Luke 1:39-56 December 9, 2012 Philippians 1:3-11 Malachi 3:1-4

Advent Songs (1) Mary’ Song – The Magnificat

Very early on in my ministry—probably infected by something I picked up in seminary—I made a choice to become what some people call an

“Adventophile,” which is a nice five dollar word for someone who loves Advent.

For me that means not getting in a rush to start celebrating Christmas until

Christmas, and to be conscious about things like Advent wreaths that help make a space in my life for the spiritual journey of this season. That begins on the first

Sunday, with being willing to name my dissatisfactions with the world—and myself—and then to refocus my eyes on the horizon and set my sights anew on the Bible’s vision of what God intends the world to become. On this second

Sunday, that journey continues through the focus on John the Baptist who comes as God’s messenger—as a refiner’s fire and fuller’s soap—to prepare his way.

But I’ve also learned that for many folks the name of a person who loves

Advent isn’t “Adventophile” but “Scrooge.” I don’t think I’ve ever been exactly called that by anyone. It typically comes more in the form of a question, “You’re not one of those pastors who doesn’t believe in singing Christmas carols, are you?” Because it’s the music that’s the greatest sticking point in keeping an

Advent discipline. By the time we’re barely into Advent, Christmas music—mostly

1 secular these days—has been blaring in the stores for weeks, and as of last night

I’ve already finished my Christmas concert season. It can seem like the only place these days where there’s no Christmas music is in church!

As a practical matter, I’ve found it wise to not be too rigid on this question of Advent music. Partly this is—to use a favorite phrase of a seminary professor— a matter of “pastoral sensitivity and sanctified common sense.” It’s not worth alienating a whole congregation by being too much of an Advent “purist.” But, just as practically, it can be hard to find enough good Advent music to fill four

Sundays. It’s encouraging, though, to see a growing collection of Advent hymns being created to fill this gap—including some very good, thoughtful, imaginative, and theologically sound ones in our current hymnal.

All of this has been a very lengthy way to point out that the tradition of

Advent songs really goes back to the gospel of Luke—because twice in first chapter of Luke someone bursts out in song. The first—which we’ve read today—is Mary’s song, which has come to be known as the Magnificat, from its first word in Latin. The second is known as the Benedictus. It celebrates the birth of John the Baptist, and we’ll read that one two weeks from today.

To better appreciate Mary’s song, it may help to take a moment or two to re-locate ourselves in Luke’s narrative. The gospel of Luke actually begins with

Elizabeth and her husband Zechariah. Luke describes them as being good and godly people, but childless and “getting on years.” Zechariah is a priest—part of a large group of priests who lived scattered around Israel, who served the

2 temple sort of the way men and women serve in our National Guard. And on one of his rotations serving in the temple, an angel appears to Zechariah announcing that he and Elizabeth will conceive in their old age—and that their son will become a mighty prophet who will turn the people back to God. That son, of course, will be John the Baptist.

In the meantime, Mary has had her own visit from that angel, and has conceived a child of her own. And then Luke reports that Mary—who seems to have just learned about Elizabeth from the angel—packs a bag and takes off to see her. In many ways their meeting makes for an amazing scene. From the timeline we can sort out from Luke’s narrative, Mary is probably very early in her pregnancy when she arrives at Elizabeth’s door, and we shouldn’t assume that

Elizabeth knows about it. Her greeting to Mary is a word of prophecy, prompted by the Holy Spirit as baby John starts jumping for joy in her belly.

If we can see things through Mary’s eyes, this must have been a wonderfully reassuring message. Although she has submitted herself to the Lord’s word and has accepted this thing that has is happening inside her—it must certainly have been overwhelming and confusing at times. There must have been moments when she doubted her own strength. But Elizabeth affirms what

Mary has been told—and she also affirms Mary’s faith.

Has there ever been a time in your life when you’ve heard this sort of affirming message? There are times when we’ve thought and prayed and pondered and set off down a path trusting that God is leading us—it might be a

3 vocational path, or taking on a new responsibility in the church that may seem overwhelming, or stepping out to help someone in a situation where we feel out of our depth. But then something happens, or God sends someone across our path, with just the right encouragement that tells us that as difficult or confusing things might seem, we’re going the right way.

On a different scale, perhaps, this is what Paul is doing for the believers in

Philippi in the passage we read from Philippians, where he tells them, “I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you, will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ.” As we read Paul’s letter, this is more than just a preacher saying something because it’s the theologically correct thing to say. Paul has had a close and personal relationship with this church since its founding. He knows their struggles and their poverty, but he’s also seen their faith and generosity. And because he can see God’s good work in them, he’s confident in sharing this word of encouragement.

Mary hears this greeting from Elizabeth, and she bursts into song. It’s a song in two verses. The first verse is personal. She sees her own lowliness—a young woman, most likely from the lower classes of society, a Jew living in a land occupied by the Romans, with a meek and humble spirit. And she rejoices in the amazing, confusing thing the Lord is doing in her life.

In an article I came across years ago when I was writing my dissertation, another of my seminary professors, Patrick Miller, calls Mary “the church’s first theologian.” Because Mary’s song goes on to verse two where she proclaims

4 that the way the Lord has worked in her own life is just typical of the way he works all the time—and part of a larger work he is doing for his people Israel.

Mary invites us to see is that God is one who stands with the poor and hungry and who humbles the rich and powerful. Mary’s son will be born in a stable outside the inn, and when he grows to be a man he will declare that his mission is to bring good news to the poor. He will be at home among the tax collectors and sinners, and with the huddled masses who are like sheep without a shepherd. He will challenge the rich and the powerful, and he will ultimately prove to be such a threat to their comfort and security that they will put him to death.

And Mary’s song invites us to cast our lot where Jesus cast his. In that article, Dr. Miller makes a provocative statement:

The Magnificat is a song of the poor and the downtrodden … Those who sing this song have to find a connection with that voice or sing it to their own damnation. It is a song of praise and thanksgiving of one who is poor and lowly, and either we sing it as the poor and lowly or we hear it as a testimony [over against us?] in hopes that it is also the hope for us. (Patrick D. Miller, “The Church’s First Theologian,” Theology Today 56 (1999): 295)

One person who knew how to sing Mary’s song was Oscar Romero. In

1977 he was appointed Archbishop of El Salvador in a time of tremendous turmoil and violence. As a leader in the church he stood against the government of his nation, and even the hierarchy of his own church, and took up the cause of the poor. As a result he was gunned down by members of the

Salvadoran National Guard on a Sunday in 1980 while he standing at the altar

5 leading mass in a small church. He wrote this reflection on Christmas that echoes Mary’s song:

No one can celebrate a genuine Christmas without being truly poor. The self-sufficient, the proud, those who, because they have everything, look down on others, those who have no need even of God – for them there will be no Christmas. Only the poor, the hungry, those who need someone to come on their behalf, will have that someone. That someone is God. Emmanuel. God-with-us. Without poverty of spirit there can be no abundance of God.

Do we dare sing Mary’s song?

(As we reflect on these things, I’d like sing for a setting of Mary’s song written by John Michael Talbot …”)

Rev. David Spaulding First Presbyterian Church, Dixon December 9, 2012

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