personal ones.
Mary’s Magnificat is not the song of a meek young woman – it is the cry of a revolutionary who sees in her own chosenness God’s redemption of all the little people, and the bringing low of those who wield power. It foresees equitable distribution of wealth, of power, of justice. This is Occupy Jerusalem, circa Year O, AD:
God’s mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. (Here is this week's gospel.)
It is impossible to take economics and politics out of the Christmas story – indeed, I would assert, out of any of the Christian story. This Advent those themes have rung loudly, as we’ve faced such crises and divisions in the world and at home. It is also impossible to take the women out of the story. Over and over in the Bible, we see God work through strong, faithful, opinionated, courageous women to accomplish God’s purposes. Mary of Nazareth, like Mary of Magdala and Mary and Martha of Bethany, is the recipient of God’s revelation in Christ, and is able to connect the dots between Jesus and cosmic redemption.
Mary’s willingness to say yes, in faith and obedience, are part of what make her holy. But there’s so much more to her, as Luke’s gospel shows us. Can we take the time to get to know her more fully, not just a stained glass saint but a flesh and blood girl, who shed her blood and shared her flesh so that the Redeemer might be born? Who bore that “sword piercing her heart” as she watched her precious firstborn court danger and ultimately face a brutal death? Who must have returned again and again to these words of prophecy when it looked like power and evil were winning and the hungry continued to lose out to the well-fed?
I’ve never thought of Mary as my heroine – but I’m seeing her anew this year. I’m heeding her call to justice, only partially achieved 2000 years later. Every time we stand with her and bring justice into being, we join her song and make it truer. (Here is a rousing hymnic version of the Magnificat).
In the fullness of time, it is the song all the universe will sing.
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