Madonna della Seggiola, by Raphael
I am not embarrassed to admit that “Mary, Did You Know?” is one of my all-time favorite Christmas songs. Based on a quick Spotify search, I know I’m not alone: from Ceelo Green to choirs of nuns and everyone in between, there are innumerable versions of this modern carol. The song doesn’t give Mary a voice but it does give voice to Mary’s perspective and experience. Did she know what exactly she was consenting to when she gave her yes to the angel Gabriel? What did she understand about the identity of her swaddled baby lying in a manger?
We could look at subtle cues in the text or the content of her song and make some guesses about what information was available to her. It’s safe to say, however, that while she may have known in part, Mary certainly could not have known in full. She certainly had some ideas about the Messiah, but she could not have known what the future held, because none of us do. What is remarkable about Jesus is that He knew what He came to do; what is remarkable about Mary is that she did not know what was coming but said yes anyway.
The point of the song is not to ask how well Mary understood Messianic prophecies. Rather, the lyrics juxtapose Christ’s human and divine nature, reminding listeners of the unfathomable truth that the Creator of the stars chose to sleep under them. It is, however, a very interesting question—what did Mary know as she nursed the Maker of heaven and earth? Before we consider that question, though, we first must ask: what is knowing?
To ‘know’ is a bit of a catch-all word in English, containing several meanings. We typically use it in reference to a piece of information or a person, but it can mean everything from having heard that data to being an expert in the area, from knowing who someone is to being childhood best friends. Knowing can also mean having experienced something. To know suffering, for example, is not a cognitive exercise but an embodied experience. Sometimes our bodies know things without even our brain’s awareness, like how to ride a bike or songs we learned as children, or in a more extreme example, triggers and flashbacks.
When Gabriel appears to Mary he gives her a lot of new information: she’s going to have a son, he’s going to be the Messiah, this is going to happen by the Holy Spirit. He doesn’t give her all the information, like the suffering her child will experience, but he gives her what she needs to know. That knowledge, however, is just the foundation for a different kind of knowing that begins the moment she holds that baby boy in her arms. On Christmas night Mary went from knowing God as her Father, to knowing God as her son.
Mary experienced the love of God as the exhausting love of nursing, parenting, and raising her son—both in her love for Him and His love for her. Mary knew love for God like the all-encompassing love of a mother, the kind that wakes up at all hours, prepares three (or more!) meals every single day, and sets aside her own desires for those of her child, who was also her God. And she knew the love of God as a tiny hand on her face, the joy of a shared afternoon, a kiss before He left.
That is a privilege none of us will have. None of our children, if we have them, will be the Messiah. All of us, however, are invited into the love Mary and Jesus share. When Jesus loved Mary as a son loves his mother, He showed us how God loves us—with a tender, protective heart. And as Mary loves Jesus, she sets an example for us—she shows us what it means to let love for God change our identity and orient our days.
We may not get to nurse the Messiah or share a home with God incarnate. We are, though, invited to know the love of God through and for others. Maybe it’s in the interrupting, all-encompassing, energetic love of a 4 year old son. Or maybe in the unconditional love of between a grandmother and grandchild. Or the steady presence of a childhood best friend. Or the pure adoration of a classroom of kids for their teacher. In whatever form you know love, you know God’s love. Its vessel may be broken but the love coming through it is not.
Mary may not have known that her son would be crucified, but she knew what it sounded like when He laughed. She knew the shape of His hands, the strength of His arms with an axe, His favorite foods, the face He made when He cried. We can’t know what Mary knew, but we can know who she knew.
We have not seen His face yet, but He has seen ours, and one day He will come to us as surely as He came to her.
Soundtrack: Mary, Did You Know by Maverick City Music
Links and Things
Album Recommendation:
If you’re in the market for a different song about Mary’s perspective, let me recommend this song from the Behold the Lamb album. Andrew Peterson and friends tour every Christmas and perform the entire album in a powerfully worshipful concert. I can’t recommend the album or the concert enough!
Labor of Love, sung by Jill Phillips on Behold the Lamb
A few other songs:
Whether you can’t get on board with “Mary, Did You Know” or you can’t get enough, these are some other similar favorites:
Breath of Heaven by Amy Grant
Joseph’s Lullaby by Mercyme
Mary’s Lullaby by The Brilliance
On my bookshelf:
In addition to the Advent recommendations in my last newsletter, I’m currently reading:
Faith in the Wilderness: Words of Exhortation from the Chinese Church, edited by Hannah Nation and Simon Liu. It’s a collection of meditations written by Chinese believers with profound insight from the persecuted church.
Tell Her Story: How Women Led, Taught, and Ministered in the Early Church by Nijay Gupta
I’m planning to re-read the Wingfeather Saga before watching the show with my kids. Also a great gift idea for kids!
A moment in time:
Thanks for reading!
Caroline