Frederick Buechner wrote, “Happiness turns up more or less where you’d expect it to – a good marriage, a rewarding job, a pleasant vacation. Joy, on the other hand, is as notoriously unpredictable as the one who bequeaths it.”
And joy is as surprising as usual today in our texts. The song from Isaiah is shockingly glorious! Imagine: the gladness of a dry land; a full blossoming in the desert! Weak hands mysteriously and suddenly made strong!
Burning sands become a pool of refreshing water; the haunt of the jackals becomes a reedy, mossy swamp. Life-giving water abounds!
A highway runs through it called the Holy Way, and not even a fool could get lost on it! The redeemed shall walk there, they will come singing, and everlasting joy shall be upon their heads.
Everlasting joy, in the place one would least expect it.
The Bible is full of songs in unexpected places, and that is because the story of faith is full of joy in unexpected places. The writer C. S. Lewis wrote a book called Surprised by Joy, where he recalled in his childhood being struck by “stabs of joy,” something so intense, so good, so high, it could not be explained with words.
Surprising joy was the experience Mary had during her pregnancy. Now think about it: there were many reasons for Mary to not be happy. Pregnancy is a beautiful and precious thing, but the world doesn’t always see it that way. Mary’s pregnancy put her in a frightful situation – unmarried, with a story that most people would find incredible – this was definitely going to hurt her standing in society, such as it was. Honestly, it was something that could have become an ugly situation; Mary might have been violently killed.
It seems as though Mary was given an option. Did she have to agree to become the vessel of the divine? The angel Gabriel made a proposal to her. Mary asked questions. He answered to her satisfaction, and she said, “Here I am. Let it be with me according to your word. And the angel left happily, having sealed the deal.
Which was, I would imagine, no small feat. Mightn’t there have been other young women who fled in fear? Others who steadfastly refused something so risky and, at the least, inconvenient?
But Mary was the rarest of individuals. Mary was a young woman in the most vulnerable time of her life, and she said yes. With grace and courage, Mary said yes.
And when she did, she was flooded with unexpected joy.
Every year, in addition to the various other Advent devotionals we receive, Kim and I use a little book called I Am Mary. Each day during the season, it follows Mary’s journey from the moment she encounters the angel to the moment she gives birth. We love it so much because it throws us deep into the story, imagining her thoughts, her physical sensations and emotional experiences; her fear and also her joy.
In this song Mary sings today, we get the fullness of her joy. Mary, just like Isaiah, sees the unexpected things that God brings: the strength where before there was weakness, the fullness where there was hunger. The lowly are lifted up, the proud are brought low. Ancient promises are fulfilled.
Mary sings of how God delivers the oppressed and the enslaved, the ones who are being crushed by powerful forces.
I remember, during our months of quarantine early in the pandemic, when we livestreamed evening prayer each day; Mary’s song was a part of our prayer – each day.
Every Christmas morning in our house, after all the shiny wrapping paper has been torn away, after all the gifts have been admired, we sit down at the table and make Mary’s song our prayer. Because it is Mary’s song that shines forth the glory of God. It is powerful in its promise.
But maybe not for everyone.
I have heard that when they first began translating the Bible into the common languages, during the Reformation, they did not translate Mary’s song. It would be too offensive for kings to read “he has brought down the powerful from their thrones!” The prudent translators thought it better to leave it in Latin and hope the kings didn’t understand it.
In the 1970’s, I have heard, the government of Argentina banned the public recitation of Mary’s song, the Magnificat. This seemed necessary to them because of the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, those mothers who put their bodies on the line to protest a government that made their children disappear. The Mothers of the Plaza had made Mary’s song their manifesto.
In the 1980’s, the Guatemala government did the same thing – for the same reason.
I have heard that when the British ruled in the East Indies, they removed the Magnificat from its place in evening prayer. We don’t have to wonder why. Wherever powerful ones oppress the powerless, Mary sings for the oppressed.
When families flee war or persecution at home, seeking refuge at our borders, Mary sings for the refugees.
When schoolchildren in our city go to school hungry because their cupboards are bare, Mary sings for these children.
When children are left homeless in our nation because we cannot seem to prioritize affordable housing, Mary sings for the children and their parents.
Mary was never just a passive vessel. Mary said yes to the angel and stepped into a life of unimaginable dimensions. She made room in her body for love to be born. She sang a song of unspeakable joy, with her whole body because the Lord had looked with favor upon her, and through her body, has blessed the whole creation.
Perhaps we, too, can be like Mary. Can this courageous young woman be an inspiration for us? Might we, like Mary, say yes to God’s always-present invitation to be filled with Christ’s holiness, to make a space for the sacred?
If we listen to Isaiah, if we listen to Mary, we hear that God will do amazing and surprising things on earth, turning something that some might see as ugly into something of beauty, something sacred.
May you, in this week, experience the sacred – in taste and smell and touch – knowing the very real presence of God.
May you make some space in yourself for the sacred.
May you, like Mary, be a vessel for the Christ.
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Photo by Ilzy Sousa: https://www.pexels.com/photo/silhoette-of-woman
