Christmas Eve (Year 2, NL)

There are many ways we receive the gift of Jesus badly.

Mary is a jazz singer, improvising on a familiar tune.

It is not as though Mary and Joseph have a choice.

Would it be that we all could sing our souls. I think Mary helps us. I think we should read her song, and preach it, and sing it over and over again.

Sampling Isaiah, Mary's song sings of mercy, strength, humility, and the truest meaning of charity. Her song hears in each of these virtues a gift of God, and a sign of God's desire for all.

Mary’s song marks a transformation from seeing her condition’s weight to receiving a new power within the situation. And then, finally, she is a participant in the work of God’s spirit.

John 3:16 or Matthew 25? Both. Neither.

Vivaldi wrote his Magnificat for a choir of female orphans to sing for their supper. They were truly singing Mary's song.

Like many pastors, I remember clearly the first sermon I ever preached. It was during my second semester of seminary, and I probably worked on it for 50 hours. Each detail was written and rewritten until I was confident I had produced the greatest theological document by a seminarian in quite some time.

Christians have always been uncomfortable with the Magnificat. Advent takes us places we would rather not go.

I’m taking a class on the Gospel of Luke this semester, and one of my assignments is to engage in an ongoing spiritual practice related to that particular Gospel. So for the entire semester I am reading the Magnificat daily. It’s a passage that I’ve been drawn to in recent years, but it has been particularly illuminating to be dwelling on it during Lent this year, since it is typically confined to the Advent season. Somehow the triumphal language of the justice that God has already accomplished fits with the modern treatment of Advent as a celebratory season. But Lent is a season of penance, which puts an entirely different spin on the text.