Mary, Did You Know?

The wording of the Gospel of Luke arrests me, Mary’s words: “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.”

Every Christmas season I get intrigued by all the fuss over the song written by Mark Lowry for a church Christmas play. “Did Mary know?” “Did Mary not know?” “Mary must have known.” “Mary could not have known.” And every possible combination thereof. Holly Scheer, a Lutheran who writes for The Federalist, has contended that the song is pure doctrinal error, labeling it “the most biblically illiterate Christmas tune.” She went on to explain that “the biblical account of Christ’s conception and birth shouldn’t need to ask if Mary knew because the Bible plainly tells us she did.”

I’m not so sure about that. Isn’t it possible to know and to not know at the same time? By that I mean simply that our walk of faith includes the things of which we are certain, but it also includes the parts of our experience that still contain some unknown … some mystery … some holy waiting on God to sort it out for us – if and when He ever decides that a sorting out is what we most need. This morning I learned that my friend Fernando died of ALS. Maybe you have more faith than I do, but I can’t get through today without putting at least a part of Fernando’s story in my “I don’t understand” file. I put it there in my imaginary file because, quite frankly, I don’t understand. I just don’t. Fernando leaves behind children, including a teenage son who still desperately needs a dad. I don’t understand the disease or the suffering. I don’t understand the timing. I don’t understand the sadness. I just don’t understand.

I think the song from 1991 is asking a rhetorical question, and a question worth asking. In that sense, it’s more a question for us than for Mary. Mary’s song of praise, also in Luke and often referred to as The Magnificat, makes it clear that Mary did understand quite a few critical things about this miraculous birth. I’m not denying that. But she has not yet seen any of Christ’s miracles (those that will validate His earthly ministry) … or heard Him preach like no one has ever preached before or since … or peered into His empty tomb!

For Mary, there had to be moments of wondering, and even of doubt. I would go as far as saying that some of this, for Mary, must have been downright terrifying at times. Think back to when she first received the news from Gabriel. Now an unmarried virgin has to explain this to Joseph? Now she has to deal with the very real punishment of death if nobody believes her? Now she has to live under a cloud of scandal and shame? It’s obvious that Mary knows that God is with her. And that’s wonderful. But that doesn’t mean that there weren’t moments of thinking, “A stable, really? This is not playing out exactly like I expected. God, why are You not yet intervening? Why is this still not making any sense to me?”

Mary is surrendered to the Lord’s will, and that in and of itself is nothing short of absolutely amazing. I mean to take nothing away from her. She is willing to lay down her own dreams in order to live out the higher plan of the Lord Most High. She is a great example of faith for us.

But it is faith. And what I mean to communicate today is that our walk of faith includes some deep and dark valleys. Times of uncertainty. Times of fear. Times of less-than-stellar confidence, even in the One who is worthy of all our praise. Friends, it is O.K. for us to be human, for that is what we are. It does us no good to pretend to be otherwise. There’s a little Thomas in each one of us. Some days we’re doubting. Other days we’re knocking it out of the park. From “I will never believe” to “My Lord and my God!”

Sometimes loving Jesus hurts. It just hurts. Sometimes loving others in His name hurts too. Sometimes walking by faith leaves us with a profound limp. It’s just that simple. I think C.S. Lewis may have said it best: “To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”

After Jesus had been born, and after all the glory of the angels in the night skies over Bethlehem, the Bible records that Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart. That can only be a good thing, in my humble and unsolicited opinion, because Mary will have to see her “baby boy” nailed to a cruel cross. There is no convincing me that Mary perfectly understood all of this from the moment that she learned that she was carrying the Son of God in her womb. It will be a journey. It will be a walk of faith. She will learn some things along the way, and – just like us – she will have to relearn a few things. Mary’s life will include seasons of unspeakable joy, and seasons of unspeakable heartache. She will cry both kinds of tears. To me, this is what it means to walk by faith with the living God.

Walking with you,

Pastor Charles