Mary's Song: A Review

 Kim and I are blessed and honored to "belong" to several different churches in Cuba, such as the First Baptist of Matanzas and the Rivers of Living Waters Baptist in the rural village of Piedrecitas. Another congregation in our family of faith is the Metropolitan Community Church, also in Matanzas. This is a church dedicated to being open and affirming to people of differing sexual orientations and gender identities. The pastors, Elaine and Yivi, almost always invite us to help serve communion. And they regularly ask us to preach. Here is the sermon I preached last Friday for the fourth week of Advent (the church has its worship services on Friday nights, giving its members who also belong to other congregations the freedom to attend the other worship service on Sundays). 

Texts: Isaiah 40:3-5; Luke 1: 46-53

Anyone who knows me at all knows that my life revolves around music; I love a good song. Today's text is one of the great songs of scripture, so instead of preaching, I thought I'd give something of a review, the sort of thing you might find in Rolling Stone magazine. First off, any good review will tell you something about the singer, a bit of social location and background to the music at hand. Who is this new artist to arrive on the scene? Mama yo quiero saber, de donde es la cantante? La que encuentro galante, la que quiero conocer... (Mama, I want to know, where does this singer come from? I find her gallant, I want to meet her...) 

Mary, a young teenager, comes from the margins, about as far from the centers of cultural import as you can imagine. Every era has its "center of the world", so to speak, and in Mary's time, that center was Rome. Rome was where people (men) in elite positions made decisions that affected people's lives in every corner of its vast empire. Mary lived in one of those remote corners, in the occupied nation of Israel. But all nations, including occupied ones, have their own centers of power, and in Mary's nation, that was the southern capital city of Jerusalem. There, people (men) in elite positions made decisions that affected the lives of all Jewish people. And Mary lived about as far away from that center as possible, in the northern town of Nazareth. Nazareth was the brunt of many prejudicial jokes and comments, a common one being "can anything good come out of Nazareth?" But all towns, including the remote ones, have their own centers of power, and Nazareth was no exception. There, people (men) in elite positions in the synagogue, made decisions that affected the lives of all Nazarenes. And Mary lived on the margins of synagogue life as well, having found herself in the taboo position of being great with child, but not great with husband. Her betrothed had decided to "put her away privately." She was not only the brunt of Nazareth jokes, but the brunt of cruel unwed mother jokes and judgments. She was a castaway, having been judged, rejected, and condemned by those (men) in elite positions of power. 

Most people in Mary's position would be considered part of the vast sea of the voiceless poor, cut off from the social resources necessary for survival. But Mary was different; she found her voice. And she found her song. She didn't compose this inaugural offering; she reached back into the catalog of her people's singer-songwriters, and found a Hebrew hip-hop classic, Hannah's Song, composed by the mother of the prophets. It is an in-your-face rejection of the topography of power, where the elite rule from on high and the humble suffer in the low places, in the flood plains of poverty and oppression. Another interpreter of Hannah's song, the prophet Isaiah, had envisioned the earthquaking work of God this way: every mountain will be laid low and every valley shall be exalted. Centuries later, during the Protestant Reformation, groups of radical religious revolutionary troubadours would take this as their theme, calling themselves the Diggers and Levelers. 

Given the fault lines of Mary's social context, it is utterly astounding that she, too, found inspiration in this genre of harsh and aggressive music, taking up her pick and shovel to dig and to level, changing forever the landscape of her life and the lives of all who might find themselves similarly marginalized. We need not look farther that the opening line of her lyrics to find the power of her voice: My soul magnifies the Lord...

My soul...Those first two words are enough to create a tectonic shift in the social mores of Mary's day. People in her situation were not accustomed to speaking in first person about their own souls; even acknowledging their souls was a far stretch. The souls of the poor, the marginalized, the morally questionable, were the topic of others to evaluate and critique and judge and condemn. But here she is, determined to speak her own soul into existence, to sing her own song. She is determined to be the protagonist of her own story, and not the victim of someone else's making. It raises all sorts of questions—how did she come to gain this awareness, this "critical consciousness" to use Freire's term? Who were the strong women in her life who had planted the seeds of prophetic defiance within her soul? 

And as those seeds come to fruition here in the moment of adolescent crisis, what does her soul do? It magnifies the Lord. Mary is singing out—shouting out— her truth to power, telling her audience that it is her very own soul is enlarging the presence of God in their midst. My soul, her voice soars, my soul makes God more visible, more real. It is my soul that does this. To the people who wanted to minimize her existence, to demean her worth, to condemn her condition, she has a message: I may be on the margins, but my soul is telling you who God is. You may discard me and tell me I'm nobody, but I'm telling you, I'm somebody: I have a soul, and it is my soul that is bringing God into focus. Mary brings to mind other marginalized soul sisters who found their voices and sang out through the ages, rejecting the labels the elite wanted to place on them, determining their own identities: Aretha Franklin (the queen), Nina Simone (the high priestess), Gladys Knight (the empress). Their Nazarene ancestor the best moniker of all: Mary (the mother of God). 

Her simple opening line speaks volumes. It reminds us that God always becomes present and visible in our world through people on the margins, through people who are despised and rejected by those in authority. The people in the centers of power simply don't have the same capacity to magnify the Lord; they are too busy magnifying themselves. The Caesars in Rome had no interest in enlarging the presence of God. In fact, they thought of themselves as gods. So it is up to those on the fringes of power, in the remote corners of the empire, to bring the true God into view. 

The life of pregnant teenager Mary was like a magnifying glass for the presence of the Holy in her midst. This leads to another powerful truth in Mary's song: she is enlarging the presence of God, but not just any God. Mary could have chosen from any number of "gods" from the pantheon of divine images that comprised the monotheistic Yahweh of Israel. There was the artistic Creator God, the violent Conquistador and Military General God, the stern Judge God, the compassionate Shepherd God, the protective Father God, the nursing Mother God, the aloof Eagle God, the mysterious Wind God. But she chose not to enlarge any of these images. Instead, she drew on Hannah's and Isaiah's image of the earth-quaking Excavator God, who shifts the landscape of power. This is the God of the pick and shovel who lays low the mountains and elevates the valleys. This is the God, in more specific political terms, who casts down the mighty from their thrones and exalts those of low degree. In economic terms, this is the God who redistributes the wealth and makes reparations, filling the hungry with good things and sending the rich empty away. These are not the lyrics of a pretty Christmas carol to be sung in the children's pageants; this is a revolutionary hip-hop anthem to be shouted out in a stadium filled with masses of similarly marginalized soul sisters and brothers. 

All this commentary brings us to a question for today: what song are you, members of MCC, singing this Advent and Christmas season? Before answering that, let me ask you, can you identify at all with Mary's social location, being on the margins of the margins? Where are the centers of power in our world today? Washington, Moscow, Beijing— these are the places where the elites are making decisions that affect the lives of everyone in the world. And here we are in Cuba, a country fairly well-marginalized by the people making those decisions, right? But even in a country suffering from these decisions, there are centers of power. Where is this center in Cuba? It is not here in Matanzas; it is to our west, in the capital of Havana. There, elite people are making decisions that affect the lives of everyone on the island. And in terms of religious life, there are centers of power, where people make decisions that affect everyone else, right? There's the Office of Religious Affairs, and the National Council of Churches. Are you part of those centers? No, at least not yet.

You, members of the MCC, are not under the umbrella of any mainline denomination, and you don't have a seat at the Council table, at least not yet. Be thankful! Why? Because being where you are, on the margin of the margin of the margin, you still have the capacity to sing Mary's song. You are, as you tell each other every week, en el lugar correcto (in the right place). I realize that inclusion is an essential justice issue, and you have a just complaint, to gain official recognition from those at the center of power. But until justice comes, you have a unique voice! You can sing with Mary! You have a critical role to play here and now— you, and not those in the centers of power— you have the capacity to magnify the presence of God. You have the voice to sing, to shout along with your soul sister Mary. Andy, you can sing: My soul, my soul magnifies the Lord. Juany, you can sing: My soul enlarges the presence of God here and now, and not just any God. Yivi, you and Elaine and each one here in your congregation can sing, My soul—my soul makes visible the God who lays low the mountains of arrogant and abusive power; my soul magnifies the God who raises up those living in the valleys of oppression and injustice. 

Sisters and brothers of the MCC, as a church, you are young, like Mary. And like Mary, you are pregnant, pregnant with the presence of God. Prepare yourselves to give birth to the digging and leveling God who moves mountains and lifts  valleys. As you feel the birth pangs, sing out. We need your song in our world today. Amen.