Joy of Every Longing Heart

Luke 1:46-55

December 18, 2022 • Mount Pleasant UMC

She couldn’t believe she was pregnant, now, after all hope was gone. How many times had they hoped and prayed? How many times had they held their breath, waited, only to learn that it wasn’t happening again? At that point had they given up all hope of ever holding a child of their own in their arms? Now, when she was far past childbearing years, when her husband was older still, she could finally feel the stirrings of life in her womb. She put her hand on her stomach, just as the flutter there became more pronounced. The baby in her womb was—well, the best way she could describe it was leaping. What could have caused that?

She was pregnant far sooner than she had expected. In fact, she shouldn’t have been pregnant. There was no way she could be—no natural or normal way, that is. And even though it was really far too early to feel any movement in her womb, she knew. She knew that what God had said was true, and if he had promised her she would give birth to the Messiah, well, then, that’s exactly what she knew would happen. In some way she didn’t understand (and in a way she was pretty sure her fiancé wouldn’t understand), she was pregnant yet still a virgin (cf. Wright, Luke for Everyone, pg. 16).

Two women: Elizabeth, who had dreamed and longed for a child of her own for many years, and Mary, who was busy preparing for a wedding, not a pregnancy. They are relatives (1:36), and because no one else could really understand the miracles that were happening to them, they come together for three months—Mary’s first three months of pregnancy and Elizabeth’s last three months. What do you suppose they talked about during that time? How often did they say something like, “Can you believe this is happening?” I wish Luke had told us more about their time together, but instead of that, the only piece of interaction we get is a song Mary sings when she first arrives at Elizabeth’s home. It’s a song that tells a story—and it’s a bigger story than we usually realize, because the babies that are about to be born are going to change the story and change the world.

This morning, we come to the final piece of our “Roots” journey. So far, we’ve talked about how Jesus did not come to us in a vacuum. Rather, he came from a people: the people of Israel. He came from a place: Bethlehem, and, later, Nazareth—both small, powerless and hidden places. And this morning, we’re going to turn the corner toward Christmas by focusing on how Jesus came to us from a story. And it’s a story that Mary knew would change the world, even before the manger.

Everyone loves a good story, and the Christmas story is one of the very best stories you can find, which is why it’s been told over and over again through the centuries. It’s why even people who don’t have much to do with the church know this story. But the story Mary sings is not the story we think we know. It’s a story of revolution (cf. Wright 14), and it’s a story rooted not so much in the history of Israel as it is in the faithfulness of God.

Mary’s song is traditionally called the “Magnificat” because that’s the first word in the Latin translation of this passage. It means, “My soul magnifies.” As N. T. Wright describes it, “It’s one of the most famous songs in Christianity. It’s been whispered in monasteries, chanted in cathedrals, recited in small remote churches by evening candlelight, and set to music with trumpets and kettledrums by Johann Sebastian Bach” (14). Mary breaks into song when she comes to Elizabeth’s house because, I think, sometimes only music will do. Music says things nothing else can. Almost everything Mary sings comes from or echoes the Hebrew Scriptures, what we usually call the Old Testament, because that’s the story Mary knows. Her soul has marinated in the Scriptures all of her life, and when she doesn’t know what else to sing or pray, her soul goes back to that which she knows so well (Wright 15; Bock, Luke [IVPNTC], pg. 45). And because she is singing Scripture, she sings more than she knows (cf. Card, Luke: The Gospel of Amazement, pg. 41). She sings God’s hope and dreams for the whole human family.

Before we look at the whole of Mary’s song, I want to point you to the word that holds the whole thing together. Yes, one word, and I would even argue it is the word that holds the whole of Scripture together because it’s the best word I know to describe who God is. That word is one I hope you know if you’ve been around here for any length of time because other than “the worst thing is never the last thing,” it’s probably the Biblical idea you hear me talk about the most. The word is hesed, and it’s found in verse 50 in Mary’s song, translated here as “mercy.” Yes, the New Testament was written in Greek, not Hebrew, so the word there is actually eleos, but remember that though the New Testament writers write in Greek (the commonly used language of the day), they are Jews and think in and speak Hebrew. Behind that word translated “mercy” in the Hebrew world is the word hesed (cf. Card 41; Bock 46), which as I’ve told you before is not an easily translated word. The best translation I have found is a sentence: “when the one who owes you nothing gives you everything.” Hesed is at the core of who God is. He is faithful. He is loyal love. He is kindness. He owes us nothing but gives us everything. That was Israel’s experience all throughout the Old Testament. Mary knows that. And everything she sings flows out of that word. God is grace, mercy, loyal love (cf. Bock 46) and more. And this is the story Jesus comes to us from.

This is the story Mary sings about. First, she sings about how she herself has experienced God’s hesed. “He has been mindful of the humble state of his servant,” she sings (1:48). As I mentioned last week, Mary was not from a prominent family, not from an influential town. She had no reason to think anyone would notice her, let alone God. In fact, when Gabriel (the angel) showed up to tell her she was going to be mother of the Messiah, she was “greatly troubled” (1:29). When Gabriel tells her she has “found favor with God,” she had to be even more surprised and amazed. Now, she has spent nine days traveling, a journey that had taken her across three mountain ranges (cf. Hamilton, The Journey, pg. 61), and over those nine days I imagine she has done little more than wonder about why God chose her. When she arrives at Elizabeth’s house, her only conclusion is that it had little to do with her. God has “blessed” her and “done great things” for her. What is happening in her life is all about God’s hesed. Which brings me to ask: have you spent any time this Advent season reflecting on the last year? Are you able to see ways God has blessed you? Are you able to see evidence of his hesed in your life? Even when life is hard, there are always places where God’s fingerprints are evident, where his hesed shines through. In particularly difficult times, I go back to a verse God gave me many years ago, from Psalm 27: “I believe I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let you heart take courage, and wait for the Lord” (27:13-14). That verse reminds me of God’s hesed, his faithful love toward me. Where can you, like Mary, see the movement of God’s hesed in your life, in your story, this year? What’s your song?

Mary’s song moves on to a much larger work of hesed, what some authors call “The Great Reversal.” Mary sings that her son is going to turn the world upside down, or actually, right side up—putting it the way God intended the world to be. British theologian N. T. Wright says Jesus comes to “put the world to rights.” The proud, Mary says, are going to be “scattered in their inmost thoughts” (1:51). The rulers will be “brought down” and the humble will be “lifted up” (1:52). The hungry will be “filled with good things” and the rich will be “sent…away empty” (1:53). Now there’s a lot in those three verses, but one thing to notice is how Mary sings about these things as if they are already accomplished. She is a poor woman living in a poor land that is occupied by the military superpower of the day, the Roman Empire, and yet Mary’s song bursts with hope that what she is experiencing, the world she lives in, will not always be the way it is. She sings as if the arrival of her son is setting something in motion to radically change the world. The top will be the bottom and the bottom will be the top. The movement of God’s hesed is a radical shift for this weary world.

There are at least a couple of these that we would do well to take a closer look at, one of them being Mary’s reference to “the proud.” That’s a word good, religious people struggle with because while we know “pride goes before destruction” (Proverbs 16:18), we also know it’s not healthy to live life ashamed of who we are or what we do. We are told by all the self-esteem experts that we should be “proud” of what we do and have pride in who we are. One of the challenges of our English language is that there isn’t a different word for unhealthy pride, the pride the Bible speaks against. The word Mary uses means to be “haughty.” It refers to “making yourself conspicuous.” In other words, this kind of pride is not about boasting that your kid or grandkid made the honor roll or scored the winning goal. It’s about the ways, subtly and not-so-subtly, that we let others know we are better than them, or at least we think we are better than them. It’s about the ways we try to promote ourselves, to make ourselves be seen. I had a friend who, a number of years ago, was trying to get a writing career going and he was really struggling with how to promote what he was doing without crossing the line into sinful pride. We had a long discussion, and he decided he could promote his work without promoting himself, speak about what he was doing without tearing others down. This is a hard thing to do today, especially in our media-saturated world. Politicians and social media pundits alike easily give into the temptation to live out the kind of pride Mary sings against when they speak not about the issues but about how they personally are so much better than everyone else. Those who live that way, Mary sings, will find that God’s “arm” is raised against them. “Arm” is the Bible’s way of talking about God’s strength since God doesn’t necessarily have literal arms like we do. But to have God’s strength against you is not a good thing. Many scholars think this is a reference to the Exodus, where God’s “arm” destroyed the Egyptian army when it pursued the Hebrews slaves (cf. Exodus 6:6). Mary sings that the proud will find God working against them (Bock 46).

But before we become proud of our humility and say, “Well, that’s not me,” let’s look at one other part of Mary’s song: the part that deals with those who are “rich” (1:53). Mary’s song contrasts what we probably think of as two different groups of people: the hungry and the rich. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Those without resources are often (or usually) without food. So though hunger is only one indicator of poverty, it is a significant indicator. Mary says that when the Messiah comes, when God shows up, the hungry will be “filled…with good things” and the rich will be “sent…away empty.” The word she uses that is translated “rich” there refers to material wealth, so the focus is on what the rich have, what they own. And when we read this song, we’re usually quick to either spiritualize it or dismiss it. We’re not rich, we say. We’re middle class. And yet, as has been true for a long, long time, compared to the rest of the world, our culture is ridiculously rich. Most of America is within the top 3% globally for income, and three billion people in the world live on less than $2 a day (or $14 a week). Certainly from Mary’s viewpoint, most of us would be included in the “rich.”

So is Mary’s song saying that being rich or having resources is a bad thing? Not at all. As we discussed a few weeks ago, it’s not what we have but it’s what we do with what we have. The Messiah, Mary’s son, is coming to turn things upside down by making his followers into generous people. Being greedy, hoarding what we have—that’s what Jesus will call out. That’s the way of the world; that’s the way of the “rich” that Mary is focused on. Instead, this baby will call his followers to share what they have with those in need, to care for those in need, to do what we can to ensure no one goes to bed hungry. Early in the story of A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, a man comes to the office of Ebenezer Scrooge, asking for a donation for the poor at Christmastime. Scrooge, angry to be bothered, asks if there are no prisons or workhouses, to which the man replies, “Many can’t go there; and many would rather die.” “If they would rather die,” Scrooge says, “they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.” Later that night, in a scene left out of many of the movie adaptations, after the Spirit of Christmas Present has shown Scrooge what life is really like outside of his small world, Scrooge notices two emaciated children peeking out of the Spirit’s robes. When Scrooge asks the Spirit if the children belong to him, the Spirit replies that they belong to humankind. And when Scrooge asks if they have no resources, the Spirit repeats Scrooge’s own words back to him: “Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses?” But the difference is, as you know if you’ve read the story, the “poor” and the “disadvantaged” now have a face and a name. The name is Bob Cratchit, Scrooge’s employee, and the face is Tiny Tim, Bob’s sick son. Suddenly, need is personal. Need is known. As the Spirit disappears, I wonder if Scrooge might have heard echoes of Mary’s song in his heart, of the dream of a day when the hungry will be filled with good things (1:53).

Of course Christmas is a popular time to feed the hungry. It seems everyone wants to take up a food collection or is asking for a financial donation during December. Christmas makes us all—or most of us, anyway—feel like sharing what we have, even if it’s only to get that year-end tax deduction. You all did an incredible job of coming to the aid of 14th & Chestnut this month. I got a huge thank you from Connor Scanlon, one of the co-directors, who told me this is the first time they didn’t have to go out and buy supplemental things for their Christmas baskets. You made a real difference for people who might have otherwise gone without. But it’s not just this time of year that you do that. We’ve been collecting things for 14th & Chestnut all year long, and every time we look out in that cubbyhole area it seems it’s full of donated food. Our Vacation Bible School takes up an offering every year to help a girl in Haiti go to school and have the food and things she needs. We also partner with the Salvation Army, not only in ringing bells at Christmas but all year long in helping provide aid to those in need, those who are hungry in our community. I think those things make Mary’s son smile. But there is always more we can do. There are still those who go without. When we hear Mary’s song, what sorts of dreams does it stir in us? What’s your song?

The final piece of Mary’s song, then, turns toward the one who is making all these things possible. This is the story Jesus came from, a story Mary knows well because Mary knows the one who made the story possible: “He has helped his servant Israel, remembering to be merciful to Abraham and his descendants forever, just as he promised our ancestors” (1:54-55). Here’s Mary’s bottom line: God keeps his promises. Even if it takes a really, really long time, God always keeps his promises. When Gabriel announced Mary’s pregnancy, he reminded her of something I’m certain she already knew: “For no word from God will ever fail” (1:37). Which word from God will fail? Some words? Every other word? One word? Nope. No word from God will ever fail. God always keeps his promises. People will let you down. They don’t always mean to, but they do. Institutions and organizations that you place your trust in or give your loyalty to will let you down. The world will fail you, but God never will. That’s why we can say so confidently that the worst thing is never the last thing. God’s promises are true and God is faithful. He is hesed.

So I’ve been asking all along this morning and I’m going to ask one more time: what’s your song? As you look back over the last year, where have you seen God’s hesed shining through? Very often we see it most clearly in the most difficult parts of our life and sometimes it takes some time before we can see it. God doesn’t cause or bring those moments, but he does work through them (cf. Romans 8:28). Mary has to believe that or she could not have gone on. The days ahead were going to be very difficult, beginning with an unplanned and unsanctioned pregnancy. She would have to tell Joseph, and she would have to deal with the whispers and rumors in the community. She (and maybe even her parents) would likely be shunned and kept out of the synagogue and the community life of Nazareth. Then she would have to deal with Joseph’s death, and her son leaving home to start ministry. Likely she would hear people saying he was crazy; we know at least once she went to true to bring him back home because, of all things, he wasn’t stopping to eat lunch (cf. Mark 3:20-21)! Now I get why she was concerned about that! Pastor Rick would agree: lunch is the most important part of the day! And then, for Mary, there were the days at the end, when she would watch as he was arrested, beaten, and murdered. She would watch as her own people turned against him. And yet. And yet she would cling to this song. She would cling to the truth that God always keeps his promises, and she would see that ultimate promise kept when Jesus rose from the dead. That’s the bottom line of the story Jesus came from: God keeps his promises. So what is your hesed story? What is your hesed song? And if your song didn’t sound the way you wanted it to this year, now is the time to refocus, to begin again and sing a new song of God’s promise keeping in 2023.

Rich Mullins was a Christian musician who was probably best known for his song “Awesome God,” which every camp sang endlessly when I was a youth pastor. Anyway, he was killed in a car accident twenty-five years ago, but in the last few years of his life, Mullins dedicated a lot of his time to what he saw as his true calling: teaching music to Native American children on a reservation. He even relocated and lived in a trailer on the reservation. One Friday, he went into the elementary school classroom where he knew the teacher took every Friday to write a story with the children. In fact, the class always wrote the story together, and they would make one of the class members the protagonist of the story. Mullins watched as the teacher went to the board to start the story and one little boy in the front row raised his hand insistently. When the teacher didn’t call on him right away, the little boy called out, “Teacher, Teacher, write me into your story! Teacher, write me into your story!” And Mullins said that phrase struck him in the heart; that’s what he wanted above all else, to be written into Jesus’ story (Smith, “Sacred Story,” Things Above Podcast, November 23, 2022, 16:29). And in one of the last songs he wrote before he died, Mullins expressed that desire this way:

Jesus

Write me into Your story

Whisper it to me

And let me know I'm Yours (“Jesus,” 1998, The Jesus Record).

Jesus is the joy of every longing heart. He came to us from a story, a story of God’s hesed. He wants his story to become our story. Will you let him write you into his story this Christmas? Let’s pray.