Mary: anglicized form of Maria, which is derived from the Hebrew Miryām (“sea of bitterness” or “sea of sorrow”).
Considering how important naming is in the Biblical narrative, one wonders why parents would ever name their child Maria/Mariam/Miriam/Mara.
The name first denotes the sister of Israel’s human deliverer, Moses. Miriam was the vigilant go-between through whom the Lord worked to save the life of the baby in the bulrush basket. We can only conjecture as to why Amram and Jochebed named their daughter Miriam. Did it have anything to do with the bitter sorrow under which the Israelites labored in Egyptian bondage? Clearly, Miriam was old enough to “get” it. So perhaps her song had a deeply personal and experiential tone to it when she took tambourine in hand on the other side of the Red Sea: “Sing to the Lord / for he has triumphed gloriously; / he has hurled both horse and rider into the sea” (Exodus 15:20). The sea of bitterness had turned into something sweet.
How ironic, then, that the very next event in the Biblical account foreshadows forty years of wondering, wandering, getting lost, turning around, doubting and murmuring. The Israelites arrive at an oasis whose water is too bitter to drink. “They called the place Marah (which means ‘bitter’)” (Exodus 17:22-23). All too soon after the spectacular rescue at the Red Sea, Divine intervention is summarily required to confront rebellion, and change the bitter water into sweet—“water good to drink” (vv. 24-25).
Fast forward to the times of the judges, when “there was a famine in the land” and “a man from Bethlehem (meaning “house of bread,” ironic in a famine), in Judah, left his home and went to live in the country of Moab, taking his wife and two sons with him” (Ruth 1:1). The man’s wife’s name is Naomi, meaning “pleasant,” but, after being refugees, the story continues to go downhill.
Soon Mrs. “Pleasant” insists, “Call me Mara, for the Almighty has made life very bitter for me. I went away full, but the Lord has brought me home empty” (vv. 20-21). However, “Mara” arrives back home to “the house of bread” at the beginning of the barley harvest… And suffice it to say that the one who had called herself Mara became the fruitful ancestor of David and the Son of David. Then the women of the town sing, “Praise the Lord, who has now provided a redeemer for your family!” (Ruth 4:14). Divine Providence changed the bitter into the sweet.
The bitter comes to us all. When I was working on my doctoral dissertation in comparative literature, I received an official ultimatum that if I didn’t finish it by the end of the school year, I would have to begin the degree all over again, including repeating the classwork.
For the next six months, I lived out the Benedictine axiom “Ora et labora” (Pray and work). I wondered, “Why, oh why, did I pick such an esoteric monstrosity as play theory in postmodern literature?” I spent a lot of time on my knees, as well as day and night at the graduate student computers wandering through postmodernism’s halls of mirrors. My routine meant that I was legally parked at night, but illegally parked in the morning. That led to being ticketed by parking services with no reprieve from an unsympathetic review committee. Talk about being stressed out. I murmured bitterly at the unfairness of it all as I cranked out page after page and sent them to my sometimes illusive dissertation committee.
I had other challenges that year, including an IRS audit. But somehow, by the grace of God, I met the deadline for filing the dissertation. The bitter ordeal was behind me. Getting to soar across the ocean and celebrate with family in Europe was a sweet reward indeed.
What about Mary, the mother of the Baby swaddled in the feeding trough in Bethlehem? Why did her parents call her “Mariam”? Was it simply a traditional name honoring her ancestor? Did it have anything to do with the bitterness of Roman oppression? We may never know, but when the Son of David comes, once more, a Mariam responds with a song: “Oh, how my soul praises the Lord. / How my spirit rejoices in God my Savior!” (Luke 1:46).
Mary went through an unprecedented pregnancy, an uncertain sojourn in Bethlehem, an extended exile in Egypt, a return to Nazareth, and a final trip to Jerusalem, where she witnessed the crucifixion of her Son. Luke tells us that she treasured moments and pondered them in her heart (Luke 2:19, 51).
In spite of our momentary wondering, wandering, getting lost, turning around, doubting and murmuring, we, like Mary, are blessed when we take time to reflect and trust that the Lord will do what he said (Luke 1:45). Yes, the waiting is hard and stressful. Yet, as certainly as the first Advent came, so will the second. May we keep on trusting like Mary, and searching like the Magi, for when we see the Star, we will be filled with joy, and our bitter waters will be made sweet indeed.
Ruth Burke is a survivor who keenly observes the poetry of nature and savors God’s sometimes wacky sense of humor.