Love From the Bottom Up

Sermon for the feast of St. Mary the Virgin, transferred, Aug. 14, 2022

Luke 1:46-55

Today, we’re celebrating St. Mary, the mother of Jesus, whose feast day is tomorrow, Aug. 15.  Christians have been celebrating Mary on this date for centuries but not with precisely the same understanding of what they’re celebrating.  In the Roman Catholic tradition, it’s the Feast of the Assumption of Mary, honoring the belief that Mary didn’t die but was taken physically into heavenly glory, sort of like Elijah in the Old Testament.  In the Eastern Orthodox tradition, it’s the Feast of the Dormition of Mary, honoring the belief that Mary died but without human suffering, like falling asleep, and that she rose physically into heavenly glory after three days, like her Son.  For us Anglican Christians, specifically Episcopalians, it’s simply the Feast of St. Mary the Virgin. We don’t worry so much about the details of how she got to heaven, instead focusing more on her earthly story.

So, who was Mary?  Certainly, the mother of Jesus; but some Christians also give her titles like Co-Redemptrix or Queen of Heaven, highlighting her stature and significance in God’s kingdom.  At the other end of the spectrum, my liturgics professor in seminary insisted on calling her simply Mary of Galilee – a teenaged nobody, called into God’s service in the most shocking draft choice in history.

What do we remember about her?  When you think of Mary, what image comes to mind?  Maybe Mary “meek and mild,” as the hymn says. That’s the image many of us hold: Mary the submissive servant, the model for millennia of women … and, by the way, handy for keeping women from aspiring toward too much, in the eyes of the men in charge. 

Or we can pick up on what Scripture says about Mary reflecting on Jesus’ birth, the shepherds’ visit, and the angels praising the newborn King.  Luke says Mary “pondered [all these things] in her heart” (2:19) – so we might see Mary as a contemplative, spending hours in prayer.  That one seems to make sense.  If I’d been visited by an angel and given birth to God’s Son; if I’d witnessed his ministry, death, resurrection, and ascension – I’d probably spend time in prayer, too, trying to understand my place in that stunning story … and what might come next.

But I also imagine that Mary must have been a fighter.  After all, when we first meet her, in the annunciation story, Mary is strong enough to question the angel Gabriel when he delivered the news that she would bear God’s Son: You’ve got to be kidding; “how can this be?” she asked (Luke 1:34).  So, Gabriel explains she’ll be filled with the Holy Spirit to conceive this child – and I think that strength sustains her and empowers her from that moment forward.  When Mary says to the angel, “Here I am, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word,” I don’t hear that as passive acceptance.  I hear her embracing her power: “Yes, I’ll serve.  Bring it on!”

Then Mary goes to visit her relative Elizabeth, who’s herself six months’ pregnant after spending decades making peace with the notion that she couldn’t have children.  Mary travels all the way from Galilee, in the north, to the Judean hill country – about 90 miles,¹ with no mention of her father or Joseph or anybody else coming along to take care of her.  The Holy Spirit tells Elizabeth the good news Mary is bringing, that she’s carrying the messiah; and Elizabeth blesses Mary for believing the angel’s unbelievable news.  As Elizabeth’s baby, John the Baptist, jumps for joy in the womb, Mary and Elizabeth understand God’s using them to change history.

And then we hear Mary speak for herself – or, actually, sing for herself – in today’s Gospel reading, as her voice rises on behalf of everybody who needs deliverance from the powers that oppress them.  And what exactly does Mary exclaim?  

She says, “My soul,” my spirit, “magnifies the Lord” (Luke 1:46).  Think about that.  Does God need magnification?  You’d think God could break into human experience with as much shock and awe as God likes.  But instead, God enters human experience needing nurture, needing care, needing leadership and love.  And for those spiritual gifts, God chooses someone with absolutely no credentials, a nobody oppressed in a backwater of the Roman Empire.  That’s just shocking, that God would use the spirit of a nobody to magnify God’s presence and power … but, of course, in God’s kingdom, nobody is a nobody.  

Instead, from now on, Mary sings, “all generations” will see how I’m blessed, for the Mighty One has done great things for me (Luke 1:48) – and for all who come after her.  So it is for those who offer themselves before God with awe and reverence, that God would have mercy and do great things for them.  In fact, Mary continues, God displays this immense power in the last way the world would expect, showing those who trust in themselves that their power is all in their heads, fleeting as a breath, soon to pass away.  In fact, Mary sings, the powerful will be brought low, and the lowly will be empowered.  For those who are hungry and thirsty and in need, God will fill them and make them whole, while those who are rich in the world’s eyes will have only their own power to rely on, coming away empty when they come before God.  

And God will bring this deliverance to the world through Israel – the lowliest of nations, not even a nation, people run over by one foreign power after another.  God’s king will come from this nothing nation … why?  Because God made that promise, Mary sings, and God is faithful to God’s own word. For generations, these people have found themselves homeless, powerless, even faithless sometimes, but never hopeless; for God has said, over and over again, “Be not afraid, for I am with you.”  So, Mary sings, “Yes!  I will give myself to that God, the God who comes up from the bottom to rule as King.”

It's not that the people of Israel were better than anyone else.  In fact, Luke’s story doesn’t even say that Mary was better than everyone else.  There’s no explanation for God’s choice.  As one commentator writes, “God’s beneficence is a gift and is not tied to notions of just desserts.”²  Mary’s song isn’t about how great she is, or about how great her country is.  Mary magnifies the Lord, so her song is about how great God is.  It’s that gift we routinely call “amazing grace” without really considering how amazing it is.  God raises up Israel, and raises up Mary, and keeps raising up folks who’ve hit bottom because that’s just who God is.  Love is like that. 

Of course, God’s amazing grace for the folks who’ve hit bottom begs the question, “What about the folks at the top?”  Honestly, that’s most of us here throughout most of our lives, especially in comparison to those struggling across town and around the world.  When I hear this song of Mary, I can’t help but feel haunted by the suspicion that I’m among the powerful who will be brought down from their thrones and the rich who will be sent away empty.  I don’t know how we can hear Mary’s song and not come away thinking God wants to see change.  What do we do with that?

Yesterday, about 25 of us came out for our second Connecting Community event at St. James United Methodist Church.  I spent the day in the laundry, talking with people who’d come for Loads of Love.  Others of you offered school supplies, or food, or diapers to families from our partner schools, and St. James’ partner schools, and the surrounding neighborhoods.  When we do this work, and all our Outreach ministry, we’re saying that we, too, are dissatisfied with the way things are.  We don’t just want a family to eat well over a weekend; we want them to eat well over a lifetime.  We don’t just want to offer a load of clean laundry; we want to offer a glimpse of the dignity borne by every child of God.  We don’t just want some students to have some school supplies; we want a city where all children are nurtured and educated to achieve their potential. 

So, how does that change happen?  Some will say through legal reform.  Some will say through educational reform.  Some will say through police reform.  Some will say through government programs.  Some will say through private enterprise.  Some will say through family empowerment.  I will say, “Yes.”  Welcome to the Big Tent.  For under that tent are hearts united in the dream that Mary was singing.  The lowly need lifting up.  The hungry need good things.  Even in a nation as divided as ours, deep down we get that. 

So, then what?  I don’t think God’s intent is that, because “the lowly” (1:52) need change, the powerful need punishment.  I think God’s intent is that the powerful need to be instruments of the change God seeks.  And they need to do it not just for the well-being of the lowly but for themselves, actually; because we the powerful need to experience amazing grace just as much as anyone else.  We need to know in our hearts the love that crosses boundaries, and invests us in one another, and makes us see we have a stake in our neighbors’ well-being.  We need to live the truth that we’re bound together by the Love that loves us all.

When I talk with people who have little by worldly standards, and ask them how they’re doing, I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard people reply, “I’m blessed.”  I’m blessed.  I may be doing my laundry at a laundromat with someone else’s quarters, but I’m blessed.  That is the song of Mary: that today’s struggle looks to tomorrow’s victory, that today’s sadness looks to tomorrow’s joy, that today’s shortfall looks to tomorrow’s bounty.  For God is faithful, entering into our experience through the least likely person in the world and saving all God’s beloved children from the bottom up.

1.      https://aleteia.org/2017/01/24/biblical-travel-how-far-to-where-and-what-about-the-donkey/

2.      New Interpreter’s Study Bible, 1853 (note).