Mary: She who thinks

The following Lenten reflection is based on Luke 2:8-20 

It may seem odd to pull into Lent what Christians now universally hear as a Christmas text.  But keep in mind that the writers of Luke’s Gospel did not write this text so that we might have Christmas plays of the Nativity.  Luke would not have recognized the word “Christmas” because there was no such thing and wouldn’t be so for at least another 300 years.  

It had been an ordinary day into which the most extraordinary events had occurred.  A child was born and shortly thereafter a host of angels had appeared to reassure some very frightened shepherds to put away their fear, for God, God’s own self, had come into the world, born of a woman.  Luke, himself, seems reflective as he writes, “But Mary treasured all these things and pondered them in her heart.”

In the whole of the bible this is somehow a very unique statement.  It tells us that Mary thought long and hard about what had occurred.  She thought about it.  Well, who wouldn’t think about it?  In fact, it is so obvious that a great deal of reflection was done, and not just by Mary, that one wonders why this line was even included in the text.  Or we might wonder, why was the act of thoughtfulness so important here but not included in the events of the crucifixion or in the three days that followed?  Mary is there too, watching from the distance.  But this time there is no host of angels there to quell her fear. Instead she is confronted by the realized potential for human suffering; not the least of which is her own.  

It has been the pondering of her heart that has carried her through the whole of the events of the gospels and into the finality of Good Friday. And it is her pondering of all these things, things seen and unseen, known and unknown, that will sustain her for the rest of her days. It is Mary’s wonderment of the heavenly display of Godly triumph in the threat of deadly evil that sustains us still.

We Protestants have historically rejected the reverence and adoration of Mary given by our Roman brothers and sisters. For many denominations such observances went the way of altars and candles and incense and bells as Christianity shed its skin of anything reminiscent of Roman Catholicism. Even in the Episcopal Church, a Protestant body that retained a strong Catholic identity even while it rejected the papacy and its hierarchal structure, Mary’s role in Christian faith and belief is largely a mystery.  In the last several years, however, there has been an effort among Protestants to reclaim Mary’s rightful and universal place as the mother of God.   A few years ago the leading Christian magazine The Christian Century ran an article on the Protestant reconsideration of Marian theology.  In the article named, What about Mary? Jason Byassee  wrote: “[R]ecently there has been a flurry of publications by Protestants on Mary, works that suggest she could be an ecumenical bridge—or at least that the Protestant aversion to Marian devotion is eroding…. Church historians of all stripes have long granted that Marian teaching and devotion dates from the earliest days of the church. And they grant that devotion to Mary was not discarded even by the leading Reformation figures Luther, Calvin and Zwingli. The fruit of ecumenical labor on this topic can be seen in such balanced and helpful resources as Mary in the Plan of God and in the Communion of the Saints(1999), a product of years of dialogue between French Catholics and Protestants that calls for both Catholic and Protestant 'conversions' on the subject.”

Such efforts of reconciliation are not isolated to the pages of publications.  A couple of years ago an unusual thing happened at St. James (Episcopal Church); a large portrait of Mary appeared in the back of the sanctuary. Some say it had been in the under-croft for years. Others couldn’t remember ever seeing it before and were stymied as to how she came to suddenly appear, resting on the floor, leaning against the wall, half hidden by the end of a pew.  She went largely unnoticed for months.  No doubt many thought it likely I had brought her in.  But for the record, I am as mystified as the rest.  Over time a small group devoted an area of the sanctuary as a Mary Chapel.  Her portrait now hangs high on the wall surrounded by items of prayer and devotion.  Quite honestly, I’ve been amazed at how warmly she has been received. Each week at worship many pause to light the devotional candles set just below her portrait. The collective lights from those candles and their prayers rise up to her in reverence and with great respect for her place in our life of faith, even if we, Protestants cannot articulate the fullness of her role there.  Each week as I look out into the congregation from my place at the altar, I am greeted by Mary there at the back of the church looking at me.  For me there is a sense of completeness with her presence. She reminds me each week as she looks out over all of us that it was she who bore the savior to whom we owe our redeemed lives.  She is not the center of attention but rather an onlooker; gazing upon our weekly celebrations of her son’s life and his place within the mystery of the triune God.  She is for me a firm foundation upon which to build a thoughtful and reflective faith.  She is not one who acts but one who thinks.  

Mary is the one who gives us permission to ponder the depths of our beliefs.  In some circles the encouragement of the faithful to think about what they are asked to believe is not permissible.  Many of the faithful, on their own accord, chose not to reflect too long or too hard about the holy mysteries, fearing that too much pondering will somehow lead to doubt and faithlessness.  Others still treasure their beliefs as if they were pieces of a museum exhibit, leaving them undisturbed and unchallenged even while the trials of life call out for deeper reflection.  I do not think Mary had such a luxury.  I believe that as her son was arrested and tried, tortured and crucified, she held up before her the words of the angels and wondered if those words still rang true.  It is one thing to be reassured not to fear, it is quite another not be afraid.  Perhaps she wondered, Where is the angelic host now? or even, Where is the Lord God now?  Mary paves the way for us to ask such difficult questions.  She invites us to think and to question and to test so that we might not bear our conclusions lightly but that they might be borne not out of ease but out of struggle, not out of the casual assurances of others but out of God’s own promises.  A thinking faith is a living faith.

For our purposes this day in Lent, the message of the angels that Mary ponders so deeply is especially instructive as we approach the events of the crucifixion. It is good for us to remember that we can’t get to the resurrection but by way of the manger.  It is good to remember that this story begins with a humble birth and an angelic host revealed to lowly shepherds.  In a time of great fear and anxiety the Lord proclaimed an end to fear.  It stands firm.  So that if you listen very closely, even at the cross you can hear the angels’ proclaim:  “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all people.”