St. John’s Lutheran Church
18 August 2024 + Mary, Mother of Our Lord
Luke 1:46-55
Rev. Josh Evans
Maybe you saw it –
the Opening Ceremonies –
as the 2024 Summer Olympics kicked off in Paris,
just a few short weeks ago.
Maybe you marveled
at the spectacle and the grandeur of it all.
Maybe you saw the almost immediate backlash
from the likes of billionaire businessman Elon Musk,
Kansas City Chiefs kicker Harrison Butker,
and Speaker of the US House Of Representatives Mike Johnson
(three names I never imagined being together in the same sentence)
who took to social media to denounce the apparent “mockery”
of the Lord’s Supper.
The “controversy” centered on one of the Opening Ceremonies’ final moments:
a group of maybe a couple dozen people,
including drag queens and others in costume,
assembled on one side of a fashion runway –
resembling what critics claimed was a caricature of Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper.
“Extremely disrespectful to Christians,” Musk tweeted
(as though Musk has any authority to speak on behalf of Christianity)
with Speaker Johnson chiming in to play the proverbial “war on faith” card.
Their criticism – as with any artistic commentary –
might have been valid … except …
the scene wasn’t meant to depict the Last Supper at all –
but rather another painting entirely, with its roots in Greek mythology.
And yet, I have to wonder,
so what if it were the Last Supper?
Writing in a recent article for the Christian Century,
theologian Brandon Ambrosino suggests:
Those who got so triggered and upset by the scene at the Opening Ceremonies
ought to take another look at their New Testaments –
because this is exactly the kind of image that we might have expected
at the actual Last Supper –
and all those other suppers Jesus hosted and joined in on before.
Throughout the gospels,
Jesus is constantly dining with people from all different walks of life –
from self-important religious leaders
to marginalized “tax collectors and sinners.”
Right up until the very end:
sharing the Last Supper with his disciples –
including the one who would soon betray him,
and the one who would deny ever knowing him.
“In other words,” Ambrosino writes,
“when we think of the Last Supper, we should remember that Jesus likes eating with people who we would probably look down on.”
The gospel writers are clear:
This is exactly the kind of
topsy-turvy,
upside-down,
subversive
kingdom of God that Jesus is building.
The reign of God of which his mother sings:
God has brought down the powerful from their thrones
and lifted up the lowly;
he has filled the hungry with good things
and sent the rich away empty.
Could the world be about to turn?
***
Mary – a central figure in Christian devotion,
going back to the earliest days of the church –
a given for those who grow up in the Roman Catholic
or Eastern Orthodox traditions today –
but, perhaps, a stumbling block for Protestants.
Mary, Mother of Our Lord? That’s “too Catholic.”
What’s a Lutheran to do with Mary?
Well, you could start by reading Martin Luther,
who himself wrote of Mary as
“the most blessed Mother of God,
the most blessed Virgin Mary,
the Mother of Christ”
and “the Queen of Heaven.”
In his essay on the Magnificat –
Mary’s song in our gospel text today,
and the canticle sung at evening prayer –
Luther marvels at Mary’s faith
and lifts up her unique place as the God-bearer.
Above all, Luther emphasizes
how God’s grace “regarded” Mary’s low estate
and “looked with favor” on her lowliness.
As Luther writes:
“When [Mary] experienced what great things God was working in her despite her insignificance, lowliness, poverty, and inferiority, the Holy Spirit taught her this deep insight and wisdom, that God is the kind of Lord who does nothing but exalt those of low degree and put down the mighty from their thrones, in short, break what is whole and make whole what is broken.”
(LW 21.299)
It is for this reason
that all generations will call Mary “blessed” –
not for anything she has done,
but for God’s grace shown to her –
someone for whom society holds little regard.
At the center of her song,
Mary describes the works of God:
She sings of a God
who shows mercy to those who fear God,
who scatters the proud,
who brings down the powerful,
who lifts up the lowly,
who fills the hungry with good things,
who sends away empty those who amass and hoard their wealth.
Mary sings of a God who flips the world on its head –
defying the status quo and subverting our expectations
of how the world-as-it-is operates.
Mary’s song subverts our expectations
and shows us God’s mighty power to save –
and to bring about the world-as-it-can-be.
Mary’s song shows us a God
who stands with the marginalized and the oppressed,
and who stands up to the powerful and self-important.
Mary’s song inspires us
to sing and pray for God’s justice,
to speak out – to act – and to vote –
on behalf of the voiceless and the powerless.
No wonder contemporary artist and iconographer Kelly Latimore
is drawn to Mary in the midst of a global refugee crisis.
In his newest icon, on our bulletin cover this morning,
Latimore depicts Mary by one of her ancient titles, “Star of the Sea” –
guiding refugees and seafarers safely on their journeys.
Mary, like the God of whom she sings,
is the “protector of the oppressed” –
not up in the clouds,
but down with the lowly.
Mary’s song is the prelude
to the Messiah growing strong in her womb,
who himself comes to bring good news to the poor,
to proclaim release to the captives,
to let the oppressed go free.
Mary’s song calls us back,
again and again,
to her Son’s table –
a table that might look something like the one at the center of an Olympic “controversy,”
a table that gets us riled up specifically because of who gets to be there,
a table filled with everyone we least expect – or desire – to sit next to,
a table at which Jesus sets a place for all.
With Blessed Mary, Mother of Our Lord,
with the church on earth,
and with all the company of heaven,
we are beckoned around this table,
summoned to sing a new world into being –
a world that’s about to turn.