Every Tuesday we meet together with a small group to reflect on and unpack the following Sunday's gospel. I find it a valuable space to think more deeply about these texts we often reel off so glibly and to be challenged and inspired about how we are called to respond to them. I am grateful to those who contribute and who expand my thoughts and ideas.
Each week one of us shares something to get the conversation started. I'm sharing mine for this week, in case it's of interest to anyone.
Today we reflect on Luke 1: 39 - 45 (46 - 56), the visitation of Mary to Elizabeth and proclamation of the Magnificat.
I think I got to do “Mary week” last advent too when we read about the Annunciation. Not that I am complaining … I love Mary.
I love Mary ... but not the Mary that seems to be so frequently portrayed in the churches where, whether she is a bit part in the nativity play, or centre stage as a porcelain statue; a lot of the imagery seems to be around submission and passivity. Mary, pure and innocent, meek and mild. Dressed in blue, veiled, eyes turned down to contemplate her toes, silent.
But I just don’t see that any of that really fits with the Mary we see in the gospels. Although her biblical appearances are limited, they just don’t chime with the medieval-art-Mary that the churches, in different ways, seem to have embraced.
The biblical Mary doesn’t strike me as mild and submissive, as a passive bystander on whom a pivotal role in God’s plan is imposed. She strikes me as an active player in her own life in a way that is potentially challenging even now, even more so in the culture of her day.
In the gospels we see a Mary who buys in and says yes, and who stays the path to the end in a way that not many do.
We see a Mary who is feisty and independent.
Who is not afraid to tell Jesus, to tell God, what to do.
We see a Mary who makes miracles happen.
Who offers radical hospitality.
Who campaigns for justice.
We see a Mary who accepts suffering as part of the cost.
We see a Mary to whom God entrusts a mission.
And much of that is already visible in this passage, which for all its familiarity I wonder if we often skim over without giving it much thought.
For instance, it wasn’t until I was considering what to say today that I really gave much thought to the whole idea of Mary going on a journey to visit Elizabeth. In my head I have, possibly not very accurate, images of the annunciation, and of the greeting between Mary and Elizabeth, but nothing between the two. But this was not a visit to her next door neighbour. Journeying to the hill country means travelling notoriously dangerous roads. She travels, as far as we know, alone, and as far as we know, of her own volition.
Which set me thinking (with a bit of a prompt from someone else, thanks google) about the fact that journeying is a recurring theme for Mary.
I am probably not alone in mostly picturing Mary at home. Maybe it is because of that standard annunciation image of Mary doing the housework interrupted by an angel. But the gospels make no references to Mary as a homely character: there are no passages where she is cooking or doing the housework.
There are however, several examples of her going on journeys. This is the first: to be followed by (if you mishmash the gospels together) the trip to Bethlehem, the flight into Egypt, the trip to Jerusalem with a pre-teen and probably fairly obstreperous Jesus in tow, to Cana at the beginning of Jesus ministry and so on until Jerusalem for the passion…
This should perhaps not be surprising. Journeying is, after all, a key theme for many of the prophets and the saints. Many of those who announce Jesus' coming are often to be found on the road.
What’s more, this journey takes her from her non-descript backwater home to somewhere that could, comparatively, be seen as a centre of power. Elizabeth is married to a temple priest. Yes this might be about Mary seeking out support and comfort from a fellow mother-to-be in unusual circumstances, yes perhaps she is scared and overwhelmed … but perhaps there is in fact something else going on. Perhaps she is taking the gospel to a place of religious power. A pre-cursor to her son who will do the same.
So I wonder why Mary is more often depicted at home instead of on the road? I wonder if it has less to do with truth and more to do with societal norms and a desire to reinforce them? I wonder if the feisty Mary didn’t chime easily within the church so she was domesticated to make her more palatable? I think it was Dorothy Day who said, “don’t call me a saint, I don’t want to dismissed that easily” There are numerous examples of saints whose message has been watered down and controlled, but I wonder whether Mary for all her apparent position of prestige in church tradition has fallen victim to this more than most.
And that’s before we even get started on
the Magnificat, this political manifesto which Mary, or perhaps Elizabeth, then proclaims, but perhaps I’ll leave it there for now.
