Did you know? (Luke 1.39-55)
A recent popular Christmas song has become part of the season for many people. The song, “Mary Did You Know” was written by Mark Lowry in 1984, and was first released in 1992 by Michael English. Since then, it is been recorded by a wide array of well-known artists, and at least one of my daughters knows how to play it. Here are the words:
Mary did you know that your baby boy would some day walk on water?
Mary did you know that your baby boy would save our sons and daughters?
Did you know that your baby boy has come to make you new?
This child that you’ve delivered, will soon deliver you.
Mary did you know that your baby boy would save our sons and daughters?
Did you know that your baby boy has come to make you new?
This child that you’ve delivered, will soon deliver you.
Mary did you know that your baby boy would give sight to a blind man?
Mary did you know that your baby boy would calm a storm with his hand?
Did you know that your baby boy has walked where angels trod?
And when your kiss your little baby, you have kissed the face of God.
Oh Mary did you know
The blind will see, the deaf will hear, the dead will live again.
The lame will leap, the dumb will speak, the praises of the lamb
Mary did you know that your baby boy is Lord of all creation?
Mary did you know that your baby boy would one day rule the nations?
Did you know that your baby boy is heaven’s perfect Lamb?
This sleeping child you’re holding is the great I am
Well, in our scripture text, though, we find a Mary who seems confident that she knows quite a lot, actually. Mary’s song in Scripture has a very different feel to it than Lowry’s song about Mary. And you might say that Miriam (to call her by her Hebrew name) comes by her confidence honestly. She is picking up on centuries of prophetic Jewish tradition when she launches into her famous lines. Many of the old themes of the coming of justice and peace to the people are repeated, only now with more clearly universal relevance (it will be for all the nations) and with a beauty and grace that is unrivaled anywhere.
So, does Lowry’s song have it wrong? How can it be that Miriam is blessed with the spirit of prophecy which pulls back the veil upon God’s strange working in history, and yet unable to know, unable to grasp the full meaning of what is happening to her right here and now?
Unless, the spirit of prophecy is precisely about not knowing things; unless pulling back the veil upon God’s strange working in history does not make it any less strange, but more so. Is Mary, in her quiet contemplation and in her bold prophecy, the one who most clearly knows that she cannot know but must simply trust?
For many Christians throughout history, Mary has been a symbol of the church as it should be: humble, trusting, faithful. In fact, many theologians have suggested that the Mary that we see in the verses we just read is humanity as it should be: she is the one who joyfully welcomes the approach of God when it is impossible to know what that could mean. And that, perhaps, is the most faithful thing we can do. After all, isn’t it true that, according to Scripture, the human condition is that we are asked to trust in a God we cannot see, to believe in a God who takes us on paths into the unknown? The prophetic tradition has ways of talking about this strange unknown to come: valleys shall be lifted up; mountains shall be laid low; the poor are to be made rich and the rich, poor; a young woman from the outskirts of an insignificant colony will be the bearer of God. The significance of Mary is that she is the one who faces all of these strange promises, and says a simple, unambiguous, unqualified, “Yes.”
God entering history, joining with our lives, is not something that you and I can really understand. Mary’s song hints that it is full of dangers, rife with upheavals and reversals, but what that actually looks like, who can say? Maybe it means being a part of a community whose narrow self-sufficiency is shattered and who is broken open so that others may enter? Perhaps it means that a new and unimagined way to succeed and to flourish opens up? Maybe it means that something rather mundane and unimpressive—a new program, or a new outreach, a few new songs—will stir new possibilities for worship and witness? Who can guarantee that the coming of God won’t bring discomfort as well as joy? Loss as well as hope? Even provoke doubt as well as faith? Who can say what the coming of God brings? Maybe the only good thing to say, in the end, is “Yes.”
A straight line runs through Advent, from John’s “Prepare the Way of the Lord!” to Mary’s “Yes.” From God’s amazing grace which calls us from our places of comfort to a new world, to our response, which is at its best uncomplicated and without reserve. “Yes.” I will take that offer. Yes, I will be that person. Yes, we will be that church.
Mary’s song is the church’s song. It is a song of hope. And it is a song of determination to welcome a God of mystery into our hearts, our lives, our homes, our church. May we learn to sing it. In the name of God, our creator and redeemer. Amen.
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