Mary's Song

Mary’s Song

If you grew up anywhere near a traditional liturgical church, you might know, though I didn’t, that Advent has a nickname: Gaudete (gaw-deh-teh) Sunday. Gaudete is a Latin word that means "rejoice" and signifies a break from the repentant weeks of Advent, moving towards anticipating the coming of Christ with joy.  It is the perfect time, for Mary’s Song to show up and to hear even more about her story.

Not just Mary in the manger. Not just Mary in the stable.

But Mary in the middle of everything—caught between surprise and trust, between fear and hope, between the world as it is and the world God is bringing into being. She is the key.

We meet Mary first in Luke 1:26–38 when the angel Gabriel arrives with news she did not ask for and certainly did not expect:

“Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.”[b]29

But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. 30 The angel said to her,

“Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. 31 And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. 32 He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. 33 He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.”

Mary’s honest response—right to the point and what most of us would ask. “How can this be?”— I am a virgin. After the angel explains to her how the Holy Spirit will conceive her child, Mary responds. “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”

She didn’t even argue with Gabriel, but said, “let it be.” She said this, knowing how this would isolate her from her community, family, and perhaps her betrothed, Joseph.

Mary allowed God in one moment, to radically change her life. She trusted God to be there for her. She did not whine about what God asked of her. She did not say I’d rather not be a pariah in my town. She did not stop listening to Gabriel, saying, “I have to rush off to see my fiancé now.” She did not cry that her wedding was ruined. Mary’s faith was profound. This likely 13-year-old girl, quickly grasps the meaning and the moment. Afraid. Doubtful. Hopeful. And Willing. Willing to surrender to the call of God.

Mary isn’t perfect or fearless. She’s just open enough to let God begin something in her life. Martin Luther always insisted that faith begins with honesty, with recognizing our limits, with admitting we don’t have what it takes on our own. [1]And I know this for a fact; without Jesus there were circumstances in my life that I could have never gotten through.

By the time we get to her song in Luke 1:46–55, Mary is staying with Elizabeth. Nothing about her situation has gotten easier. She is still young, still poor, still unsure how this news will be received. But being welcomed by Elizabeth—being believed—opens something in her. It gives her space to breathe. And joy begins to rise.

Joy doesn’t mean Mary’s questions vanish. It means God’s promise becomes louder than her fear. Most of us have been there. Afraid of the future. Doubtful whether we can cope or survive. Yet at the core is the hope that joy will come. We discover an inner strength of optimism and anticipation. Blended with courage and faith, we are able to get through it.

We sometimes imagine Mary’s song as a quiet lullaby. But it’s much more than that. Mary sees what God is doing and says: “The world is about to turn.”

“He has brought down the powerful…and lifted up the lowly.”

“He has filled the hungry with good things.”

Mary’s joy is tied to justice. Her hope is tied to God’s deep love for those the world forgets. Her praise is tied to the conviction that God has not given up on this world—not then, not now.

So, as we come to the end of this sermon and I want you to ponder the Advent candle of joy we lit today. I want you to notice something important:

We didn’t light this candle because everything is joyful.

We lit it because Mary teaches us that joy can begin even when life is uncertain.

Her joy didn’t depend on perfect circumstances.

It was the kind of joy that flickers into being—like a small flame in a dim room—

a joy that grows because God is faithful, not because life is easy.

This candle reminds us that joy starts in small places and spreads.

that God chooses ordinary people to begin extraordinary things.

It reminds us that the world God promises—a world where the lowly are lifted and the hungry are filled—with our help, is already breaking in.

May this candle also remind us that:

Joy is possible, it is courageous, and it’s coming.

Not because we create it, but because Christ brings it.

[1] A Treatise on Good Works is a book by Martin Luther, first published in 1520.