Magnificat for All

December 15, 2019

The Lectionary reading for today told part of the backstory of Mary’s Magnificat, found in Luke 1. The tale began with an angelic visit to Zechariah, the aged priest married to Elizabeth, who for the many years of their marriage remained barren—in those days, considered a sign of God’s displeasure. The angel promised them a son, and six months into her pregnancy, we pick up the story with another angelic visit, this time to the Virgin Mary. 

Biblical angels were not the cuddly Raphaelic cherubs or the beautiful feminine creatures we so often envision them to be, in flowing, glowing robes, long golden hair, and feathery wings. Later in the story, we will read of angels who came upon a group of shepherds. At first there was but one, but it says “suddenly” the sky was filled with “heavenly host.” If the “suddenly” weren’t enough to scare them, the “host” would have, for the term means “armies.” These were the divine armies of God, heavenly soldiers outfitted with weapons the likes of which these men had never seen. One moment, the sky was dark, the night quiet; the next, light exploded across the sky accompanied by such a din of angelic shouting that their ears were ringing! No wonder they were terrified!

Such was the angelic visitation to Mary. The text says, “she was deeply troubled,” as well she might be. It was not the angel’s appearance however, but his message that was troubling. At this point, the angel had said nothing about her becoming a miraculous mother; all he said was, “Rejoice, highly favored one. The Lord is with you; blessed are you among women!” The latter phrase is missing in some of the ancient manuscripts, but even without it, the message would have been confusing and therefore, troubling to the young Mary. Why would she be highly favored? What’s behind this affirmation that the Lord is with her? Whenever the ancient prophets had spoken of being chosen by God, it turned out to be a mixed blessing. To be chosen is wonderful until it means singled out for suffering and trouble, which is usually what happened.

She soon found out. A poor, young, unmarried pregnant woman was not a status any teenager would aspire to, especially back in those days when out of wedlock pregnancies were a badge of shame. Though the angel said this child would be great, the Son of the Highest, would inherit the throne of the great king David, reigning forever, the path towards that end promised to be a hard one.

In the days between that announcement and her visit to cousin Elizabeth, something changed within her to the point where she could say, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit has rejoiced in God my Savior...” (vv.46-47). What caused the change from fear to faith? Simply this: the promise had already begun to be fulfilled. The angel had told her that the Holy Spirit would come upon her (v.35). Conception would be the result. By the time Mary arrived at her cousin’s home, that conception had occurred, which means the Holy Spirit had already come upon her.

We children of the Enlightenment are not usually comfortable speaking of spirits, holy or otherwise. What do we mean when we speak of the Holy Spirit? It’s not hard to conceptualize God the Father or Jesus the Son, but the Holy Spirit is a bit more challenging. A pastor friend speaks of the Holy Spirit as the “aliveness of God.” While that description doesn’t fully describe the doctrine of the Holy Spirit, it’s a good start. The very life of God had somehow entered Mary, and where God is present, fear (except for holy fear—another topic altogether) vanishes. Mary would know trouble, but would also know triumph. 

The Magnificat is meant for us. God wants us to know what Mary knew—that troubling news needn’t remain troubling. When the Holy Spirit—the life of God himself—comes upon us, we have an entirely new option. Instead of fear, we can choose to believe the promise, and when we do, God begins its work in us, and we can rejoice.