Sally A. Brown, Professor Emerita, Princeton Theological Seminary
The visit of God’s heavenly emissary, Gabriel, to a young woman in insignificant Nazareth (Luke1:26-38) is not Gabriel’s first birth-announcing errand in Luke. Some six months earlier, Gabriel visited the priest Zechariah to announce that his barren wife Elizabeth would give birth to a son, God’s appointed prophet. Of the visited, it is the young woman, not the priest, who proves more receptive.
Gabriel’s birth announcement to Mary differs from that to Zechariah. It includes characteristics of OT prophetic call stories (for example, that of Moses): announcement of a task, a response of fear or questioning, reassurance of divine enablement, leading to eventual acceptance. Mary will need to be far more than a passive tool. Both she and Zechariah will see their sons acclaimed by crowds, yet ultimately opposed, arrested and executed. Mary will need courage, grit, and above all, faith.
Mary’s son will be extraordinary, says Gabriel—heir to titles of authority and power: “Son of God/the Most High,” “Messiah,” heir to “the throne of David” and to a “kingdom without end” (vv 32-33, 35c). Interestingly, none of these stunning pronouncements cause Mary’s “How can it be . . .?” to become “Let it be so.” Mary responds “Let it be …” only when Gabriel tethers his message to something tangible and verifiable in Mary’s world: news that her relative Elizabeth, long believed barren, is six months pregnant. If Mary’s older , well-regarded cousin is also caught up in a miraculous web of salvific divine intervention (vv 36-37), Mary is not alone.[1] Her pregnancy will surely evoke gossip and slander; yet Mary’s story of “impossible possibility” will be validated by worthy witnesses, the distinguished priest Zechariah and his wife. Together, they are a believing, witnessing community.
Christian attitudes toward Mary, theotokos (“God-bearer”), are diverse. Some see her as a model of piety, meekly submitting to her role despite its challenges. Such a portrait is not terribly persuasive, given all Mary must now face. She asks “How?” and expects an answer. Many Christians worship Mary; yet Luke never hints that the overshadowing Spirit divinizes her. Mary is “blessed,” says Ellizabeth (1:42) simply because she believes the word spoken to her will be fulfilled.
Mary’s role was unique; yet, we too are called upon to believe and testify with our lives to the “impossible possibility” of God-with-us amid skepticism. We’re tempted to seek the sorts of “blessedness” that seem to promise immediate security and status: wealth, distinguished achievements, and power to bend others to our will. Mary sought none of these. Chosen, yet utterly human and undivine, Mary gets no angelic host to defend her reputation. She proves unable to pull her grown son out of harm’s way (8:19-21). She will watch, helpless, as he dies on a Roman cross. What does it look like to hand our vulnerable selves over to the world-transforming ways of God? Mary shows us. Like her, we must become her Son’s disciples: each of us a follower, a listener, a lifelong learner of love’s hard lessons, students of grief-riven letting-go, witnesses, worshipers. We trust the Word spoken: “Those who lose their life for my sake, will find it.” Blessedness indeed.
[1] My thanks to Raj Nadella for this insight. See Raj Nadella, “Commentary on Luke 1:26-38, December 24, 2023.” https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fourth-sunday-of-advent-2/commentary-on-luke-126-38-6.
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