Sermon on December 20, 2020: Advent 4
A sermon for Advent 4, by the Rev. Daniel Moore
There is a matter of great controversy that has recently been unfolding on the internet. I’m not talking about the news of the Electoral College formally casting their ballots; nor am I referring to the coverage of the hospital workers who were first to receive the Covid-19 vaccine. No, I’m talking about a true hot-button issue, about a song called “Mary, Did You Know?” It’s not a new song—it’s been around since the early ’90s, and has been covered, like, a dozen times. Basically, the song is just a long series of questions asking Mary whether or not she, well, knew—did she know, when she was pregnant with Jesus, that he would be the savior of the nations, and walk on water, and give sight to the blind, and so on. But it seems that Christians of all kinds have begun to grow weary of “Mary, Did You Know?” Some Roman Catholics are worried that the song denies the doctrine of the immaculate conception; while other more progressive-minded Christians have accused the song of “mansplaining” to Mary—and now there is even a parody video circulating in which a woman dressed as Mary sings the song but with the words, “Yes, I freakin’ knew…”
So much for this classic of holiday Americana. Is the song a danger to doctrine, or condescending to Mary, or is it just a bad piece of music—or all of the above? I’ll let you be the judge. At the very least, it is interesting to wonder how much Mary might have known as she pondered the words of the angel Gabriel, who announced that the Lord was with her.
Let’s talk about what Mary definitely knew. She knew she would bear a son and name him Jesus. She knew that he would be holy, and be called the Son of God. She knew that he would reign as King, and that his kingdom would have no end. She knew that all of this was going to happen, even though she was a virgin. She knew that virgins do not bear children, in the normal course of events. And she knew that this was not the normal course of events, because somehow, in some profound way, the presence of the Holy Spirit was with her, was inside her body to such an extent that the ordering of the universe was being reshaped in her very womb. Like the moment at the dawn of time when God called forth creation ex nihilo, out of nothing, God was now bringing forth a new creation ex Virgine, from the Virgin.
Did Mary know that about herself? Probably not. Thankfully, whether or not she knew was beside the point. The point was that she heard the voice of God calling her toward a life she had never imagined, and her answer to God was, “Yes.”
In Mary’s body, God found a home—a mansion prepared for the coming of Christ into the world. Her body became the vessel of the Holy Spirit. When we think about the Virgin Mary, we need to think about the other vessels of God’s saving presence. We need to imagine the ark that Noah built, which bore him and his family in safety through the waters of the flood. When we think of Mary, we need to imagine the basket into which Moses was placed that carried him down the Nile; and we need to imagine the Ark of the Covenant, bearing the tablets of the Law that God gave to Moses on Mount Sinai. And when we think about Mary, we should also think about the tabernacles that we see in churches—like our tabernacle here, which sits atop our Altar, and is the literal house for the elements of Holy Communion, the home in which the Body of Christ dwells. In the fullness of time, God chose a vessel for God’s presence, and that vessel was not just an object but a person—and what’s more, a virgin.
What was it about Mary that made her a suitable vessel for God’s presence. Was it her virginity? The Church has not always thought in helpful ways about this. Consider, for example, the hymn we sang at the entrance to the mass, the great hymn, “Savior of the nations, come!” We sang verses 1, 3, and 4, but omitted the second. Here is what the second verse says:
Wondrous birth! Oh, wondrous child
Of the Virgin undefiled!
Mighty God and Mary's son,
eager now his race to run!
In this hymn, we hear that Mary is a virgin “undefiled.” Undefiled of what, we might ask? Well, undefiled of sexual intercourse. And this is precisely where the Church has gone wrong when it comes to thinking about sex and human sexuality: the idea that the bodies of virgins are holier than the bodies of those who aren’t. Maybe the whole history of damage in the Church when it comes to human sexuality rests on that one tragic misstep: the assumption that virgin bodies are holier than other bodies. That line of thinking will only lead us into dangerous ways of thinking about our own bodies, and the bodies of others.
God didn’t choose Mary because she was a virgin, as if those who are virgins are innately holier or purer than those who aren’t. No, God was able to make a home in Mary’s body because of her desire to open up her heart and receive the Spirit of God. “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”
That’s the miracle! That’s the moment we see that not only has God chosen Mary but that Mary has chosen God—that Mary is no tool of God, no passive vessel, to be used and then later discarded, but an active agent, cooperating with a God who is on the move in her life and literally in her body. The astonishing thing about the incarnation, of God’s taking on flesh in the person of Jesus, is that God has become entangled in the life of the creation that God has made, in such a way that Mary’s consent to God’s plan is essential. It is essential to God’s presence coming forth into the world. And even though there is no question posed in Gabriel’s message, the question is implicit. God has not commanded; rather, God has requested.
The question: Will you accept my life into your life?
And the answer: Yes, amen. Here am I. Let it be with me according to your word.
This is a lesson of the incarnation that we need to hear. God looked with favor upon Mary not because of the status of her body, but because of the openness of her heart. Mary must not be reduced to her sexual status, and neither should we. As it says elsewhere in Scripture: “the Lord does not see as mortals see; [human beings] look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” How extraordinary it was that the Lord found in Mary’s heart a mansion prepared for his presence. How extraordinary would it be, if God found the same willingness, the same openness within our hearts, at the time when God comes calling?
“Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Let it be, she says. And what is the word for this that we use in prayer? The word is Amen. That’s what amen means: let it be. Mary had the courage to say amen to God, and knew what a risk it would be to say it. She had the courage to sing about a God who casts down the mighty from their thrones, and lifts up the lowly. She knew that she could trust in the faithfulness of God, who would carry her life just as she carried the life of God within her. She shows us that we too can trust in God’s faithfulness, and open our hearts to receive God’s life within us. With Mary, we too can say yes to God.
Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death. Amen.