You simply cannot tell Luke’s Christmas story without
the music. Mark sends us into the weariness of
wilderness where the voice of a prophet cries out.
Matthew gathers the whole family and then whispers
a promise into Joseph’s ear. But Luke makes melody
the method that moves his narrative along. There
is Zechariah and Simeon. Elizabeth and the angels’
chorus. Christmas is carried on the wings of song.
And the most significant song of all belongs to Mary.
My soul magnifies the Lord.
Mary’s Magnificat is a psalm of gratitude for the
promise of a baby’s birth, but this song is not a
Christmas carol in the classic connotations. For
starters, the lyrics come from the Hebrew Scriptures,
the Old Testament, words she first learned as a child.
They recall another woman who received a parallel
promise. Hannah, after learning that she would bear
a son, sang what she could not speak. Her child,
Samuel, signaled the beginning of an uprising against
the disorder of a world gone astray and a people held
captive. She sang of salvation, and so does Mary.
But do not be mistaken. This salvation, this
redemption, is no otherworldly vision of a distant,
imagined, ethereal future. It is a song of dissent set
in the present, set down in a world stacked against
the one who sings and countless others like her.
She, Mary, is a peasant girl from a tiny village soon
to be burdened by the blessing of bearing a baby of
uncertain earthly origin. She has no resources to care
for this child. Still, she praises God for honoring her.
Why? God’s messenger has spoken to Mary. She
has trusted his word. She has believed God’s saving
power and that this power is not just for souls but
for the bodies that hang in the balance when those
with wealth and influence selfishly seek more of both.
Listen to her words:
God fills the hungry not with hope but with food.
God gives them a place at the table.
In this way, the Magnificat of Mary is an overture
to Luke’s Gospel, setting the stage for the whole
story. The searing sermons of John the Baptist. The
beatitudes her own son will speak later. Mary begins
the process of turning our expectations upside down,
and she starts with the definition of blessing itself.
Blessing. We tend to use the word in close connection
with material gain, unexpected or competitive
advantage achieved. Blessed with our resources.
Blessed with skills. Blessed by good luck, good
health, a good life.
What about Mary? Mary knows what I struggle to
understand. Receiving a blessing is not the same as
getting a present. It is not about an easier path, a wish
fulfilled, an ambition achieved, an advantage gained.
It is about seeing God in what you cannot explain. It
is about saying yes when God’s way confounds you.
Blessing is about being used for God’s purpose, not
about getting what I want.
And so, Mary sings of holy blessing. She preaches
God’s revolutionary truth to the world. She heralds
hope to those who need it most and a word of
warning for those who stand on top. Mary’s words
promise a program of apocalyptic reversal: the hungry
are filled, and the affluent are emptied; the lowly are
lifted high, and the mighty are brought down.
Now this may not seem like good news to those who
are prosperous and powerful and filled already in
the present. We who find ourselves with comfortable
homes, and more than enough food and abundance
of every kind. Perhaps you wonder, “Is there anything
other than judgment for us in Mary’s song?”
The answer arrives in the opening words: My soul
magnifies the Lord.
Salvation comes to us when we do the same. All who
are over-inflated must be saved from the sin of selfmagnification. When we turn our eyes and our hearts
away from ourselves and direct them toward God, we
will receive mercy. Mercy waits for us too. When we
say yes to God’s way, we too can be saved. Listen. To
be blessed is to be used for sacred purpose, and that
possibility exists for all of us.
Mary’s song insists that our salvation depends on
the wellbeing of all God’s precious children. We are
directed to release our deadly stranglehold on money,
possessions, and power, recognizing that these are
all idols that will never fill our empty hearts with holy
purpose. We are called, instead, to trust the abundant
grace of God.
You see, the wealthy who are sent away empty are
blessed because God comes to us when our hearts,
minds, and hands are free, our future undeniably
joined to the flourishing of all. Mary’s words create the
world God intends us to build. Mary’s words create
the world God intends us to build. Where those who
cry out in pain are delivered. Where those who have
nothing are given the kingdom.
Where those who serve are called blessed. Where the
lowly are lifted and the hungry filled. Mary describes
the work of Christmas.
And so, this is no ordinary birth announcement. No,
it is the inauguration of a new kingdom, a kingdom
that stands in contrast to every other earthly kingdom,
past, present, and yet to be. Mary proclaims the reign
of God, a reign which will not be based on violence
or exploitation. Which will begin with the humble,
not the powerful. Which will trust the frailty of human
hands to nurture and care for the God of the universe.
Of course Mary sings. If God is for her, who will stand
against her?
Mary’s song is no solo. She invites us to experience
the blessing of God, to raise our voice in psalms of
gratitude. Imagine that God can do this again.
If you are feeling more anxious than expectant, if
your heart is more worried than worshipful, if for
you the spirit of the season seems elusive this year,
then pause to ponder the possibility that God can
use you. If the world seems destined to destruction,
if the triumph of the wicked feels inevitable, and the
permanence of polycrisis overwhelms you, listen
again to the voice of Mary and trust that God can be
born again into the brokenness.
Afterall, brokenness is the soundtrack of life these
days. Around us, and often within us, hearts captive
to despair desperately pray for release. As loved ones
suffer from disease, as nations choose warfare and
children suffer senseless violence or go to bed hungry
in our own city, as creation groans under the weight
of our collective disregard and division pulls us ever
farther from the wisdom we seek, we wait. We wait.
We sing of a God who just could not keep distant but
came to live among us. We make room to receive the
light that always comes when a long night gives way
to the breaking dawn. We lift our heads, and we tune
our ears for flicker and spark. We watch to the tips of
our toes for the signs of joy that have been promised.
The whole world is waiting. For justice and
nourishment. For peace and redemption. The whole
world waits for mercy and, yes, for salvation. So while
we wait, let us work. Lift your voice. Prepare your
heart. But above all, find the courage to trust the
promise of Mary’s song. God will be born again in the
brokenness…in us, through us. Yes, Mary knows—the
world is about turn. Amen.