(2) Mary: “Blessed Among Women” (Luke 1:26-38)
The old rabbis had a saying:
People marry for four reasons: for passion,
for wealth, for honor, or for the glory of God. lf they marry for passion, their
children will be given over to their own passions, and will grow up stubborn and
rebellious. If they marry for wealth, their children will learn to be greedy. If
they marry for honor, their children will one day become proud, ambitious, and
ruthless. But if they marry for the glory of God, then their children will be
righteous, and they will preserve Israel.
Our story begins in Nazareth, a little town of no
special consequence in the hills of Galilee. It was a village like many others
— simple people going forth to labor in their shops or work in their
fields. The men would pause to discuss the weather, or perhaps the news of the
latest Roman outrage. Women drew water from the well at the town square,
stopping a while to chat with their friends, to learn perhaps who was ill or who
had had a baby. Children played in the dusty streets, sometimes ignoring their
mothers’ calls and the approaching darkness.
But when the sabbath came, all activity ceased,
and families dressed in their best clothes and gathered at the old stone
synagogue. There the grandfatherly rabbi read, with carefully measured phrasing,
from the Holy Scriptures, and offered his simple exhortation for the week. He
was not an eloquent speaker. Nor was he a subtle expounder of legal details,
like the teachers from Jerusalem who passed through occasionally on their way to
some place more important. But he was well-respected, even loved, for his
honesty and kindness. He was faithful and diligent in teaching the boys of
Nazareth, preparing them to assume their positions as men in the congregation of
Israel.
A special announcement
This particular sabbath he had a special
announcement, a little something extra to enliven the proceedings. It was not a
total surprise to his listeners, but then, in a village like Nazareth, very few
things were secret:
“Joseph, son of Jacob the carpenter,
having brought a satisfactory dowry, desires the hand of Mary, daughter of Heli,
both being of the house of David. May God bless their
union.”
The following week was a time of joyful
celebration. It was a time for older folks to relive their youth, and for the
very young to dream of the future. The old songs of love and marriage were sung
again. That most romantic of the scrolls, “The Song of Songs, which is
Solomon’s”, would be remembered and read, and listeners would thrill
to the rich exotic poetry of love — love which was sensual and yet
spiritual, truly a mystery. The loving eyes of family and friends would see
Joseph in the young shepherd, and Mary in the beautiful
Shullamite:
“How beautiful you are, my darling! Oh,
how beautiful!... Your lips are like a scarlet ribbon; your mouth is lovely...
there is no flaw in you... You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride; you
have stolen my heart with one glance of your eyes, with one jewel of your
necklace. How delightful is your love, my sister, my bride! How much more
pleasing is your love than wine, and the fragrance of your perfume than any
spice!” (Song 4:1,3,7,9,10).
“No flaw in
you”
In those days, and for those people, marriage was
a sacred covenant, and a token of God’s love for Israel His bride. It was
an enacted parable teaching the necessity of purity in the bride, of faithful
devotion to one Master alone: “There is no flaw in you... a garden locked
up, my sister, my bride; you are a spring enclosed, a sealed fountain”
(vv. 7,12).
Betrothal was a quite formal and binding
engagement. It was a legal contract sealed, before witnesses, by a dowry or
purchase price. It was, in fact, a marriage under law; the young woman was now a
bride and a wife, although a “suitable interval” (as much as a year)
must elapse before the marriage could be consummated. But if her betrothed were
to die during this period she would be, under law, a widow with guaranteed
property rights. And if she were unfaithful, the law would have no mercy. Single
women who sinned might have their shame mitigated with payments or dowries and
hasty marriages; but she would be an adulteress, and the sentence would be death
by stoning.
There were yet months and months until the
marriage could be finalized, but Mary could close her eyes and see it all: the
procession as the bridegroom comes to the house of the bride, to carry her away
to his own home; the virgins or “bride’s maids” with their
lamps to light the way. Then would come the joyous marriage feast, the special
wedding garments, the wine of joy. It would all come true for her and her
beloved. God had indeed richIy blessed them.
But first must come the months of waiting,
preparation, and anticipation before the young virgin-bride would become truly
the wife of Joseph. In the meantime, ever present as a reminder, was the memory
of that pledge of purity already taken: to have and to hold, to forsake all
others, to cleave only to her husband, to be “a garden locked up, a sealed
fountain” (v. 12).
How much of our lives is a waiting, an
anticipation of something better, something different? And how often has it
happened that “fate” or “chance” has intervened, and
that which we hoped for, which we had reason to expect (a new job, an award, a
marriage proposal, a “windfall” profit), was snatched away ... and
we received instead something else altogether different? This is what happened
to Mary.
An unexpected visitor
“God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth,
a town in Galilee, to a virgin pledged to be married to a man named Joseph, a
descendant of David. The virgin's name was Mary. The angel went to her and said,
‘Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you’
” (Luke 1:26-28).
No greater honor had ever been bestowed upon a
woman than was soon to be the lot of Mary. But it was an honor that carried an
awesome responsibility. And it would mean the shattering of other cherished
dreams and desires. Her life would never be as simple and pleasant as she had
reason to expect it would be only a short while before.
When she saw the angel, Mary began to
“wonder” or “consider” (v. 29, RSV) in her mind what
sort of greeting this was. It was of course a trifle disconcerting, even
frightening, to be visited by an angel between morning and midday. But
Mary’s fear was overridden by her curiosity and quiet reflection.
No matter what happened to Mary, she paused to
consider, to ponder, to reflect. She is one of the great
“spectators” in the Bible. We thank God for Mary and her examples.
When she stops to consider, then we are compelled to do the same. When she
stands still to see the salvation of the Lord, we too halt in our headlong rush
through overcrowded lives, and pause for a moment with her. We catch a little of
the infinite wonder in the calm, clear eyes of this young woman, an attitude
molded by careful Bible study and frequent prayer. Like her, we learn to
treasure in our hearts the sayings we hear (Luke 2:51). Like her, we
“ponder” them (2:19) in the stillness of the night so that, when the
storms of life beat upon us, like her we will be strong in
faith.
“The son of the Most
High”
“Do not be afraid, Mary, you have found
favor with God. You will be with child and give birth to a son, and you are to
give him the name Jesus” (Luke 1:30, 31).
To find favor implies a request answered, and we
could draw the conclusion that this young, pure Jewish woman may have been
praying, though never really expecting a favorable answer: “May I be the
mother of the Messiah.” This would be in keeping with one traditional
Jewish view of Isaiah 7:14: that a virgin would marry and then conceive (by
natural means) a son who would become the Messiah, but not literally the Son of
God. Since Mary and Joseph were both of the house of David, perhaps such
thoughts had come to her. And since up to this point the Holy Spirit had not
been mentioned, Mary might reasonably have concluded that this child would be
the son of Joseph.
Even as she pondered these words, Gabriel
continued: “He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most
High.” The Son of God! Even great king David was never so called. Would
her son be somehow greater than even David? Perhaps the thought staggered Mary
so that she scarcely heard the rest of the great promise: “The Lord God
will give him the throne of his father David”; son of David, of course (2
Sam. 7:12-14,16; Psa. 89:29,36), and heir to his fallen throne. But also the
“Son of the Most High”! What can this mean?
“How will this be?” Could this great
thing happen to Mary even without her “knowing” Joseph (v. 34)? Now
Gabriel speaks plainly:
“The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and
the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will
be called the Son of God... For nothing is impossible with God” (vv.
35,37).
The language of Gabriel calls to mind that of
Genesis; the Spirit of God “overshadowing”, or moving upon the face
of the waters to bring forth life, as a mother hen brooding over her eggs and
then her chicks. It is a picture of vast creative power, coupled with the
sweetest tenderness and love. It is a picture of a God who sustains all things
by His omnipotence, who acts as and when He chooses, and no man can understand,
much less question, His prerogative. But also it is a picture of a God who is a
Father, who pities His children, who lavishes mercies unnumbered upon those who
can never hope to repay Him. “Behold, what manner of love the Father hath
bestowed on us...”
This view of the Messiah’s conception,
which we as Christians take for granted today, was by no means as certain to the
faithful Jews of Mary’s day. But the message she received would also give
additional weight to Isaiah 9:6,7, the companion passage to Isaiah 7:14 —
which, in light of Gabriel’s announcement, might now
read:
“To us a child is born; to us a son is
given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called...
‘Wonderful in counsel is the Mighty God, who is the everlasting Father
of the Prince of Peace.’ Of the increase of his government and peace
there will be no end.”
“The maidservant of the
Lord”
Mary responded to this great message without
hesitation. She revealed an extraordinary grasp of the Scriptures for such a
young girl: “I am the Lord's servant... May it be to me as you have
said” (v. 38). Mary knew the passages in the psalms in which the Messiah
is called the son of God’s maidservant (86:16; 116:16). Immediately she
made the connection, and gave her consent to become the mother of His Son, a
consent which was essential to His purpose.
A veil is now modestly drawn over the scene. Of
the actual conception Luke tells us nothing, and we must conclude that such
knowledge is too sacred for mortals. How was this miracle accomplished? In the
jargon of modern science, what was the “genetic code” begotten of
such a union? Prudence, and some sense of the Divine majesty, counsels us to
explore no further along these lines than Scripture expressly warrants. But
perhaps Psalm 139 gives us an insight into this greatest of all mysteries
— God manifest in the flesh:
“For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's
womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and
wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full
well.
My frame was not hidden from you when I was
made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the
earth,
your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me were written in
your book before one of them came to be.
How precious to me are your thoughts, O
God!
How vast is the sum of them!” (vv.
13-17)
Blessed among women?
The veil is lifted, and we see Mary again, but in
some sense a new person now, touched by the Almighty, never to regain the
naivete and innocence of her youth. Her faith had been great, but now she could
feel the great change that had come upon her, a change that could not be hidden
for long — even if she wanted to hide it. What doubts must have come upon
her! How would she explain her condition? Whom should she tell, if anyone? Who
would believe her? Would even her beloved Joseph believe? And those words of the
marriage song, once so fitting, would they now mock her? “No flaw in
you... a garden locked up... a sealed fountain...”
The calling of the Lord is seldom an unmixed
pleasure. Mary was uniquely “blessed” among women. But blessings are
not always enjoyable. Sometimes they can be downright
unpleasant.
“Oh, to do some great work for God!”
Haven’t we all said that? But the great works of Scripture often included
imprisonment, slavery, torture, or — as with Mary — scandal and
gossip, which she was destined to experience to a degree which we can scarcely
appreciate, living as we do in such libertine times. Do we really want to be
blessed by God, like Joseph was “blessed” in a foreign prison, or
like Jeremiah was “blessed” in a foul pit, or like Mary was
“blessed” to be shunned as an “unwed mother” and an
“adulteress”?
Such naive, short-sighted people we are! We want
the cheers, but not the tears. We love the spotlight, but not the shadows. We
want to wear the crown without carrying the cross. We want to sit with Christ on
the mountain while the crowds listen worshipfully, but we do not want to venture
into the dark garden where men weep and wrestle with the serpent of
self.
All these things have a place in God’s
plan. It is written that we must go through many hardships to enter the Kingdom
of God (Acts 14:22). Even this might not be so difficult if we could choose the
time and place of our trials. But that, too, is in the hand of God. Each
believer must be prepared for a Gethsemane of God’s own choosing, suited
to him or her alone. Whenever and wherever that might be, there can be only one
response, which we have just heard from Mary’s lips: “May it be to
me as you have said.”
Her life was lived for the glory of God, and her
children were righteous. Her eldest son learned much from his mother. In the
hour of his trial, his prayer was an echo of hers: “Yet not what I will,
but what you will.”
And he preserved Israel...