Third Sunday of Advent (Year B, RCL)

The Magnificat rejoices in a God who acts within human history.

Like John the Baptist, progressive Christians tend to define ourselves in the negative.

"I love you," says God. "We love you, too," our prayers reply.

What a relief it might be to middle-class America to be sent away empty.

The pastor urged the congregation to sign an antigay petition. Clare Byarugaba knew she wasn't the only gay person there.

This story is full of echoes—most famously, Mary's song echoes Hannah's. But there is another echo: Elizabeth's praise of Mary, which gets taken up into the Hail Mary, is an echo of Deborah's song in Judges 5.

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

How is thankfulness engendered? By giving thanks in all circumstances.

We seem to always want something—anything—to happen. This has implications for the life of prayer.

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.

Multitasking is marked by a sustained sense of urgency in a world mediated by communication devices. Puttering is something different.

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.