First, in Luke 1, we begin by reading “between the lines”. To paraphrase an old rabbinical saying:
“People marry for four reasons: for passion, for wealth, for honor, or for the glory of God. If they marry for passion, their children will be given over to their own passions, and will grow up stubborn and rebellious. If they marry for wealth, their children will learn to be greedy. If they marry for honor, their children will one day become proud, ambitious, and ruthless. But if they marry for the glory of God, then their children will be righteous, and they will preserve Israel.”
Our story begins in Nazareth, a little town of no special consequence in the hills of Galilee. It was a village like many others, with simple people going forth to labor in their shops or work in their fields. The men would pause to discuss the weather, or perhaps the news of the latest Roman outrage. Women drew water from the well at the town square, stopping a while to chat with their friends, to learn perhaps who was ill or who had had a baby. Children played in the dusty streets, sometimes ignoring their mothers’ calls and the approaching darkness.
When the Sabbath came, all activity ceased, and families dressed in their best clothes and gathered at the old stone synagogue. There the grandfatherly rabbi read, with carefully measured phrasing, from the Holy Scriptures, and offered his simple exhortation for the week. He was not an eloquent speaker. Nor was he a subtle expounder of legal details, like the teachers from Jerusalem who passed through occasionally on their way to some place more important. But he was well respected, even loved, for his honesty and kindness. He was faithful and diligent in teaching the boys of Nazareth, preparing them to assume their positions as men in the congregation of Israel.
A special announcement
This particular Sabbath he had a special announcement, a little something extra to enliven the proceedings. It was not a total surprise to his listeners, but then, in a village like Nazareth, very few things were secret: ‘Joseph, son of Jacob the carpenter, having brought a satisfactory dowry, desires the hand of Mary, daughter of Heli, both being of the house of David. May God bless their union.’
The following week was a time of joyful celebration. It was a time for older folks to relive their youth, and for the very young to dream of the future. The old songs of love and marriage were sung again. That most romantic of the scrolls, “The Song of Songs, which is Solomon’s”, would be remembered and read, and listeners would thrill to the rich exotic poetry of love, sensual yet spiritual, truly a mystery. The loving eyes of family and friends would see Joseph in the young shepherd, and Mary in the beautiful Shullamite: “How beautiful you are, my darling! Oh, how beautiful!… Your lips are like a scarlet ribbon [part of the “scarlet thread” of our story]; your mouth is lovely… there is no flaw in you… You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride; you have stolen my heart with one glance of your eyes, with one jewel of your necklace. How delightful is your love, my sister, my bride! How much more pleasing is your love than wine, and the fragrance of your perfume than any spice!” (Song 4:1,3,7,9,10).
“No flaw in you”
In those days, and for those people, marriage was a sacred covenant, and a token of God’s love for Israel His bride. It was an enacted parable teaching the necessity of purity in the bride, of faithful devotion to one Master alone: “There is no flaw in you… a garden locked up, my sister, my bride; you are a spring enclosed, a sealed fountain” (Song 4:7,12).
Betrothal was a quite formal and binding engagement. It was a legal contract sealed, before witnesses, by a dowry or purchase price. It was, in fact, a marriage under law; the young woman was now a bride and a wife, although a “suitable interval” (as much as a year) must elapse before the marriage could be consummated. However, if her betrothed were to die during this period she would be, under law, a widow with guaranteed property rights. And if she were unfaithful, the law would have no mercy. Single women who sinned might have their shame mitigated with payments or dowries and hasty marriages; but she would be an adulteress, and the sentence could be death by stoning.
There were yet months and months until the marriage could be finalized, but Mary could close her eyes and see it all: the procession as the bridegroom comes to the house of the bride, to carry her away to his own home; the virgins or “bride’s maids” with their lamps to light the way. Then would come the joyous marriage feast, the special wedding garments, the wine of joy. It would all come true for her and her beloved. God had indeed richly blessed them.
Before consummation of the marriage, there must come the months of waiting, preparation, and anticipation. In the meantime, ever present as a reminder, was the memory of that pledge of purity already taken: to have and to hold, to forsake all others, to cleave only to her husband, to be “a garden locked up, a fountain sealed” (Song 4:12).
Much of our lives can be a waiting, an anticipation of something better, something different. How often has it happened that “fate” or “chance” has intervened, and that which we hoped for, which we had reason to expect (a new job, an award, a marriage proposal, a “windfall” profit), was snatched away, and we received instead something else altogether different? This is what happened to Mary.
An unexpected visitor
Luke 1:26-28: No greater honor had ever been bestowed upon a woman than was Mary’s lot, but it was an honor that carried an awesome responsibility. It would mean the shattering of other cherished dreams and desires. Her life would never be as simple and pleasant as she had had reason to expect a short while before.
When she saw the angel, Mary began to “wonder” or “consider” (v 29, RSV) in her mind what sort of greeting this was. It was of course a trifle disconcerting, even frightening, to be visited by an angel in the midst of an ordinary day. Mary’s fear was overridden by her curiosity and quiet reflection.
No matter what happened to Mary, she paused to consider, to ponder, to reflect. She is one of the great “spectators” in the Bible. We thank God for Mary and her example. When she stops to consider, then we are compelled to do the same. When she stands still to see the salvation of the Lord, we too halt in our headlong rush through overcrowded lives, and pause for a moment with her. We catch a little of the infinite wonder in the calm, clear eyes of this young woman, an attitude molded by careful Bible study and frequent prayer. Like her, we learn to treasure in our hearts the sayings we hear (Luke 2:51). Like her, we “ponder” them (2:19) in the stillness of the night so that, when the storms of life beat upon us, like her we will be strong in faith.
Vv 30,31: “The angel said to her, ‘Do not be afraid, Mary; you have found favor with God. You will be with child and give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus.’ ” To find favor implies a request answered, and we could conclude that this young, pure Jewish woman may have been praying, though never really expecting a favorable answer: ‘May I be the mother of the Messiah.’ This would be in keeping with one traditional Jewish view of Isaiah 7:14: that a virgin would marry and then conceive (by natural means) a son who would become the Messiah, but not literally the Son of God. Since Mary and Joseph both belonged to the house of David, perhaps such thoughts had come to her.
Up to this point the Holy Spirit had not been mentioned. Mary might reasonably have concluded that this special child would also be the son of Joseph.
Even as she pondered these words, Gabriel continued: “He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High.” The Son of God! Even great king David was never so called. Would her son be somehow greater than even David? Perhaps the thought staggered Mary so that she scarcely heard the rest of the great promise: “The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David.” Son of David, of course (2Sa 7:12-14,16; Psa 89:29,36), and heir to his fallen throne, he was also the “Son of the Most High”. What can this mean?
“How will this be?” Could this great thing happen to Mary even without her “knowing” Joseph (v 34)? Now Gabriel speaks plainly: “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God… For nothing is impossible with God” (vv 35,37).
The language of Gabriel calls to mind the words of Genesis describing the creation itself. The Spirit of God “overshadowed”, or moved upon, the face of the waters to bring forth life, as a mother hen brooding over her eggs and then her chicks. It is a picture of vast creative power, coupled with the sweetest tenderness and love. It is a picture of a God who sustains all things by His omnipotence, who acts as and when He chooses, and no man can understand, much less question, His prerogative. It is also a picture of a God who is a Father, who pities His children, who lavishes mercies unnumbered upon those who can never hope to repay Him. “Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed on us.”
This view of the Messiah’s conception, which we as Christians take for granted today, was by no means as certain to the faithful Jews of Mary’s day. But the message she received would also give additional weight to Isaiah 9:6,7, the companion passage to Isaiah 7:14. Now, in light of Gabriel’s announcement, it might be read: “To us a child is born; to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called… ‘Wonderful in counsel is the Mighty God, who is the everlasting Father of the Prince of Peace.’ Of the increase of his government and peace there will be no end.” (Evidently, this passage has been read this way by some learned rabbis: see Tidings, June 2008, pp. 241-242.)
V 38: “The maidservant of the Lord”: Mary responded to this great message without hesitation. She revealed an extraordinary grasp of the Scriptures for such a young girl: “I am the Lord’s servant… May it be to me as you have said” (v 38). Mary knew the passages in the psalms in which the Messiah is called the son of God’s maidservant (Psa 86:16; 116:16). Immediately, she made the connection, and gave her consent to become the mother of God’s Son, a consent that was essential to His purpose.
A veil is now modestly drawn over the scene. Of the actual conception Luke tells us nothing, and we must conclude that such knowledge is too sacred for mortals. How was this miracle accomplished? In the language of modern science, what was the “genetic code” begotten of such a union? Prudence, and some sense of the Divine majesty, counsel us to explore no further along these lines than Scripture expressly warrants. Perhaps Psalm 139 gives us an insight into this greatest of all mysteries. God manifest in the flesh. David (and, prophetically, Jesus) says:
“For you created my inmost being;
You knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
Your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me were written in your book
Before one of them came to be.
How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!
How vast is the sum of them!” (vv 13-17)
Blessed among women?
The veil is lifted, and we see Mary again, but in some sense a new person now, touched by the Almighty, never to regain the naiveté and innocence of her youth. Her faith had been great, but now she could feel the great change that had come upon her, a change that could not be hidden for long even if she wanted to hide it. What doubts must have come upon her! How would she explain her condition? Whom should she tell, if anyone? Who would believe her? Would even her beloved Joseph believe? And those words of the marriage song, once so fitting: would they now mock her? “No flaw in you… a garden locked up… a fountain sealed…”
The calling of the Lord is seldom an unmixed pleasure. Mary was uniquely “blessed” among women, but blessings are not always enjoyable. Sometimes they can be downright unpleasant.
“Oh, to do some great work for God!” Haven’t we all said that? However, the great works described in the Bible often included imprisonment, slavery, torture, or (as with Mary) scandal and gossip (like Tamar and Rahab), which she was destined to experience to a degree which we can scarcely appreciate, living as we do in such libertine times (where sin is scarcely ever noticed or mentioned). Do we really want to be blessed by God, like the first Joseph was “blessed” in a foreign prison, or like Jeremiah was “blessed” in a foul pit, or like Mary was “blessed” to be shunned as an “unwed mother”, or an “adulteress” (like Bathsheba)?
We can be such silly, shortsighted people. We want the cheers, but not the tears. We love the spotlight, but not the shadows. We want to wear the crown without carrying the cross. We want to sit with Christ on the mountain while the crowds listen worshipfully, but we do not want to venture into the dark garden where men weep and wrestle with the serpent of self, its tempting whispers filling their own minds.
All these things have a place in God’s plan. It is written that we must go through many hardships to enter the Kingdom of God (Acts 14:22). Even this might not be so difficult if we could choose the time and place of our trials, but that, too, is in the hand of God. Each believer must be prepared for a Gethsemane of God’s own choosing, suited to him or her alone.
Can we trust in the One who caused the great pain and still believe that He can bring blessing out of suffering?
Whenever and wherever the trial comes, there can be only one response, the one we have just heard from Mary’s lips: “May it be to me as you have said.” “Thy will be done.”
Her life was lived for the glory of God, and her children were righteous. Her eldest son learned much from his mother. In the hour of his trial, his prayer was an echo of hers: “Yet not what I will, but what you will.”
Mary married, and lived, for the glory of God. As the old rabbis said, her son was righteous. Her son preserved Israel.
*****
Luke 1:39-45: Mary went to Elizabeth, receiving confirmation of the angel’s words.
Vv 46-55: “My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant. From now on all generations will call me blessed, for the Mighty One has done great things for me — holy is his name. His mercy extends to those who fear him, from generation to generation. He has performed mighty deeds with his arm; he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts. He has brought down rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the humble. He has filled the hungry with good things but has sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, remembering to be merciful to Abraham and his descendants forever, even as he said to our fathers.”
Mary’s song of rejoicing and thanksgiving contains allusions to about 25 Old Testament passages. Here was a young woman (probably only 14 or 15) who nevertheless had extensive knowledge of Scripture. She was no ordinary young woman, yet in some ways she was ordinary.
There is the exhortation. She did not know she was someone special until that day Gabriel brought his message, and like Ruth she set off on a long journey. For Mary it was a journey to Judah and back, to Bethlehem and Egypt, to Nazareth yet again, and finally over 30 years later to a hill outside Jerusalem, where her heart would break. But until that fateful day of the angel’s revelation, Mary’s life had only been one of waiting.
Her waiting had consisted of reading, meditation, service, worship, and prayer. She had laid herself at the throne of God. She had waited. And then, as the Almighty cast about for an instrument to fulfill His purpose, a “vessel” fit for His hand, she was there. She was ready, as best she could make herself, and she was willing to be used. An ordinary girl? Yes, but at the same time a very extraordinary girl. Are we ordinary, or are we special?
There were no “kings” in Nazareth, no generals, no great scholars, just ordinary people like you and me. God chose them, as He chooses us, investing the ordinary with great holiness, so that no flesh should boast in His presence. He chooses people, but not because they are special. Rather, He chooses people whom He can make special.
The angel spoke to Mary, but he also speaks to us: “You have found favor with God” (Luke 1:30). Almost before we asked, even though we do not deserve it, we have found favor with God. Not even a sparrow falls to the ground unnoticed by God, and we, His children, we are worth many sparrows (Matt 10:29,31).
It is not difficult to believe that God exists, but sometimes it is difficult to believe that He takes personal notice of “little people”. Nevertheless, He takes time off from balancing the stars of heaven and directing the courses of nations to care for every one of us poor, weak, common creatures. He guides and protects them, and at last He rights all wrongs. The story of Mary should be a gentle reminder that no one is too small or insignificant for God’s notice, if he or she has faith.
*****
Luke tells Mary’s story more than Joseph’s, but Matthew tells Joseph’s story more than Mary’s. The two together give us a complete picture.
Matthew 1:18: “She was found to be with child.” It sounds as though Mary did not reveal the past events to any but Elizabeth and Zechariah until her condition was known. Her silence was the result (we may suppose) of equal parts modesty and faith; modesty in speaking of such an intimate matter, and faith that God would reveal His purpose when He chose, and to whom He chose.
It must be pointed out that the last phrase of Matthew 1:18 (“through the Holy Spirit”) does not describe what was known immediately, either by Mary’s parents or by Joseph. This is certain because of what follows in the narrative. The addition of this last phrase is Matthew’s explanation, by which the link is made to the foregoing genealogy (especially with v 16) and to the succeeding prophecy (v 23).
What should Joseph do now? Joseph is a “righteous man” (v 19). What does a “righteous” man do when confronted with the “obvious” sin of another? Does he “righteously” rebuke, and punish the sinner? “To the full extent of the law!” How often we hear that cry of righteous zeal, or its equivalent, today! A wise man once remarked: “Every man wants justice for others, and mercy for himself.”
Sometimes God tests our reactions. Are we too quick to pass judgment? Are we eager to stand up for our rights? Are we as eager to cover another’s sin? We have all known the brother (maybe we see him in the mirror every morning) who is quick to judge, who relishes the role of ‘the righteous arm of the Lord’ in dispensing His judgment, but who is aghast at the suggestion that he can dispense God’s mercy. ‘God can forgive, but we do not have that prerogative.’ ‘We must make this sinner a public example, so others will be discouraged from doing likewise.’ ‘God may have mercy on her, but that is for Him to say, not me.’
Joseph was not that sort of man; he was “righteous”, with all the qualities of strength, decency, and mercy (but none of the harshness and arrogance) that the word may imply.
This description seems an intended contrast with two of Joseph’s ancestors who are listed in the genealogy of Matthew 1:
- Judah was all for putting to death his daughter-in-law Tamar for “playing the harlot”. His “righteous” zeal was interrupted only by her proof that he had been her consort; that he, in fact, was guilty and she was innocent. He was only lying with a harlot, while she, on the other hand, was fulfilling the Mosaic law of succession and inheritance as best she could (Gen 38:24-26).
- David, a man after God’s own heart, was anything but “righteous” in the matter of Bathsheba and Uriah, compounding adultery with murder. But, later, when told of the theft of a little ewe lamb in Nathan’s masterful allegory, he burned with zealous fury: “As surely as the LORD lives, the man who did this deserves to die!” (2Sa 12:5), he cried. How flimsy his “righteousness” really was, he soon found out to his surprise. “Thou art the man!”
If the lessons of the genealogy are pursued a bit further, Joseph was in fact much more like two other of his ancestors:
- Salmon “covered” the past sins of Rahab the harlot by marrying her.
- Boaz married Ruth the Moabitess even though she had been rejected by the nearest kinsman.
V 19b: Joseph “did not want to expose her to public disgrace… he had in mind to divorce her quietly.” Casting about for a solution, Joseph, on his own, decided on the easiest and most merciful approach: he would “divorce” Mary quietly, allowing her to go away and, as he imagined (in his ignorance) at this point, marry the father of the child.
The parallels between this incident and that of John 8:1-11 are obvious: a woman discovered in adultery, an “open-and-shut” case, hasty condemnation on the part of some, but tender mercy from the only one in a real position to judge. Joseph would not “throw the first stone”, and neither would Jesus.
It is not too far-fetched, indeed, to suppose that the whole matter of the woman taken in adultery may have been contrived by the Lord’s enemies to discredit him. It is almost certain that, as Jesus grew in popularity, his enemies made secret investigations into his early life and heard rumors about the peculiar circumstances of his conception.
Suppose that, when confronted with the question as to the woman’s fate, Jesus had said, ‘Yes, let her be stoned.’ The retort would have immediately come, ‘Then what should be done with your mother?’ For Mary was a betrothed woman at the time of Jesus’ conception.
Other such base insinuations in the chapter may be seen in the same light: “Where is your father?” (John 8:19); and “We are not illegitimate children [as some are]” (v 41).
There was no bond of fleshly descent between Joseph and Jesus. Nevertheless, the actions of both in similar circumstances surely suggest that Joseph was a wise choice to act as the human “father” of Jesus, and that something of his character made an impression upon the little Son of God in his earliest years.
V 20: After he had considered this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit.”
Both Mary and Joseph were asked by God to accept the disgrace and shame of a couple who have “sinned”. Joseph was told to name the child (v 21), an act that would be interpreted by all as an admission of paternity. (This would also be taken as an implicit admission that he had lied in previously asserting his innocence, as has been suggested above.)
In the eyes of the people, then, either Joseph was a weak man who could not control his passions, or, worse yet, a fool tricked into raising another man’s son. (Because of Mary’s three-month sojourn in Judah, the tongue-waggers could make a strong argument for the latter view.) Such matters would not be soon forgotten in a small close-knit country village.
God could have made it easier. He could have smoothed the way, but He did not. Mary must now gather her belongings and go quietly to the house of Joseph. She would go with relief, certainly, that her beloved no longer doubted her, and that he was one with her in understanding the marvelous revelation of God. But she would go also under the disdainful eyes of her friends and relatives, and perhaps the sorrow of her parents, which she could do nothing to alleviate. For Mary and Joseph there would be no happy wedding, no bridesmaids, no feasts, no laughing children, no gifts and good wishes. The cloud of suspicion was made worse because there could be neither repentance nor explanation, only passive endurance: “But how is it to your credit if you receive a beating for doing wrong and endure it? But if you suffer for doing good and you endure it, this is commendable before God. To this you were called” (1Pe 2:20,21).
God saw to it that His own Son was provided with sterling examples of such traits in his childhood. Jesus was “called” to follow the pattern of meek suffering in well doing that Mary and Joseph set for him. The grace under pressure that they showed during an extended trial was the object of his keen discernment. He could not fail, as he grew up, to hear the whispers and the innuendoes; but from his parents, never a complaint. These lessons were taken to heart, and given the perfect reinterpretation in his own life.
In remarkable ways, even before Jesus was born, his Heavenly Father was plowing the “soil”, and planting the seed that produced trials and the consequent character development of Mary and Joseph. By these, His only-begotten Son would be instructed and prepared for the work he had to do. It is never enough to tell someone: “Resist not evil; turn the other cheek; give kindness for hurt; do not complain but trust in God for all things…” It is far better, not just to tell, but also to show them. The words and sentiments are lovely, but we need (as Jesus himself needed) real-life examples to follow: God gave them, and Jesus found them, in those who gave him life, sustained that life, and raised and taught him.
The “Lamb of God”, set apart to take away the sin of the world, was prepared in his mother’s nursery, and in the workshop of his “father” Joseph, and in the bosom of a small, poor family, who talked of God’s wonderful promises, praying together around the table and the fireplace.
Joseph and Mary grasped the “scarlet cord” of hope, the same “cord” that their ancestors had grasped. Generation to generation was bound together by the wonderful stories of redemption, in their own family of Judah, and by the stories of faith and commitment and sacrifice that filled the Old Testament. Thus Yahweh made His own Son strong for the work he must do.
“He will be called ‘Yahshua’, for he will save his people from their sins” (Matt 1:21).
The Origin of the Organic World – Part One