You simply cannot tell Luke’s Christmas story without

the music. Mark sends us into the weariness of

wilderness where the voice of a prophet cries out.

Matthew gathers the whole family and then whispers

a promise into Joseph’s ear. But Luke makes melody

the method that moves his narrative along. There

is Zechariah and Simeon. Elizabeth and the angels’

chorus. Christmas is carried on the wings of song.

And the most significant song of all belongs to Mary.

My soul magnifies the Lord.

Mary’s Magnificat is a psalm of gratitude for the

promise of a baby’s birth, but this song is not a

Christmas carol in the classic connotations. For

starters, the lyrics come from the Hebrew Scriptures,

the Old Testament, words she first learned as a child.

They recall another woman who received a parallel

promise. Hannah, after learning that she would bear

a son, sang what she could not speak. Her child,

Samuel, signaled the beginning of an uprising against

the disorder of a world gone astray and a people held

captive. She sang of salvation, and so does Mary.

But do not be mistaken. This salvation, this

redemption, is no otherworldly vision of a distant,

imagined, ethereal future. It is a song of dissent set

in the present, set down in a world stacked against

the one who sings and countless others like her.

She, Mary, is a peasant girl from a tiny village soon

to be burdened by the blessing of bearing a baby of

uncertain earthly origin. She has no resources to care

for this child. Still, she praises God for honoring her.

Why? God’s messenger has spoken to Mary. She

has trusted his word. She has believed God’s saving

power and that this power is not just for souls but

for the bodies that hang in the balance when those

with wealth and influence selfishly seek more of both.

Listen to her words:

God fills the hungry not with hope but with food.

God gives them a place at the table.

In this way, the Magnificat of Mary is an overture

to Luke’s Gospel, setting the stage for the whole

story. The searing sermons of John the Baptist. The

beatitudes her own son will speak later. Mary begins

the process of turning our expectations upside down,

and she starts with the definition of blessing itself.

Blessing. We tend to use the word in close connection

with material gain, unexpected or competitive

advantage achieved. Blessed with our resources.

Blessed with skills. Blessed by good luck, good

health, a good life.

What about Mary? Mary knows what I struggle to

understand. Receiving a blessing is not the same as

getting a present. It is not about an easier path, a wish

fulfilled, an ambition achieved, an advantage gained.

It is about seeing God in what you cannot explain. It

is about saying yes when God’s way confounds you.

Blessing is about being used for God’s purpose, not

about getting what I want.

And so, Mary sings of holy blessing. She preaches

God’s revolutionary truth to the world. She heralds

hope to those who need it most and a word of

warning for those who stand on top. Mary’s words

promise a program of apocalyptic reversal: the hungry

are filled, and the affluent are emptied; the lowly are

lifted high, and the mighty are brought down.

Now this may not seem like good news to those who

are prosperous and powerful and filled already in

the present. We who find ourselves with comfortable

homes, and more than enough food and abundance

of every kind. Perhaps you wonder, “Is there anything

other than judgment for us in Mary’s song?”

The answer arrives in the opening words: My soul

magnifies the Lord.

Salvation comes to us when we do the same. All who

are over-inflated must be saved from the sin of selfmagnification. When we turn our eyes and our hearts

away from ourselves and direct them toward God, we

will receive mercy. Mercy waits for us too. When we

say yes to God’s way, we too can be saved. Listen. To

be blessed is to be used for sacred purpose, and that

possibility exists for all of us.

Mary’s song insists that our salvation depends on

the wellbeing of all God’s precious children. We are

directed to release our deadly stranglehold on money,

possessions, and power, recognizing that these are

all idols that will never fill our empty hearts with holy

purpose. We are called, instead, to trust the abundant

grace of God.

You see, the wealthy who are sent away empty are

blessed because God comes to us when our hearts,

minds, and hands are free, our future undeniably

joined to the flourishing of all. Mary’s words create the

world God intends us to build. Mary’s words create

the world God intends us to build. Where those who

cry out in pain are delivered. Where those who have

nothing are given the kingdom.

Where those who serve are called blessed. Where the

lowly are lifted and the hungry filled. Mary describes

the work of Christmas.

And so, this is no ordinary birth announcement. No,

it is the inauguration of a new kingdom, a kingdom

that stands in contrast to every other earthly kingdom,

past, present, and yet to be. Mary proclaims the reign

of God, a reign which will not be based on violence

or exploitation. Which will begin with the humble,

not the powerful. Which will trust the frailty of human

hands to nurture and care for the God of the universe.

Of course Mary sings. If God is for her, who will stand

against her?

Mary’s song is no solo. She invites us to experience

the blessing of God, to raise our voice in psalms of

gratitude. Imagine that God can do this again.

If you are feeling more anxious than expectant, if

your heart is more worried than worshipful, if for

you the spirit of the season seems elusive this year,

then pause to ponder the possibility that God can

use you. If the world seems destined to destruction,

if the triumph of the wicked feels inevitable, and the

permanence of polycrisis overwhelms you, listen

again to the voice of Mary and trust that God can be

born again into the brokenness.

Afterall, brokenness is the soundtrack of life these

days. Around us, and often within us, hearts captive

to despair desperately pray for release. As loved ones

suffer from disease, as nations choose warfare and

children suffer senseless violence or go to bed hungry

in our own city, as creation groans under the weight

of our collective disregard and division pulls us ever

farther from the wisdom we seek, we wait. We wait.

We sing of a God who just could not keep distant but

came to live among us. We make room to receive the

light that always comes when a long night gives way

to the breaking dawn. We lift our heads, and we tune

our ears for flicker and spark. We watch to the tips of

our toes for the signs of joy that have been promised.

The whole world is waiting. For justice and

nourishment. For peace and redemption. The whole

world waits for mercy and, yes, for salvation. So while

we wait, let us work. Lift your voice. Prepare your

heart. But above all, find the courage to trust the

promise of Mary’s song. God will be born again in the

brokenness…in us, through us. Yes, Mary knows—the

world is about turn. Amen.