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Luke 1:46-56 · Mary’s Song
Songs of the Season
Luke 1:46-56, Luke 1:39-45
Sermon
by J. Ellsworth Kalas
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No season of the year sings as well as Christmas. This seems to be true whether one is a saint or a sinner. The world about us has occasional songfests for patriotic days or school homecoming celebrations, but those songs are sung by selected groups in isolated places. Only at the Christmas season does the majority of the population choose to sing or to listen to the singing of others. Some of the songs which now mark the Christmas and Advent season are poor secularizations of the original Christmas theme. But even as derivations and deviations from the true theme, they carry some measure of the joy of the season.

This isn't surprising because Christmas was born in the midst of songs. The Gospel of Luke says it most specifically, but many of us feel it instinctively. It seems inevitable that the words spoken by Gabriel to Mary, by Mary and by Zechariah in their occasions of rejoicing, by the angels to the shepherds, and by Simeon in the temple were sung. They are too exultant to be spoken without benefit of tune and rhythm.

We turn our attention this day to songs given us by two remarkable women, Elizabeth and Mary. They were separated in age by probably thirty years; and, though blood relatives, were probably widely separated by social standing. Elizabeth was the wife of a priest and thus possessed some measure of position, while Mary was, no doubt, simply a peasant girl. But they had in common a deep faith in God, and a sublime willingness to be used by him. They were kindred spirits in the most profound sense of the word.  Elizabeth and her husband Zechariah had waited through all the years of their marriage for the common miracle of conception, but without fulfillment. Then, quite out of the blue, God promised that they would have a son, that his name would be called John, and that he would minister "with the spirit and power of Elijah" (Luke 1:17a).  Nearly six months later, Mary was visited by the angel Gabriel, with the message that she had found favor with God, and that she would bear a child who would be called "the Son of the Most High." When Mary asked how this could be, since she had no husband, the angel answered,

The Holy Spirit will come upon you,
and the power of the Most High will overshadow you;
therefore the child to be born will be holy;
he will be called the Son of God. -- Luke 1:35

Then, as if anticipating the uncertainties and fears which lay ahead for Mary, the angel told her that her kinswoman Elizabeth had also conceived and that she was in the sixth month of her pregnancy. It was as if the angel were saying, "You'll find a sympathetic, understanding friend in Elizabeth." 

So Mary wasted no time in finding her way to Elizabeth's village. She needed desperately to talk with someone who would understand her particular situation. It had to be a person who had herself experienced a miraculous visit from God; not just like Mary's, of course, but miraculous enough that she would not brush Mary's story aside, impatiently or with a sneer. 

Mary did well in seeking out Elizabeth. The moment she greeted her cousin, an extraordinary thing happened. As Luke, the physician, reports it, "the babe leaped in Elizabeth's womb," and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit. It is as if John the Baptizer already recognized his calling; as if, in the womb, he hastened to declare his tie with the coming Messiah.  Then Elizabeth spoke. Most Bible translators do not set up her words in the structure of poetry, but they have the same rhythm and grandeur of expression as the words of Mary which follow.  Elizabeth's words are the simplest kind of testimony. They are marked by gratitude and excitement, and they are unashamedly personal. She makes no attempt at formal theology; all she wants is to tell Mary the joy she feels. She sees herself as a privileged woman, and she wonders why such favors should come to her. 

Perhaps the best evidence of the quality of Elizabeth's testimony is to be found in Mary's reply. Mary's response is the glorious Magnificat. If one cannot write a great poem or compose some classical music, surely the next best thing is to inspire such creation from another. I wonder how many artists could credit a spouse or friend for the work of genius which came from their brush or pen? I've noticed that often a minister will note, in a preface to a book, that he or she feels indebted to the people of the parish for the help they have given. The ebbing coals of inspiration are often blown into a bright flame by someone's thoughtful word or attentive ear.  So it was, it seems, with Elizabeth and Mary. When the angel spoke to Mary, she answered only with questions; but when her cousin spoke to her, Mary cried, "My soul magnifies the Lord!" I hope I am not exaggerating the point when I suggest that God spoke to Mary as surely through Elizabeth as he had earlier through Gabriel.

I think Mary may have been tied in knots of fear and bewilderment when she came to the home of Zechariah and Elizabeth. Gabriel's message had, perhaps, become a dim and mystical thing to her. Doubts and double doubts may have begun whispering in her ear: Had this really happened; and if it had, was it a madness that could persuade only a peasant girl like herself? Having heard from God, Mary needed now to hear from some human being. Gabriel's majestic voice needed the support of Elizabeth's excited, loving response. 

And so it could be with you and me. We might well speak the word which could set loose someone's Magnificat. We might well confirm an uncertain soul. I've known times when someone spoke just the right word to reassure me, often without knowing what he or she was doing. Gabriel may make the motion, but we need Elizabeth to second it.
 I'm urging you, in the style of Elizabeth, to sing a song of encouragement. There could be no more appropriate song for the Advent and Christmas season. 

Mary's song is one of such grandeur that I am tempted to say, "Read it," then pronounce the benediction. The great missionary-statesman, E. Stanley Jones, called it "The most revolutionary document in the world." Mary identifies herself as a "handmaiden" of "low estate," and from that point on, she makes a case for others like herself -- with fair warning to those who walk with pride and arrogance.  Someone has said that this song contains "the first rough draft of Christianity." That may be an overstatement; but surely the mood of this song is reflected in the beatitudes, especially as those beatitudes appear in Luke's Gospel. Mary pictures God on the march against entrenched power and wealth. If, for a moment, we could hear these words as if we had never heard them before -- indeed, as if they were coming from someone other than a biblical personality -- I wonder how they would strike us?

Listen:  He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. -- vv. 51-53 

At least two things must be said about this powerful statement.  1. Those who have wealth and power had better use these advantages with godly fear. Any form of power -- whether talent, money, or position -- is a divine trust and God will someday, somehow call it to account. Jesus warned that those who have been given much will be held to the most severe reporting.  This hazard, of course, is this: power of any sort inevitably breeds a certain kind of arrogance; and it blinds us, or at least dulls our sensitivities, to the pain of others. It is very hard to understand how someone on poverty row feels in a supermarket, if we can fill our own basket without undue worry. A person who is secure in their position can hardly imagine the pain of those who have been without work for months. "I'd make a job for myself," the self-confident answer; but they have not experienced the numbing pain of continued and humiliating defeat. 

2. Mary's statement reminds us that the people who bear Jesus' name must always have a special heart for the poor. During the Decian persecution, the church was caring for a great number of the poor -- windows, orphans, the physically handicapped, the hungry. One day a leader in the Roman community broke into the church and demanded that they hand over their treasures to the state. Laurentius the deacon pointed to the great circle of the poor, the maimed, and the disinherited and said, "These are the treasures of the Church." 

It is true even today. If there is any substantial evidence that the church is rich, it is in the poor who are drawn to us or those whom we are able to serve. We must come to measure our wealth not in the size of our endowments nor in the beauty of our buildings, but in the poor of body, mind, purse, and spirit who find comfort in our precincts. 

The very style of our churches makes it difficult for us to take Mary's song seriously. Clergy march down the aisle in impressive robes to bow at altars adorned by beautiful candles and ornate crosses. We seem to glory in conspicuous display. Would the peasant girl from Nazareth be comfortable in our pomp and pageantry? Or would she think of us as some of the "proud" who must be scattered, the rich who will be sent away empty? Somehow our denominational assemblies find it easier to apply the words of Mary to governments and corporations than to our own prides and prejudices. 

But you and I will still miss the point of Mary's song if we pay attention primarily to the church as an institution. It is almost as easy to wax outrage for the church as for corporations and the distant rich. What shall you and I say about the wealth and power which is in our own individual hands? Have the proud imaginations of my own heart been humbled before God? Am I attentive to matters and people who are of low degree in the eyes of the world; or am I inclined to give special attention to those who have this world's goods? Am I impressed with life's real values, such as patience, humility, gentleness, compassion, and love? 

Am I ready to share? Mary envisioned a day when God would exalt those of low degree. You and I could well be instruments of God in bringing such a beautiful thing to pass. Many people see themselves as persons of low degree because they don't receive enough attention to restore their egos. In some instances they need money, clothing, dental work, or education to restore some lost or never-possessed dignity. But in many instances they need nothing more than a caring human being. I don't want to over sentimentalize it, but I'm sure there are some people whose low estate could be substantially changed by little more than a word of sincere interest and appreciation.  And they're not necessarily people in poverty row. Most of us have no idea what loneliness and human hunger may exist in the heart of some person in our own circle of association. Even people living in physical comfort are sometimes, deep inside, convinced that they are of low degree. 

It is a season for singing and for giving a song to others. Elizabeth sang, and set loose Mary's song. Mary sang in such a way that the challenge is upon us yet today. Now let us go out with a song, in Mary and Elizabeth's tradition. A word of kindness, a gift of money, an ear to listen, a heart to care; these make the music of the season. They are the songs of the Christ who has come, and who continues to come, through our acts and words of love.

CSS Publishing Company, Sermons on the Gospel Readings, Cycle C, by J. Ellsworth Kalas