And joy is as surprising as usual today in our texts. The song
from Isaiah is shockingly glorious! Imagine: the gladness of a dry land; a full
blossoming in the desert! Weak hands mysteriously and suddenly made strong!
Burning sands become a pool of refreshing water; the haunt of the
jackals becomes a reedy, mossy swamp. Life-giving water abounds!
A highway runs through it called the Holy Way, and not even a fool
could get lost on it! The redeemed shall walk there, they will come singing,
and everlasting joy shall be upon their heads.
Everlasting joy, in the place one would least expect it.
The Bible is full of songs in unexpected places, and that is
because the story of faith is full of joy in unexpected places. The writer C.
S. Lewis wrote a book called Surprised by
Joy, where he recalled in his childhood being struck by “stabs of joy,”
something so intense, so good, so high, it could not be explained with words.
Surprising joy was the experience Mary had during her pregnancy. Now
think about it: there were many reasons for Mary to not be happy. Pregnancy is
a beautiful and precious thing, but the world doesn’t always see it that way. Mary’s
pregnancy put her in a frightful situation – unmarried, with a story that most
people would find incredible – this was definitely going to hurt her standing
in society, such as it was. Honestly, it was something that could have become
an ugly situation; Mary might have been violently killed.
It seems as though Mary was given an option. Did she have to agree
to become the vessel of the divine? The angel Gabriel made a proposal to her. Mary
asked questions. He answered to her satisfaction, and she said, “Here I am. Let
it be with me according to your word. And the angel left happily, having sealed
the deal.
Which was, I would imagine, no small feat. Mightn’t there have
been other young woman who fled in fear? Others who steadfastly refused
something so risky and, at the least, inconvenient?
But Mary was the rarest of individuals. Mary was a young woman in
the most vulnerable time of her life, and she said yes. With grace and courage,
Mary said yes.
And when she did, she was flooded with unexpected joy.
Every year, in addition to the various other Advent devotionals we
receive, Kim and I use a little book called I
Am Mary. Each day during the season, it follows Mary’s journey from the
moment she encounters the angel to the moment she gives birth. We love it so
much because it throws us deep into the story, imagining her thoughts, her
physical sensations and emotional experiences; her fear and also her joy.
In this song Mary sings today, we get the fullness of her joy.
Mary, just like Isaiah, sees the unexpected things that God brings: the
strength where before there was weakness, the fullness where there was hunger.
The lowly are lifted up, the proud are brought low. Ancient promises are
fulfilled.
Mary sings of how God delivers the oppressed and the enslaved, the
ones who are being crushed by powerful forces.
I remember, during our months of quarantine early in the pandemic,
when we livestreamed evening prayer each day; Mary’s song was a part of our
prayer – each day.
Every Christmas morning in our house, after all the shiny wrapping
paper has been torn away, after all the gifts have been admired, we sit down at
the table and make Mary’s song our prayer. Because it is Mary’s song that
shines forth the glory of God. It is powerful in its promise.
But maybe not for everyone.
I have heard that when they first began translating the Bible into
the common languages, during the Reformation, they did not translate Mary’s
song. It would be too offensive for kings to read “he has brought down the
powerful from their thrones!” The prudent translators thought it better to
leave it in Latin and hope the kings didn’t understand it.
In the 1970’s, I have heard, the government of Argentina banned
the public recitation of Mary’s song, the Magnificat. This seemed necessary to
them because of the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, those mothers who put their
bodies on the line to protest a government that made their children disappear.
The Mothers of the Plaza had made Mary’s song their manifesto.
In the 1980’s, the Guatemala government did the same thing – for
the same reason.
I have heard that when the British ruled in the East Indies, they
removed the Magnificat from its place in evening prayer. We don’t have to
wonder why. Wherever powerful ones oppress the powerless, Mary sings for the
oppressed.
When families flee war or persecution at home, seeking refuge at
our borders, Mary sings for the refugees.
When schoolchildren in our city go to school hungry because their
cupboards are bare, Mary sings for these children.
When children are left homeless in our nation because we cannot
seem to prioritize affordable housing, Mary sings for the children and their
parents.
Mary was never just a passive vessel. Mary said yes to the angel
and stepped into a life of unimaginable dimensions. She made room in her body
for love to be born. She sang a song of unspeakable joy, with her whole body
because the Lord had looked with favor upon her, and through her body, has
blessed the whole creation.
Perhaps we, too, can be like Mary. Can this courageous young woman
be an inspiration for us? Might we, like Mary, say yes to God’s always-present
invitation to be filled with Christ’s holiness, to make a space for the sacred?
If we listen to Isaiah, if we listen to Mary, we hear that God
will do amazing and surprising things on earth, turning something that some
might see as ugly into something of beauty, something sacred.
May you, in this week, experience the sacred – in taste and smell
and touch – knowing the very real presence of God.
May you make some space in yourself for the sacred.
May you, like Mary, be a vessel for the Christ.
Photo by Ilzy Sousa: https://www.pexels.com/photo/silhoette-of-woman-2316856/
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