Merry Christmas

Mary

I think I might have said “no.” Had I been asked, had the angel Gabrielle come to me at 14-years-old. I think I might well have said “no.” Imagine being in her shoes. Poor, single. We think she knew the prophecy of the one to come--that He would save us and sacrifice himself for us. Imagine for just a moment if she had said…“no.”

We would have a very different understanding of God, a God who came into a young women’s life and rather than offering, demanded she be the God bearer. Imagine if it were an obligation rather than the privilege. As that old Christmas Card reads: “Mary held in her arms, The God of love, That we might hold in our hearts, The love of God.” Life would be very different without that young woman’s willingness, her quiet confidence, her humble response to God "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word."

Mary is perfect and yet she is also profoundly problematic for those of us who fall far from perfection. She is problematic because she stands in a long line of fear-filled people in frightening situations and she is fundamentally different.

You remember the role of Israel and God:  Moses is scared to lead his people out of Egypt, God says, "Fear not. I will be with you." A fear-filled nation stands before a cruel and overwhelmingly powerful enemy: "Fear not. I will be with you."  The Psalms sing to anyone who fears for their life, "Even though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me."  The shepherds woken up in the middle of night by a bright light and angel choruses, "Fear not."  And of course, the frightened disciples at an open tomb, "Fear not. He is not here. He is risen."

Unlike all those fear-filled people, Mary says, “Here I am.”

Mary is problematic because she understood her child to be “on loan” from God, not hers, but rather, her charge for a time. Think about that reality-- to consider our lives “on loan” from God. It is perfect theology really.

Imagine what our lives would look like if our parents had that approach to raising us-- that we were not theirs, products of their lives and work but that we were God’s and only on loan. What a frightening charge-- that we really are God’s rather than the world’s? How would that change the things we want for our children or one another? How would that change the way we live our lives?

And Mary is problematic because the church has never really known what to do with her. Protestants ignore her, Catholics deify her. Peter Gomes tells the old story about a former Dean of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London who finally arrives in heaven. Jesus comes down from God’s right hand and says, ‘Ah, Mr. Dean, welcome to heaven; I know you have met my Father, but I don’t believe you know my Mother” (Sermons, Biblical Wisdom for Daily Living, p.11), a crack about the Dean’s low-church leanings.

The church pretties Mary up, turns her into a relic, paints her porcelain skin and royal features. The church also ignores her because she is too complicated a theological and narrative issue-- we forget how very real, how very frightened, how very brave she was.

There is a little house on the top of a hill near Ephesus where people say Mary was taken after Jesus was killed to keep her safe.  I’ve never believed that lore. I cannot think why a woman so willing to give her life over to God would have chosen to be hidden away on some remote hillside across the sea. I think the church often chooses that fate for Mary, to paint her into a place of adoration rather than gritty inspiration because she is such a brave figure.  William Willimon writes, “Mary breaks into song. But it is not a lullaby she sings... The little pregnant girl looks out across the Judean hills bathed in winter twilight and sings. She thinks she hears kingdoms fall and the earth rock beneath her feet. She feels the child within her move and she hums a little tune of liberation” (On a Wild and Windy Mountain, p. 21).

When I was 8, I was selected to play Mary in the Christmas pageant. It was a cross between “preacher’s kid prerogative” and “we know you have to be here anyway” kind of selection. By that age, I was a pageant ringer. I’d been a sheep and shepherd, the first female Magi, my 2nd grade class had built the donkey named Harold that Mary rode each year and of course, I had played the most devilish version of Gabrielle ever cast. But that year, wrapped up in that unfortunate baby blue dress, I made my way up the aisle of that 18th century church. As Joseph did his thing finding us our stable, he turned to me and offered me a hand up on stage, being a chivalrous, well-trained southern boy. I immediately slapped it away and told him I could jump up all by myself. The slap was audible as was the comment. The whole congregation started to giggle. Sweet little Mary was played by the 8-year-old version of Gloria Steinem and of course, the rector’s daughter.

The truth is, Mary and the narrative we live into each year is problematic most of all because we have such a hard time relating to her dilemma and her seeming perfection; we cannot put ourselves into the crèche scene. We cannot imagine our own lives to be anything like the lives of shepherds, magi, and a pregnant girl traveling on a donkey to a foreign city. The New York Times ran an op-ed piece years ago extolling the value of the fantasy of Christmas stories and saying sometimes when reality is as tough as it is, we can all use a little fantasy. That comment has eaten away at me for years.

The challenge we have as Christians is to understand the Reality of the Christmas story, not the fantasy. Believers are people who allow themselves to enter into the narrative and allow God to speak in their lives. The great hymn by Philips Brooks, written on top of a hill in Alexandria, Virginia in the 19th century goes: Yet in thy dark streets shineth, The everlasting light. The hopes and fears of all the years, are met in thee tonight. Brooks was a man who saw a nation ravaged by the Civil War and he put himself in God’s story, the Crèche scene and knew that the words of the narrative were the words of his own life in 1868.

This is a season to be amused by mystery and fantasy of The Miracle of 34th Street, Scrooge and the Grinch, God knows we need it in 2020! But it is also a time to believe in the reality of hope breaking into our world with the coming of the Christ child at Christmas.

The ultimate question of Christmas is not what fantasy we revel in, but very practically, what part in the Christmas story do we play in our own lives?

As you encounter this Christmas Day, May you have:
The loyalty of the shepherds,
The wisdom of the magi,
The obedience of the animals,
The hospitality of the innkeeper,
The faithfulness of Joseph,
The courage of Mary,
The hope of the Christ Child.
Amen.

The Rev. Maryetta M. Anschutz is the Strategic Advisor to the St Paul’s Cathedral Trust in America. She is the Founder of the Episcopal School of Los Angeles and an Episcopal priest.