My soul doth magnify the Lord … He hath shewed strength with his arm; he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. He hath put down the mighty from their seats, and exalted them of low degree. He hath filled the hungry with good things; and the rich he hath sent empty away. He hath holpen his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy; And he spake to our fathers, to Abraham, and to his seed for ever.
In 1521 Luther was writing an exposition of Mary’s Magnificat. He was extremely affected by the sharp contrasts that Mary put into her song. Luther’s fascination for the astounding contrasts is not very surprising, since his own day was also going through enormous shocks. He could perhaps read certain parallels from his own time into Mary’s song. In a time when everything seems suddenly uncertain, one is faced with the question of whether the great changes taking place auger a revolution against all that is worth while or a reformation of what has become evil, a revolt that in the end will curse the men who caused it or a reform that will bless the life of many. This was a question that faced Luther. Were the events in which Luther was leading the way simply a turning upside down of all values, only an “overthrow of values” as Nietzsche would later say? Luther must have asked the question, but history had to answer it.
Our concern here is not with the question of the Reformation, however, but with the “overthrow of values” that Mary sang about in her hymn. One could look at her Magnificat as a profound perspective on history. For history takes shockingly sudden turns so profound that history itself almost seems a perpetual “overthrow of values.” But, it is different with Mary’s vision. We have something entirely different in this passage than a revolution born of discontentment with the status quo.
The possibilities opened up by the thought are nonetheless alarming. It is no small thing when the proud are scattered, the mighty pulled down from their seats, the humble exalted, and the hungry fed while the rich are sent away empty (Luke 1:51–53). Mary sees these upsetting events as though they had already happened. The world had not yet heard the new glad tidings; the shepherds were quiet on the hills; Herod was still comfortable on his throne; the sceptor was still steady at Rome. The angels had not broken through the dark sky of advent eve with their anthem. Yet, Mary sings as though the world had already been turned upside down, as though the thunder had already ripped the sky above a quiet earth. Mary sees the power of God breaking through. She sees everything changed. She sees a new measuring stick in the hands of God taking its new measure of things long counted certain. What has seemed very normal in the world suddenly is seen as abnormal, what has seemed secure suddenly is seen shaking at its foundations.
The magnificat alludes to another hymn, sung long before by Hannah. This hymn sees the bows of the mighty men broken and those girded with strength stumbling. It sees those who were full hiring themselves out for bread and those who were hungry now filled. It sees the Lord in action. The Lord kills and makes alive. He brings men to the grave and raises men up again. He makes poor and makes rich. He brings low and raises high (1 Sam. 2:4–7). Again, everything is upset. Places are changed; the strong and the weak, the rich and the poor, the hungry and the filled—all exchange their positions.
But it is especially in Mary’s song that all these things draw very near. The relationships in life that have been looked on as stable do not really conform to the way God sees them and to what God shall do with them. When he really comes to earth in Jesus Christ, all these so-called stable relationships are undermined. There have even been attempts to use Mary’s hymn to justify revolution; but then it has been forgotten that Mary sees these revolutionary events as purely the work of God. And what God does is wholly oriented to the event that is happening around Mary at Advent time. God’s order of things is being brought to earth in the events of Christmas night, events to which the deeds of men can do only intentional or unintentional service.
This is why Advent preaching is such exciting opportunity. It is surely the proclamation of a great joy. But when the angels of the night choir sing of great joy, they have more in mind than a holiday’s gaiety. Angels do not exaggerate. They do not exaggerate when they sing of such enormous joy. But the proclamation is also an exposé. It exposes all sham, all cant, all pretense in which men customarily hide themselves. The divine Advent—Christ in his measureless humiliation—has revealing consequences for man’s life. One learns from the Advent proclamation to look through the masks of human life. For it carries with it a divine judgment, a judgment which results first of all in the scattering of the proud. God scatters the proud with the light of what happens at Advent. The proud cannot hide their real poverty in the light of this poverty. The poverty of Christ exposes their hidden poverty. There are only two alternatives allowed by the divine exposé of the Advent: the proud must either be filled or be scattered. Once the Light has shone, there is no other choice.
This is why the Gospel of the Advent is for all times. No one since Advent can go on as though nothing new had really happened. One can celebrate the event with festivity. There is a place for Christmas feasting. But through the celebration sounds a voice of urgent warning. It is a voice with overtones of crisis, a voice which somehow must have an answer. It is like an echo of Psalm 146, in which we read of an enormous blessing poured out on the oppressed, the hungry, the prisoners, the blind, the bowed down, the stranger, the orphans, and the widows. But there is an exception to the universal blessing: “the way of the wicked he turns upside down” (Ps. 146:9). Unequalled wealth is poured out on all kinds of unfortunate creatures. But with the shower of blessing, an alarm is sounded. It is an alarm that points to the proud who have no need of the blessing. It is an alarm that shows up the proud for whom the Gospel of the Advent has become an antiquated, though sentimental romance.
In spite of the upsetting nature of the event, it gets its force from the Father’s love. It goes back for its vitality to the great humiliation for which the proud have no feeling. God’s way of turning things around has no response from them. But he who humbles himself at the Advent message shall indeed be lifted up. He who bows humbly before the great poverty shall indeed be made rich. Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth.
