Boy, did I get taken for a ride. Who knew, right?

You’ve seen the Christmas cards. You’ve heard the songs. Mary, meek and mild. Just a little bit of a thing—a girl really, out in the cold world, needing a big strong Joseph to protect her. Oh, I know there’s a lot more to it than that. But you know what I’m talking about, right? Our religious history—not to mention our culture—has a lot invested in this picture of Mary as a nice, compliant, Jewish girl.

And I intended to toe the company line this morning. You’ve got to believe me, I really only wanted to present the standard picture—you know, Mary-the-moist-eyed-ingénue, Mary-the-long-suffering-mother-to-the-precocious-but-often-preoccupied-Jesus, Mary-the-nice-girl-who-won-the-divine-baby-lottery.

My intentions were honorable. I just wanted to get through this whole Christmas thing without causing any trouble. I mean, we’re almost there. No point stirring the waters. You know how much I hate controversy.

How did I know what I was getting into? The lectionary said, Magnificat, and I breathed a sigh of relief—because, really, how hard could that be, right? I mean, Mary gets told she’s going to bear the child of God, sings a little song—and bang! We’re out in time to beat the Methodists to Applebees. It should have been so easy.

But then, I started reading it again for the eleventy-thousandth time, and I got to the end. It no longer feels like a safe, Hallmark Christmas movie script. And all I could say was “Dang-it!”

Because, if you really read this, it quickly becomes clear that the Magnificat isn’t just nice words they use in those dopey give-her-a-diamond-ring-for-Christmas commercials. This is revolutionary stuff.

In Luke Mary is Jesus’ first disciple—a disciple unlike any other disciple, one who’s prepared to follow even before Jesus has his first diaper change—so you’d expect that her words would be significant, that they would in some way frame for Luke’s gospel the path of discipleship for all who are to follow.

So, the obvious question is, “What does she say?”

After being told that she will bear God’s child for the world—just prior to our text for this morning—Mary answers the call to discipleship and shows the rest of the world how it’s done: “Here am I, the servant of the Lord: let it be with me according to your word” (1:38).

Now, it’s interesting to note that her first response isn’t, “What do I get out of it?” Instead, she immediately directs attention to what God ought rightfully to expect to get out of it—which is to say, Mary herself.

Then, after visiting her cousin, Elizabeth, to break the news about this pregnancy-thing, Mary breaks into the song we’ve learned to call the Magnificat.

Traditionally, the Magnificat is viewed as the charming and poetic response of a young peasant girl’s simple faith in God. This is supposed to be a nice song, isn’t it? But sing this one and see if doesn’t get stuck in your throat:

52“God has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; 53God has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”

See what I’m saying? The Magnificat isn’t an upbeat thought you post on your Facebook page during the holidays.

This isn’t material for a Successories poster.

No North Pole coziness here.

Man, this sounds more like it comes from the lovechild of Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren! In fact, some scholars think that Mary’s song is but an echo of the revolutionary chant of the Jewish zealots—that band of Jewish guerillas bent on overthrowing the Roman occupation by force.

Moreover, some scholars believe that this song positions Mary among that shadow group of Palestinian Jews, known as the anawim—which is Hebrew for the poor and oppressed (or as one writer puts it more colorfully, “the excrement of the earth”).

This is a song that speaks of reversal. Those in the front get a divine escort to the back of the line, and those in the back finally get to sit in the owner’s box. When the Messiah comes, those who’ve gotten used to warmth and comfort are going to be forced to do some serious prioritizing, just in order to get a baloney sandwich and stay out of the cold.