“Mary’s Song”, the Magnificat, from the first word of the song in the Latin Bible, the Vulgate: “My soul magnifies the Lord!” Here is the disciple par excellence, the one who has learned to praise God for God’s marvellous deeds of justice for and faithfulness to the people, the little ones, the anawim, the poor. “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour” (Luke 1:46-47).
The song itself echoes songs of great heroes of the Jewish faith: the songs of Miriam and Moses after the deliverance of the Exodus from Egypt, “Sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously” (Exodus 15:21); and the praise of Hannah at the presentation of Samuel to God in the temple, “My heart exults in the Lord; my strength is exalted in my God” (1 Sam 2:1a). As Jane Schaberg writes: “The Magnificat is the great New Testament song of liberation—personal and social, moral and economic—a revolutionary document of intense conflict and victory. It praises God’s liberating actions on behalf of the speaker, which are paradigmatic of all of God’s actions on behalf of marginal and exploited people.” (1992, 1998, p. 373).
And yet this song, like the songs of Miriam and Moses, and of Hannah comes at the beginning of the story of deliverance, not at its end. The Israelites will be wandering in the wilderness for another 40 years when Moses and Miriam sing their songs; and Samuel has not yet proved to be the prophet he is to become when Hannah raises her voice. So too, it is before the birth of Jesus (and even of John) that we hear Mary praising the liberating God.
This is a song of hope and of expectation; not one of fulfilment and completion. And it is a bold hope—justice for the poor; a new order in the world—God’s order.
But it is not a song that does not come without a sign—the Israelites have left the land of Egypt; a son has been born to Hannah; and Elizabeth greets Mary as the mother of the Lord. Mary’s song comes at a point of confirmation of the promise—at the time of a sign that what has been promised will be fulfilled. These songs mark important points in the stories of which they are a part. The suffering is not yet over, nor is the waiting; but the completed promise is glimpsed. There is some relief—a hiatus in the worry and the unwarranted expectation; the first showings of the new plant; the first fruits of a new season.
And this is the place that we find ourselves too. Christ has come. Christ has lived. Christ has died. Christ has been raised. Christ is the first fruit of the new creation—the promise for which we are waiting; but this promise is not yet fulfilled although its fulfilment has already begun. And in this place, we too are called to discipleship par excellence—to the honouring of the God who has promised and will fufil what has been promised.
Mary’s song speaks of reversals—the hungry will be fed; the rich sent away empty; the poor will be raised; the proud scattered. In her own poverty, her own weakness, her own lowliness, she has been vindicated, chosen and set upon a path within the mission of God. Her experience anticipates the experience of resurrection, of new life, of new creation in Christ; and she proclaims this good news. Her experience also anticipates the entry of God into the ordinary, into the littlest and the least, into the lowliest, the poor, the oppressed. She is a prophet of hope.
And this is the call that is placed on us too—to be prophets of hope in the midst of a world that is still waiting and perhaps does not even know what it is waiting for. In all our words, in every action, in all that we are, we are called to discipleship par excellence—to honour and praise the God who changes places.
This call is a tough call. It may be submission to God’s will, but God’s will is for profound liberation for God’s creation. What at first glance may seem to be a call to meekness, is a call to radical discipleship in the service of the God who stands in utter solidarity with all who suffer, all who are in need.
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