When I was in primary school, every girl wanted to be Mary for the Christmas play. It did not matter that Mary had no speaking part and had to merely sit still behind the manger. Every girl wanted to be Mary.
None of us boys, however, wanted to be Jospeh. No way. We did not want to stand next to a girl pretending to be her husband, never mind having a baby with her! (Ironically, this is very similar to how the biblical narrative describes Joseph’s feelings toward the teenage Mary.)
An intriguing question that Luke’s narrative (Luke 1:26-38; 46-55) of the birth of Jesus asks is, Did Mary want to be Mary? Possibly not.
After the visit from Gabriel, according to Luke 1:29, Mary was “much perplexed” (NRSV), “greatly troubled” (NIV), “thoroughly shaken” (Message), “confused and disturbed” (NLT).
Note that Mary is not troubled by a virgin birth—the angel did not yet tell her about that. Mary is troubled because she cannot believe this impossible possibility. Me? Who am I? Why am I favored? She knows her place. And this should not be happening. She knows who she is. She’s a she, a teenager, and from the wrong side of the tracks.
Yet, Gabriel then tells her the big news that she’s going to be pregnant with a son, but not just any son, the Son of the Most High, no less, from the lineage of David, with a never-to-end kingdom. OK. What? “How can this be?”
But Gabriel assures Mary she has found favor with God, that she will conceive a son and name him Jesus, and that he will rule a dynasty, fulfilling all the ancient expectations for a Jewish Messiah.
Annunciation is the call of God, the disruptive call of God. Mary responds. This annunciation to Mary is a marked contrast with the annunciation to Zechariah a few verses earlier. Notice the way Luke highlights the differences in each annunciation:
Zechariah is a priest in Jerusalem, troubled by the angel’s impossible announcement—that his barren, aging wife Elizabeth will have a son. Mary is a young, engaged woman in the far land of Nazareth, troubled by the angel’s disturbing announcement that she will be pregnant—without Joseph.
Zechariah’s response is contrasted with Mary’s response and the point is as clear as it is ironic: the religious leader disbelieves God’s promise and is punished with muteness; the peasant teenage girl believes and embraces God’s promise of a provocative calling.
Mary says “yes”—and for Luke the willingness of Mary to open her life utterly to God is a model of our humanity as well of our church.
In the dynamic interplay of call and response, could God have singled out Mary to be Jesus’ mother? Or, did the messenger of God come first to other women, who may have said “no” to God’s invitation? Did the messenger of God persist until he found a young woman who said “yes” to a surprising adventure?
Mary doesn’t expect to receive a divine visitation or a great task. But, despite her perplexity, she says “yes” to new horizons that will not only put her at risk, but also open her to wonders no mortal can fully imagine. Because of this Luke presents Mary as the first to hear and accept the gospel and then to proclaim it. Thus he holds her up as the first and model disciple. Mary hears the call of God and she responds. She models faith, obedience, servanthood, discipleship, hospitality.
Barbara Brown Taylor says it so beautifully:
“Like Mary, our choices often boil down to yes or no: yes, I will live this life that is being held out to me or no, I will not; yes, I will explore this unexpected turn of events, or no, I will not.”
You can say no to your life, “but you can rest assured that no angels will trouble you ever again.”
But, if we say yes to our lives: “You can take part in a thrilling and dangerous scheme with no script and no guarantees. You can agree to smuggle God into the world inside your own body.”
—“Mothers of God” in Gospel Medicine
We are all carriers and deliverers of God, gathering and dispersing God beyond, between and within us. God can arrive in the story of your own body. This is the power of the story at Christmas; every word of God is possible. May we, like Mary, be a home for the God who desires to dwell with us.
Angel and maid.
Their eyes
met.
Unnerved!
They were unnerved!
Both of them!
She saw heaven in his face;
he saw earth in
hers.
“Yes.”
Mary said this word for all of us.
Let us say
yes, year after year,
summer, fall, winter and spring,
every ordinary minute of every ordinary day.
Jesus, be at home in our flesh as you were in Mary’s.
Source: http://liturgy.slu.edu/4AdvB122114/prayerpathmain.html