Mary’s story, as given [in Luke 1], is in fact two stories: the annunciation and the Magnificat. The one is Mary’s explanation of how she became pregnant before marriage; the other is her reaction to that pregnancy…
Mary knows for sure that she is to be the mother of the Son of God. How will she react? We cannot but scrutinize her reaction very carefully since it is part of the evidence presented to us for the truth of her story. If she does not show herself emotionally aware of the immeasurable greatness of the honor she claims, we shall feel uneasy: does she even understand the claim she is making? If on the other hand she shows the slightest trace of pride or self-centeredness, we shall feel uneasy again: how could a woman who claimed to be about to become the mother of the Son of God be proud and arrogant on that account without totally undermining her claim? As therefore Mary breaks out into praise and prophecy we must try to listen critically.
Her phraseology, we notice, is formal, archaic and poetic, drawn in great part from the Old Testament. This is not grotesque, as some have suggested, a sign that Luke is here concocting an artificial story. Anyone who has attended meetings where non-literary people of moderate education engage in extemporary prayer, will know that such people generally use language laced with archaic expressions taken from some old translation of the Bible which they have heard read ever since they were children, and mixed with words of hymns written a century or more ago. And so with Mary now. This is for her an exalted and intensely spiritual moment. Probably the only exalted language she knows is biblical language. We are not surprised by its style, though presently we may be by its contents.
She begins by praising God (see 1:46)—a normal opening to any prayer. Then at once (see 1:47) she confesses to great joy (the Greek word Luke uses to translate her original Aramaic indicates exultant, overwhelming, religious joy). She is, then, emotionally aware of the stupendous wonder of the thing that is happening to her. Aware also of the immeasurable contrast between her present obscure, humble state, and the immense publicity and honor which inevitably shall be hers throughout all succeeding generations (see 1:48).
What effect, we wonder, will all this have on her personality, on her concept of herself and of her status, on the relationship, as she now feels it, between herself and all other people, between herself and God?
Here a very striking thing meets us: never once in all the Magnificat does she mention the fact that she is going to be the mother of the Son of God. Of course that is the reality which underlies her joy and praise; but the way she refers to this great fact shows us what, as she sees them, are the implications of it for her.
Her joy arises, she explains, because in acting as He is towards her, God is acting as her Saviour (see 1:47). We note with more than interest that she still regards herself as someone who needs to be saved like the rest of mankind.
“All generations shall call me blessed”—but she does not add “because I am to be the mother of the Son of God” but “because the Mighty One has done great things for me” (1:49). In other words, what God has done, rather than what she is, is the aspect of the matter that is filling her mind.
But what, in the light of these great things which God has done for her, is her relationship with God as she now sees it? The Old Testament had always insisted on the impassable gulf that separates the name of God from any other name: God’s name alone is holy. Have the great things elevated her to a position where, for all practical purposes, the distance and distinction between her and the Divine Persons reduce to vanishing point? Not in Mary’s estimation. Even in these moments of intense spiritual exultation, she has no illusions, no incipiently blasphemous thoughts. All generations of creatures shall call her blessed; but she immediately takes her stand as a creature with all those other creatures: for Mary, still “Holy is His name” (1:49).
She has now spoken three couplets. In all three she has said something about herself, though without either self-importance or self-centeredness. And this is the last we shall hear from Mary about herself. There are twice as many couplets still to come, but Mary will not speak of herself personally and explicitly again.
This may strike us as remarkable humility, but actually it arises naturally from the way she looks at the event itself. Utterly unique though it is in one sense, in another it appeals to Mary as nothing unusual. It is an act of God’s mercy. But then, “God’s mercy comes to generations after generations for those who reverence Him” (1:50). Anyone of the millions in these innumerable generations could tell a tale of God’s mercy just as she could. She does not feel the specialness of her case, because her eye is not on herself but on the constancy of God. In the infinite class of God’s merciful acts, her case, however large, is but a single member.
But surely humility can sometimes arise out of ignorance, and if so, it is not the genuine article. Could it be that Mary, in first claiming to be the mother of the Messiah and Son of God, and then in regarding the whole affair as simply one more example of God’s common mercy to all generations, is giving the game away? Never having known anything outside her own humble artisan class, could it be that she has no concept of what is involved in being, say, the high priest of her nation, or the Caesar Augustus of the Roman world, let alone Messiah of the royal house of David and Son of God; and therefore sees nothing incongruous in the notion that God should bypass the rich, noble, educated and powerful families and choose a little artisan-class girl from some obscure family to be the mother of the King of kings and Lord of lords?
It is almost stupid to have asked the question; but it is important to see why the answer is no. Mary is aware of the great differences in ability, resources and power which separate the philosophers, the rich and the aristocrats from the uneducated, the poor and the weak, and she herself observes that, for the purposes of the incarnation, God has deliberately bypassed the former class and chosen someone from the latter. But to explain it she launches into a string of verbs in the aorist tense (see 1:51-53), which have the exegetes undecided whether she is describing God’s action in the past, God’s action in the future viewed prophetically as though already accomplished, or God’s habitual action.
We need not decide the exegetes’ question. Mary means all three. She sees God’s choice of her as merely one example of what God always does, has done, and will do. And the reason for this is that, as she has told us in her very first couplet, what is happening to her is an activity of God as Saviour. In salvation He always scatters the proud, puts down princes, sends the rich away empty, but exalts the lowly and feeds the hungry. That is why she uses the poetic language of the centuries to describe her own experience, for this has always been the experience of any who have at any time experienced any aspect of God’s salvation. Hannah (see 1 Sam. 2) found it so in her domestic situation, very different though it was from Mary’s. Paul was to observe that this is the principle, in the highest sense of the term, on which God’s salvation works (1 Cor. 1:18-31).
And finally Mary puts what has happened to her in another larger context. “He has helped Israel, His servant, remembering to put into action His mercy (as He promised to our fathers) to Abraham and to his seed for ever” (1:54-55). Hundreds of times since her childhood, in the home, in the synagogue, at the religious festivals, Mary had heard of God’s calling out of Abraham, of the formation of her nation from him, of God’s great covenants to him and to his seed: of the way God had honored those covenants in the past, and how He would do so again. When, therefore, the mighty event happened to her, she had its proper context already imprinted on her mind. What was happening to her, was happening to her as part of her nation, not because she personally and individually was special but because of God’s faithfulness to Abraham and to his seed.
This context would not detract from the uniqueness of what was being done in and through her; but it would help her to see herself in true perspective as part of God’s ways with her nation, its election, history and destiny. That awareness of context doubtless both sustained her faith and at the same time kept her, in her exalted office, from any exaggerated sense of self-importance. And, by pointing it out, Mary helps our faith too. Seen as part of that unique nation’s unique history, the unique event of the virgin birth and the incarnation looks almost natural.
Written by David Gooding