Text Study for Luke 1:39-55 (Pt. 4); December 19, 2021

Listen to the Music

“Mary’s song,” writes Richard Swanson, “establishes her as a resister” (page 70). The Magnificat is the first piece of testimony in the Lukan “hidden transcript.” But the Magnificat is not the first such song in the Hebrew and Christian scriptures. It is now regarded as beyond doubt that Mary’s song is modeled on and refers to the Song of Hannah in 1 Samuel 2.

Karl Jacobson offers a good comparison between the Song of Hannah in 1 Samuel 2 and the Song of Mary in Luke 1 as part of his workingpreacher.org commentary. He lists the similarities between the two prophetic outbursts. Both Hannah and Mary exclaim their joy in their God. They both trust the promise that God acts on behalf of the lowly despite what we might expect. They both proclaim that what happens to them also is done through them for the whole people.

“Both Hannah and Mary sing a song that can be, should be, our song in this Advent season,” Jacobson writes. “As we have prepared for the coming of the Christ Child, now we too can sing in thanksgiving, in celebration, in remembrance, and in proclamation of the promise made to our ancestors. Like Hannah, and Mary, and Elizabeth too,” he concludes, “this is the time for us to indulge in unadulterated, celebratory joy in the promises that come to us in Jesus. Let us raise our voices in a great cry, magnifying our God.”

The Lukan author uses the Song of Hannah as a model, a template, a pattern, and a source of vocabulary for the Magnificat. But Justo Gonzalez argues that the relationship is more than a kind of first-century homage or plagiarism. He urges us to see the relationship as one of typology rather than mere template.

Reading texts in Hebrew scripture as typology is as old as the Jesus movement. Paul relies on typology in several of his letters. The early Church theologians relied heavily on typology as a method of interpretation. Gonzalez quotes Justin Martyr in his Dialogue with Trypho, eighty years after the Lukan author wrote: “Sometimes, by action of the Holy Spirit, something took place that was clearly a type of the future. But at other times the Spirit spoke in words about what was to happen, as if it were present or past” (Kindle Location 534).

The “words” Justin mentions are what we would call spoken prophecies. There are certainly such “words” in both the Song of Hannah and the Magnificat. Mary, in particular, speaks of things as already accomplished which have yet to take place in their fullness. The “type” that Justin notes is not the words of the writer but rather the event itself about which the writer speaks. “Both point to the future,” Gonzalez notes, “but in one case what points to the future is the text itself, and in the other it is the event of which the text speaks” (Kindle Location 538).

The Lukan author wants us to see the Song of Hannah not merely as an earlier example but rather as an interpretive frame of reference for understanding the Magnificat. The point of typology is that this is always how God works. We’re not dealing with mere historical contingencies but rather with the deeper structure and unfolding of God’s plan in and through history.

In addition, the latter member of the typology (in this case, the Magnificat) is really the fulfillment of the previous member of the typology. It’s not that somehow the Song of Hannah “predicts” the Magnificat and its content. No, it’s not that kind of fulfillment. What we mean here is that what the Song of Hannah hinted at through the history of Israel comes to fruition in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus and the coming of the Kin(g)dom of God through him. It is “fulfillment” in the sense of filling to fullest, bringing to flower, ready for harvest.

This is why, when the Lukan author makes references to texts and events in the Hebrew scriptures, the Lukan author always improves upon and even excels beyond the previous “models.” This isn’t a way to show off for the audience. Instead, this is a literary way to demonstrate that Jesus and his movement are the culmination of that path and plan that have been in action from the beginning.

It’s not only the Lukan author who sees things this way. Think about the beginning of the Letter to the Hebrews. “Long ago God spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways by the prophets, but in these last days he has spoken to us by a Son, whom he appointed heir of all things, through whom he also created the worlds” (Hebrews 1:1-2). It is not that the previous witness was wrong or superfluous. The argument is, rather, that it contained the seeds of what has now born fruit.

“What Luke is doing in borrowing from the Song of Hannah for the Magnificat,” Gonzalez writes, “is precisely this sort of typological interpretation” (Kindle Location 548). Karl Jacobson’s commentary does an excellent job of demonstrating the parallelisms between the two songs, so we don’t have to review that here. But we can say that Hannah is a “type” for Mary, and Samuel is a “type” for Jesus.

Gonzalez argues that the typology has the most to do with barren mothers who miraculously conceive a son. He is careful to assert, however, that the stories are about more than the reversal of infertility and the vindication of these women. “The significance of the story of these barren women is also in the child who is born to them,” he writes. “Their barrenness is the sign that God has intervened in history to permit the birth of this child. And the child is an essential element,” he concludes, “in the continuation of the people of God” (Kindle Locations 554-556).

The Lukan author builds on this theme by placing the stories of Elizabeth and Mary, John and Jesus, next to one another. John is the forerunner. Jesus is the fulfillment. Gonzalez says of Mary, “In the child born of her the long history of agents of God born of barren women comes to its culmination. Its meaning has been fulfilled” (Kindle Location 563).

I think there is even more going on in this typological relationship. Samuel will warn the people of Israel about the dangers awaiting them if they choose to have a king like the nations around them. Their children will be pressed into imperial service. Their wealth will be siphoned off by royal taxes and levies. They will be forced to fight wars of conquest rather than defense. They will be governed by the interests of empire rather than the interests of the home.

This is a description of life under the later reign of David and the reign of Solomon. It is an inventory of complaints that led to the fracturing of the Solomonic regime into northern and southern kingdoms. It is also a precise description of life in Galilee in the first century under imperial Roman rule.

The books of Samuel and Kings have “hidden transcripts of resistance” buried in the text. While Samuel at one point offers this pointed critique of monarchy, at another point he is portrayed as supporting the establishment of a monarchy. The history books in the Hebrew scriptures were originally composed and compiled as an apology for the monarchy. I would argue, however, that in ways both obvious and subtle, a critique of the monarchy can be found in those documents as well.

Does that sound like someone we know? Samuel fell short in his efforts to resist the establishment of what became an oppressive monarchy. Jesus takes on the powers behind all human oppression, takes in those powers on the cross, defeats them in the resurrection, and replaces them at the ascension. If one of the functions of typology is fulfillment of the type by the later edition, then Jesus is the definition of such fulfillment.

“In placing these words on the lips of Mary,” Gonzalez writes, “Luke is letting us know both that the story he is about to tell is the culmination of the history of Israel, and that this history—and certainly its culmination—is of a great reversal in which the lowly are made high, the high are brought low, the hungry are filled with good things while the rich are sent away empty, the last become first, and the least become the greatest” (Kindle Location 580).

Why does this matter to us as preachers? The mission of resistance, reversal, and resurrection has been the plan and path of God for as long as there have been paths and plans. We can see the pattern of that mission throughout the Scriptures if we have eyes open to see it. This plan and path are not new inventions, not accommodations to culture, not new political or social fads. This is the music of creation, and we get to hear some of its songs.

There is a caveat we must always remember. We dare not engage in triumphalism or supersessionism. The Christian gospel does not “replace” what came before it. We do not appropriate Hebrew texts as “ours” now receiving the “right” interpretation. Our Jewish forebears and siblings have come to this place ahead of us and have much to teach us. We can only respond with gratitude and respect, with partnership and appreciation. Any other approach dangerously misses the point.

References and Resources

Croy, N. Clayton, and Alice E. Connor. “Mantic Mary? The Virgin Mother as Prophet in Luke 1.26-56 and the Early Church.” (2011).

Gonzalez, Justo L. Luke: Belief, A Theological Commentary on the Bible. Westminster John Knox Press. Kindle Edition.

Jacobson, Karl. https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fourth-sunday-of-advent-3/commentary-on-luke-139-45-46-55.

Malcolm, Lois E., “Experiencing the Spirit: The Magnificat, Luther, and Feminists” (2010). Faculty Publications. 275. https://digitalcommons.luthersem.edu/faculty_articles/275.

Swanson, Richard. Provoking the Gospel of Luke: A Storyteller’s Commentary, Year C. Cleveland, OH.: Pilgrim Press, 2006.

Wilson, Brittany E. “Pugnacious precursors and the bearer of peace: Jael, Judith, and Mary in Luke 1: 42.” The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 68.3 (2006): 436-456.

Make a one-time donation

Make a monthly donation

Make a yearly donation

Choose an amount

$5.00

$15.00

$100.00

$5.00

$15.00

$100.00

$5.00

$15.00

$100.00

Or enter a custom amount

Your contribution is appreciated.

Donate Donate monthly Donate yearly

Text Study for Luke 1:39-55 (Pt. 3); December 19, 2021

Mary is Among the Prophets

The Lukan account portrays a great “democracy of the Holy Spirit.” We are headed toward the general outpouring of that Spirit in Acts 2. In that passage, the Spirit equips the disciple community to speak the gospel in the language of “every nation under heaven.”

Peter interprets this outpouring by quoting from the second chapter of the prophet Joel. In the last days, God will pour out the Spirit on all flesh. Sons and daughters shall prophesy. Young men shall see visions, and old men shall dream dreams. Male and female slaves shall prophesy. And everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.

The Spirit is no respecter of age or gender, of social status or political power, of ethnic origin or native language, of boundary or border. As we shall hear later in the Book of Acts, and elsewhere, God shows no partiality. That is a human game. Instead, the Spirit breaks all boundaries and transcends all barriers. That is the story of Acts, as the Gospel moves from Jerusalem to Judea and Samaria, and then to the ends of the earth.

As a result, the early Christian community (according to Acts) held all things in common, ate their food at home with glad and generous hearts, praised God, and had the good will of all the people. They lived in a Spirit-formed community that embodied and expressed values and practices at odds with the patriarchal, hierarchical, honor/shame driven culture of the Empire. And they paid for their oddity, sometimes with their lives.

The first chapter of the Lukan gospel prefigures and foreshadows this great democracy of the Holy Spirit. An old couple in Judea recapitulates the wonder of Sarah and Abraham. Zechariah meets an angel in the Temple – Zechariah, not the high priest or a member of the Sanhedrin. Zechariah is a nobody from the hill country, and he knows it. Elizabeth has suffered shame due to her barrenness for decades but now is expecting.

Then a teenager from Nazareth gets a visit from Gabriel announcing that she was favored with the Lord’s particular presence. She will experience the impossible possibility of bearing the Son of God. None of this good news makes it to the capitol or the Temple. Instead, these two women huddle together in the hill country and shout their joy and wonder. Elizabeth expresses the surprise we should all have – Why has this happened to me?

Then Mary sings the song which sets the agenda for all of Luke-Acts, the poem tradition calls The Magnificat. It is a hymn to the democracy of the Holy Spirit, a democracy that delivers the Great Reversals of the Kin(g)dom of God. It is clear that Mary is a young woman. And in our text, she describes herself twice as a “slave” to the Lord. The Lukan author wants us to understand that Mary functions as a prophet here.

Yet, the Lukan author does not identify Mary as such. It’s not that the author hesitates to call anyone a prophet. Zechariah prophesies. Anna is a prophet. Christian prophets show up in the Book of Acts. Clayton Croy and Alice Connor wonder why the Lukan author does not call Mary a prophet as well. They identify some reasons that give us more insight into the Lukan author’s agenda and strategy.

Croy and Connor seek to make the case for the Lukan portrayal of Mary as a prophet. They explore the connection between this prophetic role and Mary’s reported virginity. They note briefly that the early church theologians did not share the Lukan reluctance to cast Mary as a prophet. And they try to account for this difference in treatment in the Lukan account.

The birth announcement in Luke 1 strongly resembles such birth announcements in the Hebrew scriptures. It is not only modeled after those announcements but actually outdoes them all in both form and content. But this announcement, Croy and Connor note, also has the character of commissioning stories in the Hebrew scriptures – such as the commissioning of Isaac, Moses, Gideon, and Samson (page 256).

In addition, the Lukan text has many features in common with prophetic call stories in the Hebrew scriptures. The Annunciation is an example of the best of all three of the above genres. “While it’s primary purpose is to announce a birth,” Croy and Connor write, “the Lukan annunciation may also intend to depict Mary as a bearer of prophetic revelation” (page 257). The fact that Mary is referred to twice in the chapter as a “slave of the Lord” strengthens the notion of her prophetic call. And her response in the Magnificat is a Spirit-endowed, prophetic response to being “overshadowed” by the Spirit.

“The question arises, then, why Luke would portray Mary as a prophet and yet fail to call her one,” Croy and Connor write. “The answer,” they continue, “may have something to do with the fact that Mary is explicitly identified as a virgin” (page 261).

They note that virginity and prophetic vocation are not connected in ancient Judaism. The only exception is the anonymous figure in Isaiah 8:3. Early church writers often saw this character as a prefiguring of Mary, but the Lukan author doesn’t make this connection explicitly. “In the Hebrew Bible virginity had no essential relationship to prophetic aptitude,” Croy and Connor write, “but the picture differs somewhat when we turn to Greco-Roman religion” (page 263).

They briefly survey a number of connections between virginity and prophetic vocation in the dominant Mediterranean culture of the first century. Virginity was associated with the purity thought necessary to be worthy of a prophetic vocation. That vocation often had sexual overtones in Greco-Roman religion, so the reproductive status of the prophet was thought to matter. To what degree does this pagan perspective affect the Lukan presentation (with possibly some pagans in the audience)?

In early Christianity, Croy and Connor note, Christian prophecy was a quite democratic endowment. It “was understood as a charism given by the Holy Spirit rather than a function determined by an institution” (page 266). It’s clear in Paul’s letters that women, for example, served as prophets in early Christian congregations. In Luke-Acts, Christian prophecy is taken as a given and demonstrated by several characters, including Jesus.

While few women are named as prophets in Luke-Acts, the text from Joel 2 in Peter’s Pentecost sermon mentions women as prophets twice. “Mary, as a prophesying servant of the Lord, can be seen as proleptically fulfilling the prophecy of Joel cited in Acts 2.18,” Croy and Connor write. “The motif of virginity, however, is absent from Acts 2” (page 267). So, what’s the story here? The early church theologians are prolific in their portrayal of Mary as a prophet, in both the Eastern and Western church. So, why not the Lukan author?

“Our hypothesis is that Luke was sensitive to the pagan overtones of associating prophecy and virginity,” Croy and Connor argue (page 270). The Lukan author, they suggest, wants to avoid any explicit suggestion that Mary experienced a sexual contact with God in the Annunciation. The Lord is not Zeus, invading the bedrooms of unsuspecting girls and spreading the divine seed hither and yon. The fact that the Annunciation results in a child, they suggest, makes this Lukan caution all the more pressing.

In addition, they suggest that the Lukan author does not want to make virginity a condition for Christian prophesying. Nor does the Lukan author want this relationship to be one of possession or assault. Croy and Connor point out that the Lukan author knows of such possibilities and describes such in Acts 16. Mary is not possessed by the Holy Spirit. “Mary’s endowment with the Holy Spirit is quite different,” they write, “she fully retains her rationality and volition. Hers is not a mantic possession,” they argue, “but a voluntary reception of the Spirit” (page 271).

Therefore, the Lukan author does not identify Mary as a prophet but rather characterizes her as such. “If it is the task of a prophet is to speak and act in ways that further revelation and redemption,” Croy and Connor conclude, “one might say…Mary delivers” (page 271).

The revelation of the Kin(g)dom of God is not reserved for spiritual savants or religious rulers. It does not happen only in temple precincts or pastoral pulpits. The Holy Spirit is not an endowment limited to the privileged few or regulated by academic or ecclesial authorities. As John reminds us, the Spirit blows where it will. Age or gender, status or ethnicity, position or power – these are not factors in determining where the Spirit works and through whom the Spirit speaks.

While the Lukan author wants this gospel to serve as an acceptable apologia that potentially persuades some privileged pagans, the author also uses it to subvert the values and structures of that pagan world. We must hear the witness of a teenager in Nazareth who for all the world simply looks like a girl in a bit of trouble. We must hear the witness of some old farts who these days would probably be diagnosed with dementia. We must hear the witness of smelly shepherds who can’t write their own names and who count sheep for a living rather than to fall asleep.

The Christian scriptures know the risks of such a democratic and democratizing Spirit. Chaos and self-aggrandizement often lurk just around the corner. Luther knew that as well and rejected the testimony and practices of the “Enthusiasts.” Yet, in our organized old-line congregations, we know that this has led to what Paul called “quenching the Spirit.” Perhaps we would do well to remind ourselves of the fact that Mary is among the prophets, to celebrate that fact, and to listen for prophetic words from unexpected quarters.

The “who” of Christian prophecy is one matter. Another matter is the “what.” More on that in the next post.

References and Resources

Croy, N. Clayton, and Alice E. Connor. “Mantic Mary? The Virgin Mother as Prophet in Luke 1.26-56 and the Early Church.” (2011).

Malcolm, Lois E., “Experiencing the Spirit: The Magnificat, Luther, and Feminists” (2010). Faculty Publications. 275. https://digitalcommons.luthersem.edu/faculty_articles/275.

Wilson, Brittany E. “Pugnacious precursors and the bearer of peace: Jael, Judith, and Mary in Luke 1: 42.” The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 68.3 (2006): 436-456.

Make a one-time donation

Make a monthly donation

Make a yearly donation

Choose an amount

$5.00

$15.00

$100.00

$5.00

$15.00

$100.00

$5.00

$15.00

$100.00

Or enter a custom amount

Your contribution is appreciated.

Donate Donate monthly Donate yearly

Text Study for Luke 1:39-55 (Pt. 2); December 19, 2021

Using the Back Door

The Gospel of Luke is a “dual process” document. When we read and interpret the account, we must look for multiple meanings and purposes in any and all of the texts. For example, the Lukan account is an apologia designed to make the Christian movement less threatening to Imperial authorities and more palatable to potential Gentile converts. It is also a “hidden transcript of resistance” that seeks to challenge and subvert the values of Imperial ideology and culture.

The Lukan author has a particular passion for the poor and an eye toward the wealthy who can be part of the movement under the right behavioral conditions. The author elevates the role of personal agency in repentance and renewal and highlights the work of the Holy Spirit in individuals and communities more than any other gospel account. The Lukan gospel is an invitation to hear and a call to do.

The Lukan author lifts up the ministry of women and makes them appear unduly subservient. The Lukan gospel affirms the absolute continuity between the Jesus movement and the vocation of biblical Israel. And this gospel tempts Christians to supersessionism in ways that are both surprising and shocking.

The Lukan author seeks to encourage a subversive and transformational movement without getting everyone killed in the process.

Thus, as we read and interpret the Lukan account, we need to attend not only to what is said, but also how, when, and by whom something is said. The Lukan author conveys as much or more by narrative structure, style, and tactics as the author does by the content of the narrative itself. If you find the Lukan gospel to be at times confusing and contradictory, that means you are paying close attention. That’s what happens when a theologian tries to satisfy several goals at once, and not all of them complementary to one another.

Lois Malcolm deals with some of these textual tensions in her chapter of the 2010 book, n Transformative Lutheran Theologies: Feminist, Womanist, and Mujerista Perspectives. In this chapter Malcolm seeks to understand and explicate Luther’s commentary on the Magnificat and to show that Martin Luther sees Mary as a model of witness and faith for us. In the process, she helps us to see the importance of the Holy Spirit for Martin Luther (and for us who bear that tradition) in spite of the reputed Lutheran allergy to experience and embrace of the work of the Spirit.

As Malcolm points out, Luther was critical both of the Augustinian mysticism in which he was formed as a monk and the “enthusiastic” emphasis on the Holy Spirit demonstrated by some members of the later Reformation community. Luther’s understanding of the work of the Spirit was rooted in Romans 8:26 and the assurance that the Spirit intercedes for us in our weakness.

This work is always the work of creation – and particularly creation out of nothing, as was the case in the Genesis account. Thus, the Spirit makes something out of nothing, brings life out of death. “It is here,” Malcolm writes, “in the midst of life’s struggles and not in our higher strivings and aspirations, that the Spirit works in the strange garb of sin and suffering, showing us a God who is continually turning to those lost in sin and death in order to create new life out of nothing – life out of death” (page 167).

With this understanding of the work of the Holy Spirit, it is not surprising that Luther would find a powerful text in the call of Mary and her response in the Magnificat. Before we come to that assessment, however, Malcolm leads us to listen to feminist critiques of this understanding.

For one who has been told for a lifetime and culturally that she is, in significant ways, “nothing,” this reduction to “nothing” before being newly created sounds like the same old stuff. “Rather than opening into transformation and a new beginning,” Malcolm writes, “this conversion story simply reenacts this woman’s story of a cultural unraveling she knows only too well – more like sin than the freeing act of divine mercy” (page 168).

Malcolm invites us to keep this critique in mind as we hear Luther’s commentary on the Magnificat. Malcolm observes that Luther looks at Mary’s experience of God seeing her at the lowest point. It is at this point that Mary experiences, in Malcolm’s terms, both mystical exaltation and prophetic witness.

Luther attributes three insights to Mary in her experience. First, she teaches us that the Spirit creates out of nothing and reaches us at our lowest points. Second, the Spirit is not a one-size-fits-all experience. Instead, God brings down the mighty and raises up the powerless. “Those in affliction hear words of comfort,” Malcolm writes, “those who are self-satisfied – and oppress others – hear words that terrify them” (page 168).

Third, Mary’s experience teaches us that how God sees things and how we see things are quite different. God looks into the depths of human misery to raise us up. We humans look at what is above only to fall down. This is, as Malcolm notes, the real difference between the Theology of the Cross and the Theology of Glory. “Because we cannot create what we desire,” Malcolm notes, “as human beings we tend only to love or desire what we find attractive or appealing. By contrast,” she continues, “as Luther pointed out in the Heidelberg Disputation, God’s love always creates what it desires” (page 169).

God sees Mary in the depths of life and calls her to the heights of faith, hope, and love. She puts her trust, according to Luther, not in the gifts but rather in The Giver. She loves God for God, not for what God will produce. She can do that by the Spirit’s power because she is loved “for nothing” rather than for what she can produce. This love, which is the fruit of faith given by the Spirit, is the only source of real peace for the believer.

The Magnificat begins with that mystical experience of God’s unconditional regard, but it does not end there. The result of that experience is Mary’s “prophetic witness to God’s great transforming work of justice in history” (page 171). This witness issues forth at precisely the moment when Mary is at her “lowest,” just as the great work of Life issues forth precisely when Jesus dies on the cross.

“The Magnificat does not tell a tale of God meeting a prideful sinner,” Malcolm writes, “Rather, it tells a tale of God meeting a woman whom society has seen as insignificant and giving her a new status…as well as a new sense of agency in God’s coming reign…Far from recapitulating the dynamics of her previous life,” Malcolm argues, “Mary was transformed and entered a new beginning” (page 173).

Yet, there is more going on here, Malcolm believes: “this tale of Mary’s mystical exaltation and prophetic agency is not merely a tale about a reversal of power” (page 173). Instead, it is a story of how God regards the lowly, the one who is “nothing,” and creates Life out of the nothing. Merely reversing the roles in the drama of power changes nothing. Instead, Mary bears witness to the God who seeks to dismantle the drama of power itself.

I noted earlier that as we read and interpret the Lukan account, we need to attend not only to what is said, but also how, when, and by whom something is said. That is certainly the case with the Annunciation and the Magnificat. The content of the song is radically subversive and a threat to the established powers and structures of the Empire. How does the Lukan author maintain that hidden transcript without blowing up the whole project in the first chapter?

I think it matters that the content comes in a song rather than in a manifesto or speech. Songs have a way of slipping in the back doors of our awareness and making changes in our feeling and thinking before we are aware of those changes.

One of my favorite musical settings of the Annunciation and the Magnificat is in Marty Haugen’s Holden Evening Prayer. This is beloved by thousands of worshippers. The music in these sections is beautiful. I wonder how much impact the words have because our minds and hearts are focused on that music while the Spirit is doing work in the background and under the surface? Quite a lot of work, I think.

I think it matters that the content comes with the voice of a woman. I wonder if the Lukan author uses the deep misogyny of the Roman patriarchal system against itself. Perhaps the author relied on the tendency of some readers to discount the testimony of a woman simply because she was woman. Thus, that testimony might not have been regarded consciously as a threat even as it worked once again in the background of thinking and feeling.

I’m not suggesting that the Lukan author discounted that testimony in the same way. Here is one of those places where we have to discern the dual process of the Lukan account. The Lukan author may be using the realities of the culture to undermine and subvert the values of that culture. It’s analogous to the power these days that political humor has to reach people when diatribes fall on deaf ears.

Hang on to this proposal as we go further into the Lukan account. Think about it, for example, when we read the parable of the Insistent Widow in Luke 18. Perhaps the Lukan author understands that in his culture, women could get away with things that men could not. That required faith, courage, and the willingness to exploit the opportunity.

Where might there be places where we can wedge our witness into the cracks in our own culture?

References and Resources

Malcolm, Lois E., “Experiencing the Spirit: The Magnificat, Luther, and Feminists” (2010). Faculty Publications. 275. https://digitalcommons.luthersem.edu/faculty_articles/275.

Wilson, Brittany E. “Pugnacious precursors and the bearer of peace: Jael, Judith, and Mary in Luke 1: 42.” The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 68.3 (2006): 436-456.

Make a one-time donation

Make a monthly donation

Make a yearly donation

Choose an amount

$5.00

$15.00

$100.00

$5.00

$15.00

$100.00

$5.00

$15.00

$100.00

Or enter a custom amount

Your contribution is appreciated.

Donate Donate monthly Donate yearly

Keep on Living — Saturday Sermons from the Sidelines

Friends, I’m going to talk about suicide. If that causes you distress, then please stop reading and be good to yourself. If you want to continue, please know that I have what I hope are some encouraging words here. Because of the topic, I would not preach this sermon at a worship service, since people present would not have the freedom to stop listening if they needed to do so. Thus, this is one of those sermons that can be written but perhaps not spoken.

I have always opposed the death penalty. Except for myself.

I have sometimes viewed failure as a capital offense — for me. When I look back at the first time I seriously considered ending my life, it was at a moment of big personal failure. I had clearly demonstrated — at least to myself — that I was a useless, worthless, piece of refuse. The reasonable response, my befuddled brain told me, was to put an end to the stupidity and spare the world the burden of dealing with me.

I can smile now at the melodrama and grandiosity, the self-absorption and self-pity, that I know was part of such a moment. But I cannot discount the life and death reality of that moment, clouded as it is in the mists of memory. Whether I was being “realistic” or not was hardly the point. I came far closer to ending my existence than is safe for anyone to consider.

This comes to mind for several reasons. I am finishing my tenth annual “death march” from the anniversary of my first spouse’s untimely death on November 20th to my own birthday on December 19th. I have become accustomed to morbid reflections on my mortality and am not nearly as put off by them as I once was. But I am also reminded that convicting and sentencing myself for the capital crimes of personal failure was not a one-off event.

I didn’t realize until I went through it just how common are thoughts of suicide in the community of those who lose a close loved one. I did indeed feel the pull to join Anne in moving to the New Life. I did wonder what precisely might be left for me now that life as I knew it was over. I did long for a way out of the pain and suffering of bereavement. Once someone that close to me had died, death was less of a stranger and more of a companion, a sort of friend of a friend.

Most of all, I was sure I had failed her — all consoling counter-assertions notwithstanding. I couldn’t reconcile my continued life with her sudden death. I had not kept her alive, so why should I keep me alive? My failure was fatal to her, why not to me as well?

I didn’t live with those thoughts every waking moment. The fantasies of self-annihilation were usually fleeting. But there were enough episodes of concrete plans and opportunities, of near misses and false starts, that I knew I had to be very careful for a while. And I had to refocus on another path back to life.

While my situations hardly mirrored those of Mary at the Annunciation, I am in awe of her response. I think that I might not have been so willing and able to choose to live in the new reality that faced her. Yes, there was all that happy talk about a son who would be the Savior. But there was going to be one hell of a shitstorm, to adopt the current vernacular, for Mary along the way. Whether she had failed or not, that’s how she would be viewed. I might have thought that sufficient grounds to carry out my self-execution.

But not Mary — “Let it be to me according to your word.” Mary did not merely choose life. Mary chose to keep living in the new reality not of her own choosing. Her response to “failure” (and let me be clear, she did not “fail” but would have been treated as if she did) was to keep on living — for her child, for her people, and for the world.

I just listened to the latest episode of the On Being podcast. Krista Tippett talked with Jennifer Michael Hecht under the title, “We Believe Each Other into Being.” I remember Hecht and her work on doubt from nearly two decades ago. You can listen to that conversation here: https://onbeing.org/programs/jennifer-michael-hecht-we-believe-each-other-into-being-on-being/. Be sure to listen to the end as she reads two beautiful and poignant poems that deal with suicide.

“Your staying alive means so much more than you really know or that anyone is aware of at this moment,” Hecht says during the conversation. “But we’re in it together in this profound way, and you can take some strength from that.” She argues that people can be reminded in healthy ways of the communitarian impact of taking one’s own life and that this can be a curb to reduce such self-fatal responses.

In addition, she pleads with the self in pain to consider and respect the future self who will never have a chance to live if one ends it all. The conversation caused me to reverse that thought. I want to express my gratitude to my earlier selves (and all who supported them) who chose to keep on living in those dark hours of despair. I am especially grateful to that troubled young man who stepped back from the precipice and stumbled through the disasters he had created. I don’t want to punish him now. I want to thank him for letting me live.

That’s true for all those other men (who were me, and the people who supported them) who have made similar choices for me in the last forty-odd years. Of course, I differ with Jennifer Michael Hecht in how those choices came about. I was rescued repeatedly by the interventions of a compassionate God who either spoke to me directly or sent people with the message.

“No, don’t do it! You are not a failure. You are not a useless, worthless piece of refuse.” Hearing a voice like that in the dark can peculiarly focus one’s attention. “You are beloved in the midst of the pain, sorrow, failure and fear. So keep on living, and we’ll see what we can make of this mess.” I am certain that I would not have made such a choice on my own. But I could follow instructions.

“Let it be to me according to your word.” One of the few places I dare to connect with Mary is here. She responds with courage and hope. But that courage and hope have been poured into her along with the life of her child. She is pregnant not only with a baby but with expectation that the darkness cannot overcome the light. She responds to these gifts with brave faith, and I’m not at all in her league in that regard. But she knows the source of her hope and accepts the life she’s given.

Hecht and Tippett both refer to Camus’ opening line in The Myth of Sisyphus. “There is but one truly serious philosophical problem,” he wrote, “and that is suicide.” I read those words as a college sophomore, but as a typical sophomore, I didn’t finish the book. So I never got to Camus’ conclusion. He paints a picture of Sisyphean courage and even good humor in the face of life’s absurdity. Every time the boulder rolled back over the protagonist, Camus argued, he got himself up, dusted himself off, and began again.

For Camus, that was the source of meaning in life. Sisyphus was made of sterner stuff than I by far, and so was Camus. I could not find personal or communal meaning in simply asserting that life was meaningful. That seemed like trying to erect a building with no foundation. I am grateful that my younger self was not allowed to surrender at that point. I am grateful that God demanded that I would seek a foundation that works.

“Let it be to me according to your word.” That’s the foundation. Choose to keep on living another day. Do it for your future self — who will undoubtedly thank you. Do it for the community of those who find you far more valuable than you find yourself sometimes. Do it for the cosmos that needs all hands on deck in order to make sense of things. Do it, if you’re like me, because the Creator and Giver of life finds you to be of infinite worth and has plans to use you for remarkable good.

Keep on living. Thanks!

Text Study for Luke 1:26-38, Pt. 2

2. The Impossible Possibility

With God, all things may be possible. We could easily miss the scriptural connections in this phrase. It takes us back to Genesis 18 and the story of Sarah and Abraham. The couple is visited by three men as they are camp under the oaks of Mamre. During the conversation it becomes clear that the visitors are, somehow, God.

They bring the promise that Sarah will bear a child even though “it had ceased to be with Sarah after the manner of women.” Sarah perhaps finds the whole idea a bit ridiculous and laughs out loud. The men respond, “Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?” This question is rendered in the Septuagint as, “Is any promise impossible for God?” Some manuscripts of Luke pick up the echoes of this verse in a small addition to the Greek text. That scribal enthusiasm makes it clear that readers had the Old Testament story in mind as they read the Annunciation account.

Sarah, understandably, laughs at the ludicrous suggestion. Mary trusts in the promise she has heard. Nothing is too wonderful for the Lord.

Nothing, Mary hears, is impossible for God. That does not mean, however, that all things may be easy. I think we do a disservice to Mary, to our listeners, and to the Gospel when we make this a simple “trust and obey” story. The stakes for Mary here are literally life and death. She responds not only with obedience but with courage and determination.

“Mary, in the annunciation, becomes the patroness, of all who are called by God to do impossible things,” Rick Morley writes. “Of those who become embarrassments to their family and communities on behalf of God. She reminds us that the godly thing isn’t always the prim-and-proper thing. Sometimes when we answer God’s call, we become a laughingstock. Or, even worse,” he concludes. “persecuted.”

David Lose looks at how Mary’s life was utterly derailed and disrupted by this announcement and the events that followed. “Do we think God is done interrupting people’s lives to use them for the health of the world,” Lose asks, “or might we imagine that God is still doing things just like this? Further, might we look around at the people in our congregation and see them as those persons who are also favored by God and through whom God plans to do marvelous things?”

I wonder if Mary ever wished that things could “go back to normal”? Did she ever wish that she could go back to being a teenager in a no-name village in a Galilean backwater? We live in a time when people are nearly overwhelmed with the desire to “go back to normal.” We wonder that out loud at almost every turn. When will things get back to some semblance of normality?

“Back to normal” was not an option for Mary. There was no putting the toothpaste back in the tube on this one. Gabriel’s announcement to Mary has all the classic marks of gospel. It is news that will irrevocably change the world, both present and future. It has yet to be accomplished, but there’s not doubt it will happen. And the news turns the status quo upside down and inside out. Is it any wonder that Gabriel says, “Do not be afraid”?

In what ways is the Holy Spirit coming upon us and disrupting our lives with the good news of Jesus? We cannot and will not “go back to normal” after the pandemic, even as we get excited about vaccine reports. We have been through too much, seen too much, lost too much. Can we look forward to what we have gained, what we have learned, what we want to keep from this Covid-time? Have we been used by the Spirit during this time in ways that are both disruptive and delightful? These are questions worth asking now.

“What I want is to invite our people to take a moment to contemplate that God is at work in them and through them,” Lose continues. “Further, I want to help them imagine one concrete place they can make a difference — where God may be at work in them — between now and Christmas. And once they’ve had a chance to contemplate all this, I want to invite them into the joy of faithful response.” This perspective can take us again, for example, to thoughts about the “obedience of faith” that Paul mentions in the second reading.

It may take some time to answer such questions – perhaps more than an hour, or a day, or a week. Along with Mary, we may need to ponder what sort of greeting this might be for us. “Mary models the kind of reaction we should have to divinity’s disturbance in our lives,” Karoline Lewis writes. “She wonders and ponders. She questions and considers. She answers in awe. And Mary’s reply to God’s call understands that fear is characteristic of our response to God when God disrupts our lives.”

How true indeed. But we see that fear is not the final response from Mary. It is worth remembering the old English proverb here. “Fear knocked at the door. Faith answered. No one was there.” Let it be to us according to the Word.

If you use the Magnificat as the psalmody for the day (or choose to read the Annunciation and Magnificat as a whole piece), the disruption moves beyond Mary’s personal situation. Her obedience of faith has social and economic dimensions. Here is a prophecy of the coming Jubilee year. Remember that Jesus declares in chapter 4 of Luke’s gospel that he is bringing that Jubilee in his proclamation and ministry. Here all the inequities of established life are upended. And (with a preview of the first lesson) all this happens because God is faithful to God’s promises “to Abraham and his children forever.”

Liturgically, this is an opportunity to sing the Annunciation and Magnificat using the setting from Holden Evening Prayer. I never miss an opportunity to do that. More to the point, what happens to Mary will happen to all of us, to all the world, to all of Creation. Nothing is impossible for God. Thus, even in this time of restriction and retreat, we can and must look for the impossible possibilities the Holy Spirit is bringing about.

References and Resources

Frederick, John. https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fourth-sunday-of-advent-2/commentary-on-romans-1625-27-5.

Hultgren, Arland. https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fourth-sunday-of-advent-2/commentary-on-romans-1625-27-3

Levine, Amy-Jill, and Witherington III, Ben. The Gospel of Luke (New Cambridge Bible Commentary). Cambridge, UK.: Cambridge University Press, 2018.

Lewis, Karoline. https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fourth-sunday-of-advent-2/commentary-on-luke-126-38.

Lewis, Karoline, https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/marys-response.

Lose, David. https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/favored-ones.

Malina, Bruce, and Rohrbaugh, Richard. Social Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels. Kindle Edition.

Metger, Bruce. A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament. New York: United Bible Societies, 1975.

Morley, Rick. http://www.rickmorley.com/archives/1218?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=gutsy-faith-greater-than-the-angels-a-reflection-on-the-annunciation.

Powell, Mark Allan. https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fourth-sunday-of-advent-2/commentary-on-luke-126-38-3. Sigmon, Casey Thornburgh. https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fourth-sunday-of-advent-2/commentary-on-2-samuel-71-11-16-5

Text Study for Luke 1:26-38, Pt. 1

On the fourth Sunday in Advent, we prepare to “turn the corner” into the Christmas season. We hear Mary’s words of obedient faith. And we pray that the same kind of faith might come to birth in us. I think of the words of my favorite Christmas carol, “Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem.”

“Oh, holy child of Bethlehem, descend to us we pray. Cast out our sin and enter in, be born in us today.”

That is always my Christmas prayer.

Photo by Felix Mittermeier on Pexels.com

1. The Call of Mary

We “begin” a fourth time in Advent – from the birth pangs to the gospel to the witness and now to the divine creation out of nothing –heading toward the actual birth. As Levine and Witherington note in their commentary, “The one miracle greater than that of a postmenopausal woman conceiving is that of a virgin conceiving.” When Mary wonders about the mechanism of this miracle, Gabriel’s answer in verse 35 echoes the language of Creation.

In Genesis 1, the Spirit hovers over the face of the deep and brings order out of the chaotic waters. In Luke’s writing (remember that “Luke” wrote both the gospel and the Acts of the Apostles), the Holy Spirit comes upon Mary here and to the disciples in Acts 1:8ff. In other places in Luke, the verb for “overshadow” is used to indicate the coming of judgment and the great reversal at the end of the age. Perhaps this is a nod toward the reversals mentioned in Mary’s song, historically called the Magnificat.

Malina and Rohrbaugh note that the word for “overshadow” has an additional and deeper meaning. “Further,” they write, “the Greek verb translated ‘will overshadow you’ is used in the Greek version of the Hebrew Bible to describe God shielding and protecting (Ps. 90:4; 139:7; Prov. 18:11). Mary is thus described as empowered and protected by God…” (page 288).

This text is often called the Annunciation, the announcement to Mary of the pregnancy of her cousin Elizabeth and her own entry into the family way. Commentators note, however, that this text has much more the flavor of a prophetic call story than that of a birth announcement. Levine and Witherington remind us that “Mary” is just a translation of the Hebrew name, “Miriam.” Miriam is the first of many women in the Hebrew Bible who participate actively in and then sing about God’s triumphant salvation.

Mary wonders what sort of greeting she has received. We might wonder what sort of prophet we encounter here. “The evangelist Luke does not exalt Mary as a goddess, or as a mother, or even as a woman,” Mark Allan Powell writes in his workingpreacher.org commentary. “He thinks she has a more important role, as the ideal Christian. In the Third Gospel, Mary becomes the model for Christian discipleship, the person who all people, men and women alike should emulate, especially if they wish to follow her son.”

This ideal Christian moves from terrified to incredulous to obedient – all in the span of nine verses. The word the NRSV translates as “perplexed” would be better translated as “terrified,” according to Levine and Witherington (page 34). This makes more sense of Gabriel’s words of calm and comfort to the young woman. Any prophetic call worth the bother should begin with terror at the prospect of seeing the Lord of the universe face to face. Mary finds herself in line, for example, with Isaiah and his vision in Isaiah 6.

In the middle of the text, we have both the naming of Jesus and the description of his role and mission. Jesus, the new Joshua (“Jesus” is the Greek rendering of the Hebrew/Aramaic name “Yeshua”), will lead God’s people into the promised land of God’s blessing. He will be the Son of the Most High, the Son of God. He will be king of Israel and heir of David. He will claim and fulfill the royal promises and messianic hopes of Israel, including those found in our first reading from 2 Samuel 7.

Notable as always is the title “Son of God.” Remember that the Roman emperors claim this title as their own – on coinage and statues and official proclamations. “Son of God” is not only about origin and descent. It is about authority and mission. Mary is the first, in Luke’s account, to hear the good news of Jesus and, quite literally, to bear that news to the world.

Mary assents to this prophetic and apostolic role. It’s worth looking at that assent in detail. Karoline Lewis notes this rapid transition in Mary’s vocation. “Any sermon on this text worth its weight will somehow create, expand, and eventually resolve, to a certain extent, and as much as is theologically possible, the tension between “How can this be” and “Let it be with me according to your word,” Lewis writes in her 2011 workingpreacher.org commentary.

“Here am I,” Mary says. Again, I find us in the divine throne room with the prophet Isaiah. “Here am I,” he declares, “send me.” It is conceivable (pardon the pun) that either Isaiah or Mary could have refused the call. God rarely kidnaps people into prophecy. In the face of this impossible possibility, Mary accepts her calling and opens herself to whatever may come.

“Here am I,” Mary says, “the slave of the Lord.” The NRSV translation softens the term Mary uses. It is the Greek doule, not diakone. The word literally means “female slave.” Commentators note that this text has often been used to exalt a kind of passive submission as a virtue. In this way, the assumptions of enslavement are underwritten and encouraged. In a time when more women and children are enslaved globally for the purposes of sex trafficking than ever before in human history, such a reading is troubling.

Levine and Witherington provide some help in this regard. “Alternatively, Mary’s self-designation can function as an ironic indicator of both personal freedom and complete devotion,” they write, “the only master Mary has is God, and she willingly places herself in divine hands…” To be a slave of God is to be free from every other master, which is to be truly and fully free to be what God has created us to be.

The description, they continue, also associates Mary with other “slaves of the Lord” in both the Hebrew and Christian bibles: Moses, Joshua, Samuel, Saul, David, Zerubbabel, Paul, and James. “Mary thus situates herself,” Levine and Witherington conclude, “among kings, prophets, apostles, and evangelists.” Mary is, for Luke and for us, a model of the “obedience of faith” we will find in the second reading for this Sunday.

Lewis suggests that preaching on this text “will move us from the absence of God (1:34), to the presence of God (1:35), to the fulfillment of the promises of God (1:36)….Somehow, someway,” she concludes, “a sermon on this text will negotiate the radical transformation…from peasant girl to prophet, from Mary to mother of God, from to denial to discipleship.” With God indeed all things are possible. With Mary as our model and inspiration, perhaps we too can consider our prophetic callings, no matter how humble our circumstances or spirits.