The Christmas concert was about to begin. The professional musicians were ready. All eyes were on the band director as he brought down his baton. Softly, flutes began weaving a magical introduction, capturing the audience's spirit. An instrumental duet formed with clarinets adding their voices. Then more wind instru­ments came in. Finally, brass and percussion entered and volume and tempo increased. Each section's contribution melded into a harmonious voice. The rehearsals had been worth it; the time and labor had not been in vain. Dedicated individual practice paid off as a glorious concert was birthed. "Praise the Lord, O my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name. Praise the Lord, O my soul" (Psalm 103:1-2a NIV).

Corporate worship is like that. Those gathered are caught up in a symphony of wonder. Under the direction of the Holy Spirit, personal worship becomes part of the whole — a glorious chorus magnifying God.

Mary's song of praise, recorded in our text, is traditionally called the "Magnificat," a hymn glorifying God for what he is about to do. From the lips of a young girl comes a revolutionary declaration in three parts:

First of all, it is a bursting forth of a chorus of moral revolu­tion: "He has scattered the proud, people who think great things about themselves." The theme is carried by the knowledge that only through death to pride are we able to lead a submitted life. Placing your life next to Christ's cannot help but tear down that pride. When our sin is revealed, we call out to God in shame.

O. Henry, not the candy bar, but O. Henry, one of the greatest writers of his day, used his gift to reveal the condition of the hu­man heart. In one of his short writings, he holds up a magnifying glass to examine a boy growing up in a small village. In school he formed a strong friendship with a girl he sat next to. His admira­tion for her increased over the years. Her life reflected her convic­tions. What did his life reflect? Did he have convictions? He had at least one — he didn't want to live and die in this place. He felt trapped. The pressure became too much. The lights of the big city drew him. However, the temptations and influence of that environ­ment trapped him in an unhealthy way. Soon he found it easier to make a living on the wrong side of the law. He became a success­ful pickpocket and petty thief. Having never gotten caught, he be­came proud of his cleverness.

After snatching an old woman's purse one day, he fled with a smirk of satisfaction on his face. As he turned a corner, he was confronted with his past. Coming toward him was that sweet, in­nocent girl he used to know. It was as if she held up a mirror to his soul. At that moment he really saw himself. Burning with shame he cried out, "God, I wish I could die." Pride has to die in order to truly see our real selves.

The second revolution Mary's song reveals is a social revolu­tion. In a small town, a lakeside street became labeled "Millionaire's Road." The houses were grand, the yards were well-manicured, and flower gardens boasted a variety of expensive plants.

Between two massive houses on wide lots sat a small, tar-pa-pered one on a very narrow lot. Though the owner did not have the money to side it for many years, he worked hard keeping his small yard mowed and tenderly cared for a planter alongside the entry. He was proud of his little "toe hold on the bay." He shared the same beach with his neighbors, and he enjoyed watching his chil­dren build immense sandcastles. The only ladder of success the children climbed was attached to a floating raft. The view of the bay was just like his neighbors. However, there was a difference in the contribution of each to the picture. On each side of his small beach area floated sea-doos, motor boats, and elaborate portable docks. In the middle of that picture was his old, metal dock with a rowboat tied up to it. Elaborate fire pits dwarfed his homemade rock circle. His neighbors were very proud of their elegant houses on the bay — feeling proud of their place in society. The man in he middle was humbled to live on that same bay — feeling blessed by what God had given him.

Mary raises her voice in praise to God, "He casts down the mighty — he exalts the humble." Mary recognizes her place in society. "For he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his ser­vant" (Luke 1:48a). Mary understood that she was but a humble instrument under the direction of God. She recognized the honor the solo God had bestowed upon her.

Mary continued to sing her song of praise, "Surely, from now on all generations shall call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name" (Luke 1:48b-49). This was not a statement of pride. Pride is refusing to accept God's gifts or taking credit for what God has done. Humility is accepting the gifts and using them to praise and serve God. What an honor God bestowed upon her, but that honor would lead to pain. The pain came even before her child was born. Small-town people can be mean. Mary would be gossiped about and ridiculed. She would be labeled as a girl with low morals. And even her fiancé Joseph considered leaving her. She remembered the comforting words of her cousin, Elizabeth, upon her earlier visit. Filled with the Holy Spirit, Elizabeth addressed Mary with these words:

Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord. — Luke 1:42-45

Mary hadn't even told Elizabeth she was with child, but God had. The knowledge of that filled Mary with her personal concert of praise.

A young maiden from a tiny village in Nazareth had found favor with God. She did not feel trapped. She did not run to the big city where she could get lost in the crowds. Raising God's Son in the shelter of a loving family brought Mary much happiness. Sur­rendering herself as an instrument of God, she had been elevated to a much higher level in the eyes of Elizabeth. But Mary still considered herself a lowly servant. When we realize what Christ did for all men and women, we are stripped of labels and prestige and find that social grades are eliminated. They are gone forever as equality for all is given by Christ. Our tar-papered lives of sin are covered by the blood of the Savior of our souls.

Finally, we hear God's plan for an economic revolution. "He has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away emp­ty" (Luke 1:53).

Amid a playroom filled with toys, a child twisted a figure until it broke. Then he tossed it away. His playmate complained, "Look what you did now! You took off Spiderman's head. I liked him best." Picking up another toy, the boy simply replied without any guilt, "Don't worry; my mom will buy me another one."

In a world obsessed with accumulating things, we have be­come selfish and uncaring. We ignore the cries of those in need. Like insensitive Ebenezer Scrooge we might state, "Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses?" Like sensitive Jesus, we should say, "Come to me all of you who are tired and have heavy loads, and I will give you rest" (Matthew 11:28 NCV). Having lived among us, Jesus knew humanity's sinful, stubborn nature. That's why Jesus had to die to save us.

Harold had gone to church with his wife for 37 years. Stella had raised their two sons as Christians, but Harold remained some­what committed to his Jewish faith. Over the years pastors invited him to join, but he would always say, "Not until Uncle Saul dies. He'd be really upset with me if I converted."

When Hurricane Katrina struck, a local owner of a restaurant challenged her customers to donate money for its victims. After collecting a goodly amount of money, she realized she did not know how to channel it appropriately. She approached her pastor, who made some telephone calls. Contact was made with a local church in Alabama. "Of course we'll accept your money, but what we re­ally need is helping hands." That Sunday the pastor extended the challenge to his members to volunteer their hands in the relief ef­forts. Harold and others took up that challenge, and after his first experience, he went twice a year with the church's work crews.

Harold worked side-by-side with men and women from around the nation — people of different faiths — people making a differ­ence in the lives of others — people whose work filled those who were hungry; hungry for rebuilt homes and rebuilt lives.

Every day the volunteers ate breakfast together, had lunch on the job, and came back to eat supper together. Every evening they met to share the events of the day, how it impacted them, scripture reading and prayer. Harold listened, saw Christ's love in those who surrounded him, and began to participate in his quiet way.

Each time Harold went back he found familiar faces and new ones. He looked forward to working with his partner from Califor­nia, Bob the Roofer, appropriately nicknamed. Then there was Dr. Johnson, a neurosurgeon, and Dr. Baker, an opthamologist. Most of their time was spent clipping toenails of diabetics, irrigating ears, pulling out infected splinters, and treating rashes. As Harold continued to watch Christians in action, he grew in the faith they held to. He even began bringing a Bible to church and witnessing about the rewards of joining the next work crew. He was a very successful recruiter.

After his ninth trip, Harold approached his pastor. "Pastor Steve, I would like to be baptized." Their witness brought Harold to Jesus. He didn't wait for Uncle Saul to die but was baptized a year later.

God had used a gentle and humble man and done great things for him and for others. When Harold took communion for the first time, his heart was filled with thanks to God and his spirit rejoiced in his Savior.

Our society is often described as made up of "the haves" and "the have-nots." However, in a Christian society those who "have" dare not to share with those who "have not." God's formula is clear — we receive and then respond by giving. God began a revolution when he chose to come to us in Christ. The message Christ shared caused moral, social, and economic upheaval.

The door slammed as Austin rushed into the kitchen. "Mom, what color was Mary's uniform?"

"What are you talking about? Mary who?" his mother asked, trying to calm her agitated, young son.

"You know, Mary, the mother of Jesus. What color was her uniform? It was blue, wasn't it? That's what Christmas cards show. And it's blue on the plastic Mary in Mr. Olson's manger scene."

Mom smiled, "I never thought about the color of Mary's cloth­ing. What's up?"

"Taylor is Mary in the school play on Friday. She told Mrs. Morgan that she was going to wear a pink costume because pink's the color for girls."

I've never seen a Mary in blue or pink uniform, but I do know that Mary wore a uniform of a surrendered life. She was an instru­ment played under the baton of the director of the universe. She sang a solo, and Elizabeth's voice joined her in a duet of praise, and down through the centuries others have joined in, individual instruments used by God in a symphony of praise: "My soul mag­nifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior" (Luke 1:46-47).

Don't worry about what you will wear to worship on Christ­mas Eve or Christmas Day. Put on your uniform of surrender and join with others in a symphony of wonder and a concert of praise. Amen.