Chosen to Carry the Holy One

I read about a contest recently. Two artists were commissioned to paint their conception of peace. A panel of distinguished judges would determine which artist had best captured the idea. The winner would get a rich commission.

As I read about the contest, I thought about Mary. We have a tendency to paint Mary as peaceful, meek and mild, looking at her feet as she serenely says, “Let it be to me according to you word.” But I wonder if reality was a bit different. I wonder what the tone in her voice was when she asked Gabriel, “How can this be, I don’t have a husband!” I wonder if she really was calm and demure. Or, was her mind racing – My parents – what will they say? Oh, I don’t think I can stand the look of disappointment when my dad learns. My mother is going to lecture me, and tsk, and be so angry. What will Joseph say? Will he have me stoned? I so wanted to be a good wife. I have tried to be an obedient daughter. I have lived according to the law…and now this! How can this be???

And Gabriel said to her, “God.” God is working what is impossible. Elizabeth, your cousin, the one without children, at her old age, is expecting a baby in just 3 more months. Mary goes to see Elizabeth. And when she arrives, the baby in Elizabeth’s belly leaps for joy. John recognizes the one whose way he prepares even before they are born.

Mary’s response has come to be known as the Magnificat, the song of Mary. Over the centuries, it has been set to beautiful melodies. A Lutheran pastor in Denver, Nadia Bolz-Weber, talks about her home congregation singing the Magnificat one Sunday when she was guest preaching. To get the story, you need to know that Pastor Nadia is a very alternative pastor: her church doesn’t have pews and she has big tattoos, and she’s about as liberal as they come. Her home church is very different. That church, she says, is suburban, upper-middle class, privileged, and socially and theologically conservative. So Pastor Nadia was really excited to see, when she looked at the bulletin at the beginning of the service, that they were planning on singing the Magnificat near the close of the service.

She writes this of what happened, “All through the service I kept thinking ‘I can’t believe that this wealthy suburban evangelical church is going to sing Mary’s song of the poor being fed and the rich being left hungry.’ Finally the moment came. The congregation sang a praise music setting of…and I can’t make this up…the first half of the Magnificat. They proudly sang a nice praise song based on the Magnificat about how their soul ‘magnifies the Lord who had looked with favor on them and that generations will call them blessed because the mighty one has done great things and holy is his name.’ And then the song ended.” (http://sarcasticlutheran.typepad.com/sarcastic_lutheran/2009/12/sermon-on-the-magnificat.html)

That congregation could sing the first part of the Magnificat no problem, but the second part where it gets real revolutionary was a little too much for them, she says,…in their power and privilege, they didn’t want to sing about the Lord scattering the proud, and sending the rich empty away. They didn’t want to sing the Magnificat and stay comfortable, ignoring the fact that Jesus came to “comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable.”

It doesn’t match our painting of peaceful, meek and mild Mary, of Joseph with his hand to his chest and the animals lowing. Presbyterian Outlook published an article in 2005 by Rev. Fairfax Fullerton Fair titled “Getting to Bethlehem.” In it, she describes our culture’s idealized Christmas: On this hallowed day, on this holy day, Bethlehem is where we want to be — with its Norman Rockwell wholesomeness, its Hallmark sentimentality, its warmth of familiarity, and gentle scene of mother and child. On this hallowed day, on this holy day, Bethlehem is where we want to be — captured by the awe of a day that dawns fresh and bright, a day that gives us at least a glimmer of hope no matter who is issuing decrees or sitting in the White House. After last night’s wondrous events — the star standing still in the East, the clear night sky filling with angels, the faith of simple shepherds daring to leave their flocks to see with their own eyes this good news for all, enfleshed in a helpless infant — this morning brings us face to face with the stable where Jesus lies, with the smell of fresh straw overruling that of the animals finding shelter from the cold. But getting there . . .

Ah, getting there. See we have a tendency to dream of a Norman Rockwell Christmas, where the children are calm and smile sweetly with just enough excitement, where the dog laid in the corner and didn’t jump on anyone, where the food prepares itself and everyone sits around enjoying one another’s company. But reality is a bit different.

In the contest, after they had been painting for a long time, the judges assembled to view their work. Who would best portray peace?

The first artist unveiled his painting, and there was a beautiful, magnificent pastoral scene, with a farmer coming in after a hard day in the fields. His wife was cooking, his children were playing around the hearth, and all was at peace in this tranquil and beautiful farm.

“That’s it,” said the judges, “but we’ll look at the other rendering anyway.” They removed the veil of the second painting. Instead of a tranquil, pastoral scene, there was a raging waterfall producing a mist which communicated hostility. But over on the side of the waterfall was a tiny branch of a tree growing out of a rock, and on the end of the branch was a bird’s nest. And on the edge of the nest was a mother bird, singing her heart out in the midst of the turbulence around her. The judges thought for a moment, then said, “This is peace, tranquility and celebration in the midst of turmoil.”

This is reality. In the midst of the turmoil, in the midst of the picturesque falling apart, into a world of deception and brokenness, God comes. A Savior is born. The proud are scattered, the mighty are put down from their thrones, those of low degree are exalted, the hungry are filled, and the rich are sent away empty. This is the Good News of Great Joy! Let it be to us, O God, according to your Word. Amen.