In the spirit of the Magnificat, Mary knew instead that there is but one mediator between God and her, God and us, and he is Christ Jesus.
When we were in fifth or sixth grade, my friend Jerry stood before the congregation on Christmas Eve and proudly recited his part of the Christmas story: “And Mary kept all these things and pounded them into her heart” (Luke 2:19). That struck me already then as a particularly good bit of exegesis. Mary had a long trip behind her, and then she had given birth in somewhat dramatic circumstances, in a stable with shepherds fresh from the fields coming to say that the birth announcement they had received from messengers of the Father of the child had arrived with its own drama. Jerry could have not been far from the mark if he had said, “And Mary kept all these things and puzzled over them in her heart.” From the angel’s announcement to her nine months earlier to the angels’ announcement to the shepherds, she had memories to keep her pondering, pounding, and puzzling for the rest of her life.
Forty days later, Mary and Joseph brought Jesus to the Temple on his day of presentation and purification. Mary went home with memories of Simeon and Anna, who gave her more to think about, confirmation of what the angel had told her and what the shepherds also told her that the angelic host had told them. “A light for revelation to the Gentiles, and the glory of the people Israel.” “What did it all mean?” she must have asked herself and Joseph. And a sword piercing her heart, not a pleasant memory in every regard (Luke 2:22-38).
Twelve years later, Mary must have been extremely disappointed in her child when He just did not show up on the journey back to Nazareth after a visit to the Temple in Jerusalem. She and Joseph felt the terror of parents who lose track of a young child. That is the sort of incident which engraves memories in every parent’s heart. Jesus’ answer did not really satisfy. She knew His father’s house was in Nazareth. But at least He was submissive when they got back to their home. And Luke reports that, once again, Mary stored away in her heart the memories from these days (Luke 2:51).
Mary had other memories. The pre-teen Jesus who worried His parents became the young rabbi who told His mother that He would get to helping out at the feast thrown by the hosts of the wedding when He jolly well pleased (John 2:4). Of course, she may have reflected with pleasure on the fact that He did, indeed, respond in a dramatic way to her request for His help. She was, perhaps, disappointed when she heard He let His family stand waiting and made light of His family connections (Matthew 12:45-50). But as she stood at His cross and suffered the worst a mother can experience, the execution of her own child on the most shaming and cruel instrument of execution, she received His love and concern. He commended her into the care of His beloved disciple, John (John 19:26-27). Her memories of the day we call Good Friday must have given her pain for the rest of her life, despite her knowing the pleasure of the realization that He had died for her... and risen for her, to restore her to being God’s righteous child. Even Jesus’ mother needed to die to sin through Him and got to rise with Him to walk in His footsteps.
Even Jesus’ mother needed to die to sin through Him and got to rise with Him to walk in His footsteps.
All these memories gave expanded meaning to her psalm of praise with which she, as a good Jewish girl, could pour forth when the angel told her she was expecting, because she knew the psalms, the prophets, and the Torah so well. The Magnificat demonstrates what a memory she had. In the midst of what must have been lingering thoughts of overwhelming wonder mixed with incredulity and fear, Mary thought of Hannah’s joyful song of praise in 1 Samuel 2:1-10 as her heart exulted in the Lord and found her strength exalted in Him. She recalled how the Lord had scattered those tower builders in Babel, the model of the proud who imagine greatness in their hearts (Genesis 11:8). She had sung, “The Lord lifts up the downtrodden; He casts the wicked to the ground” (Psalm 147:6) many times and, therefore, could celebrate the God who casts down the mighty from their thrones. With the psalmist in Psalm 107:9 she could thank God that He satisfies the thirsty and fills the hungry with good things. She recalled God’s promises to Abraham, promises of a covenant to last forever (Genesis 17:7; 18:17-19). The words that the Lord had given to those who had gone before her sustained Mary as her memory brought to life the voice of the God who had chosen her for her special role in His plan for the salvation of sinners.
Mary suffered much as she accompanied her son through His earthly life. She had agonizing memories that must have given her sleepless nights. But at the end of her time here, she was undoubtedly still singing, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,” all the more because she had experienced the coming of the Lord’s salvation up close. Since her death, she has suffered much abuse from those who have used her for their own purposes, as a replacement for female goddesses and as a good luck charm. The rumors that the Roman Catholic church might officially make her co-redeemer with Christ have died down in recent years, but pious people still regard praying for her aid today and in the hour of their death as the most assured ticket to Heaven. In the spirit of the Magnificat, Mary knew, instead, that there is but one mediator between God and her, God and us, and He is Christ Jesus (1 Timothy 2:5).
Mary does not strut into our consciousness as the Queen of Heaven, adorned with gold and silver and jewels. She comes to us as a frightened young lady, as scared of the angel in her humble home as we are when God sends us a message by some means or other. She comes to us as a frustrated mother, who shares the vexation we feel when our children do not respond immediately. She comes to us as the despairing mother as she stands at the cross side of her dying son. She has not borne our griefs and sorrows, but she has shared them. Nonetheless, we can well imagine she is still singing the Magnificat. We join with her in magnifying the Lord and rejoicing in God, our Savior, for He has looked upon us, His humble servants, and done great things for us. We have experienced the strength of His arm and witnessed the scattering of the arrogant. For from Abraham on, He has kept His promise to be the God of His people, the Savior of the nations.
