I can’t decide if you are going to find this surprising or entirely expected but, either way, I am pretty sure you are going to laugh. Can you guess my favorite Christmas song? I can’t get enough of Christmas carols—nothing jingling or sleighing or rocking for me, please and thank you. But my favorite song is much newer than any carol and almost as popular as its title character: Mary, Did You Know?
When people find out I am (ever so slowly) writing a PhD dissertation on Mary, many love to ask, “so did she know?” Cliché, yes, but nonetheless, a good question. Did she really understand who her son was and what He came to do?
Even if Mary didn’t know, the traditional Christmas carols certainly do. They tell us who He was: Emmanuel, Rod of Jesse, love’s pure light, and what He came to do: from depths of hell thy people save, and give them victory over the grave. But one question remains: why?
In this Advent series we have considered what Gabriel’s appearances to Zechariah and Mary teach us about meeting with God: how we receive God, who can receive God, and how He approaches us. Today, the question is why? Why does God come to us?
We could answer that question theologically and talk about why the incarnation was necessary for salvation: how only God could do for us what we could not do for ourselves. That conversation could fill volumes––indeed, already has!––and still not exhaust the wonder of God made flesh. And yet, when Gabriel approaches Mary on behalf of God, their dialogue is short and sweet.
So let’s narrow it down: why does Gabriel come to Mary, and what does that teach us about why God comes to us?
Though perhaps appropriate to meet with the soon-to-be mother of God first, it wasn’t entirely necessary. By a word He spoke light into being; surely the Word could have been spoken into flesh with less fanfare. It wasn’t out of duress but desire that God spoke to Mary.
Here’s a curious observation about their meeting: Gabriel waited on Mary. It is shocking enough that this commander of heavenly armies made known the fullness of God’s plan, prepared but hidden from the beginning of time, to an unremarkable teenage girl. Then, he waited for her response.
Earlier in Luke 1, Zechariah gets no concluding word. He is, after all, struck speechless by God. The shepherds in Luke 2 speak to one another and to Mary and Joseph, but not to God. In meeting with Mary, however, Gabriel sticks around until she says to him, “Look, I am a servant of the Lord. Let it happen to me as you have said” (Luke 1:38). In modern words, maybe something like, “Sounds good. I’m in,” or “Let’s go!” It is only after that, Luke says, the angel departed from her.
Why would the angelic messenger of the King of the Universe wait for Mary’s response?
The Word of God comes to Mary not as a command, but as a conversation. Eve converses with Evil and leaves with the fruit of the fall in her hand; Mary converses with Gabriel and leaves with the fruit of salvation hidden in her womb.
The incarnation, among many things, is an invitation: an invitation to participate in bringing God’s kingdom and purposes to this broken world. Mary’s consent to God did not end when Gabriel left; rather, it only just began. For the next nine months she would carry Christ in her body, and in her arms for many more after that. And it doesn’t take a mother to imagine that she carried Him in her heart and mind even as the roles reversed and she followed that same boy, little no longer, to the foot of a cross. Few can imagine, though, what she felt as they carried his lifeless body away.
The invitation of the incarnation goes not only to Mary, but to us as well. The Word of God approaches us as a conversation: will we carry Christ with us into the world? Will we participate with God in bringing light into the darkness, with our hearts and our hands?
Mary’s faith was not religious observance of a code of rules; it was a daily dialogue. An embodied relationship with a living person. The offer to us may take a different shape than Gabriel’s overture to Mary, but it is no less all-encompassing: will we love Him, like a mother loves Her Son?
The conversation isn’t over yet; the final Word has yet to come. Until then, we are invited to participate in the dialogue by hearing and doing, loving the invisible God and tending His visible Creation.
Did Mary know she carried the uncontainable God, confined to her womb? Perhaps. Did she know all that His work and her motherhood would entail? Probably not. But when God came to her, she said yes anyway.
Will we?
Happy Fourth week of Advent! Thanks for reading along these last four weeks. I hope reading these reflections on Mary has been even half the blessing that writing them has been.
If you’re in the market for more reading, I’ve written a few other articles on Advent I thought I’d share:
It’s not too late to prepare your heart for Christmas. If you need a recommendation, here’s my Advent reading this year:
Saint Nicholas the Giftgiver by Ned Bustard
A children’s Christmas book written in verse with beautiful illustrations, Bustard tells the story of Saint Nicholas—complete with important church history!—and whimsically connects him to the legends of Santa in a way that keeps Christ at the center. My kids and I are loving it!Waiting on the Word: A poem a day for Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany by Malcolm Guite
A different approach to Advent reading; even if you’re not sure you like poetry, Guite is a gentle guide and a great place to start, especially if you feel in need of a fresh perspective this year. He’s also worth a quick search on youtube—his demeanor and accent alone are intriguing, much more his content.On the Incarnation by Athanasius
If you’re looking for a more theological read, look no further. It’s a short, classic, and relatively accessible read from the 4th century that explains the theology of the Incarnation.Advent: The Once and Future Coming of Jesus Christ by Fleming Rutledge
This collection of writings and sermons is challenging and encouraging and a great way to dip your toe into something more than an Advent devotional but still shorter readings appropriate for the season.
My second favorite Christmas song (right now, anyway) is this version of In the Bleak Midwinter by Paul Cardall and Audrey Assad. Not sure I agree with dating Christmas to a snowy bleak midwinter, but it’s a beautiful reflection and performance. What then can I give Him? I would give my heart.
Merry Christmas!
Caroline