Our pastoral image of the nativity blinds us to Mary’s power. In the Magnificat, we receive the rebellious, punk anthem at the heart of the Incarnation.
The Magnificat reveals the rebellious power at the heart of Christmas
Advent 4B | Luke 1:39-55
My favorite picture of the nativity is called “José y Maria,” by Everett Patterson. It’s a modern Mary and Joseph looking for a place to stay from the perspective of a person driving by. You probably know it as the comic book-style picture you’ve seen on Facebook.
The picture is rich with detail for the discerning viewer.
We’re outside what appears to be a convenience store. Or the sort of place which sells Star Beer and Weisman cigarettes. José is on a pay phone with a phone book open. Seeing that Daves City Motel has no room, he’s clearly looking for a place for the two of them to rest their heads. Maria, wearing a Nazareth High School hoodie is on a broken penny horse ride.
And we know where they’ll end up. The motel sign behind them has lost the A from the announcement of the new manager — foretelling the “new man-ger” they’ll need.
What I love about this picture is that it captures the heart of the nativity story better than any other I’ve seen. And while we’re not yet to the nativity, (that’s for tomorrow night and Tuesday morning), that heart begins in today’s story about Mary visiting Elizabeth.
Because this isn’t just a special young woman chosen for a singular ministry in the world — to be the one and only Christ-bearer — her station, her belief, and her sense of the world around her makes her God’s preferred choice.
She represents the very person God especially loves.
God is with us.
Taking our attention back to the picture for a moment, we see the obvious clues, not just to its symbolic representation as the Nativity, but to the world José and Maria are in. José is stuck with a pay phone. No cell phone, so he’s plopping down 50 cents per call. And again, no smartphone, so he’s flipping through a phone book.
He’s clearly cold-calling places — every call stealing from their food money. And we all know they aren’t calling the Hilton.
The trash, the beer bottle, the graffiti everywhere help set the scene. But poking through the crack in the sidewalk is a bright green plant like the root of Jesse. God is there. Where they are. Particularly where they are. With them.
And on the side of the payphone is scribbled Zeke 34:15-16.
So this is what those verses from Ezekiel say:
“I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep, and I will make them lie down, says the Lord God. I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak, but the fat and the strong I will destroy. I will feed them with justice.”
And below that, on the phone’s post is a sticker: Gloria!
So here we see this migrant couple, shepherded by God, lost and sought, is following a promise: that they will be brought home and strengthened.
This picture depicts the sorts of essential elements of the story we gloss over each year because they aren’t universal; they’re particular. And we dismiss what actually is universal about their particularity.
Because frankly, Mary was powerless.
Women and children had no control over their own lives. There was no autonomy or human rights. There’s no first amendment or right to vote. It would be some 1900 years later that some modern Marys would put their bodies in the streets to win the same rights Joseph enjoyed.
This is an extremely political story. Its context is political and God’s action is political. God is making a political statement in choosing a young woman, probably a girl by modern standards, to partner in creating the Messiah.
And not just a young woman, but one whose life would be threatened by the pregnancy, whose world would be turned upside down, who is living without the safety net of a stable income or royal fame, she doesn’t have millions of followers on Instagram. This whole thing she’s into with God and Joseph is dangerous! Life-threatening dangerous!
For Mary to say yes to this crazy experiment takes real guts.
But that’s only part of it.
She doesn’t just say yes. She travels all the way to see her cousin, Elizabeth, seeks her companionship, knowing there’s only one other person in the whole world who gets what she’s going through.
And when she gets there, Elizabeth praises her, sharing her own baby’s response to the moment, and saying
“And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”
Then Mary breaks into song.
A song about belief. A particular kind of belief. Not philosophical belief about the existence of a deity. But belief in the project God is up to.
She believed when God came to her and said “I’ve got this crazy idea.” Because God keeps showing faith in these same crazy ideas.
God doesn’t show up to the wealthy and elite to rule with wisdom [except that one time to fulfill the promise God made to the guy’s father]. Otherwise, God shows up to these down-and-out people who can’t have kids and those shamed by their society. To the weakest servants and the youngest brothers. Men and women, boys and girls.
In a world in which only the men have power, God sure loves showing up to people who could never earn it.
This is God’s track record.
These are who God is always redeeming and engaging.
But that isn’t all God has in store. God has also promised to offer justice to those who exploit their neighbors and steal from them. And God has promised to level the temples they build to wealth and commerce and raise up the pits we throw our prisoners into.
Yes, God loves the loser. And despises the one who makes sure the other one’s a loser. This is both a beautiful and terrifying truth.
This is what Mary and Elizabeth know.
And this is what Zechariah would come to understand in the verses right after this. His ignorance and selfishness in light of God’s dream for the world silenced him, but when he joins in, his body is unleashed and he sings praise to God. Isn’t that so telling? The priest was silenced by his support of human power. And set free by the good news of Christ’s justice. When he gets with that program!
Getting Loud
This being silenced and then God releasing the tongues of these people is the most beautiful and empowering image of this whole part of the story.
Imagine what Mary and Elizabeth endure. It shouldn’t be hard. Imagine hearing the whispers and accusations behind them. How their neighbors always talk. Always with terrible rumors and evil assumptions. And these two women have to take it. They take it only because some well-connected men could kill them and get away with it.
Think about how quiet they have to be. How they have to blend in and not rock the boat. How silenced they feel.
Until Mary shows up. Now there are two of them. And the baby leaps in Elizabeth’s womb
“And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaimed with a loud cry,”
The Spirit drives her to shout! It unbinds her lips to proclaim a blessing. Mary is blessed! God favors this powerless girl! This is what God does!
Mary knows. And she’s not messing around anymore.
She lets loose with a rebellious, political anthem proclaiming God’s love for the unloved and terrifying prophecy for the strong. A piece the great Anglican C.S. Lewis called “a terrible song”— a Latin wordplay on the terror and fright of what God truly promises.
That God may strip from us the very power we hold! Praise God, I hope so! Because it means we’re all freed!
This is the Advent we prepare for, the transformation we pray will come. A marriage of love and justice; kinship and toppled power; hope for the poor and loss for the powerful.
A transformation sparked by God, growing between the cracks, it’s the mustard seed growing into a redwood bush. And the people most in need of saving will see and understand this is the advent of Christ. God is here! we’ll shout!
And in our midst, we’ll hear it. A song is sung by a young woman with everything to lose but bearing a vision of God’s kin-dom which has room for all of us. If we’re willing. Willing to follow her melody. Willing to harmonize with her. To let her lead.
God chose her to go first. And anyone willing to bend their knee to her is welcome to follow in their proper place behind her. Quiet! She’s finding her voice. And it’s God’s voice. The God who never stops giving hope to those stuck in the darkest places.