Abstract
One Mother, One Child, One Birth
Two women with two unexpected pregnancies: two wombs with two babies related by blood and by divine appointment. The women are related, but of different generations, at differing ends of child-bearing possibility (1:7, 18, 27, 34, 36), and at differing stages of pregnancy (1:24, 26, 36). But each is with child prognosticated by an angel of the Lord (1:11ff., 26ff.). And so these two women, Elizabeth and Mary, are full of expectancy, not only for the birth of their child, but also for divine purposes being worked out in the lives of their ‘special’ sons who already have God’s Spirit upon them (1:15b, 35). These expectant, pregnant women meet—a meeting which, as Luke tells the story, also becomes the first meeting of these children: a pre-birth encounter of momentous import. Another momentous meeting of these two children, when they are full-grown men, is told when at the Jordan they enter the waters again, signaling re-birth, (as John’s Gospel would attempt to describe it (Jn 3:3–5)). But here, pre-birth, these divinely-touched children meet each other through the women that carry them inside them—bone of their bone, flesh of their flesh.
As the women greet each other, the leaping movement of one child in the womb (v. 41, 44) is interpreted by his mother as recognition of the greatness of the child in the other womb and, therefore, the blessedness of his mother (v. 42, 45; cf. v,48). In this moment, without husbands and fathers, mother-to-mother and child-to-child ‘speak’ to each other at a profound level. The response by the women to this meeting is one of praise to God: “My soul magnifies the Lord” (Magnificat: 1:46ff.). Most say it was Mary’s song, one or two Elizabeth’s, but way back it was Hannah’s song (I Sam 2:1–10). Magnificats are the songs of devout mothers knowing that they are blessed by God and somehow instruments of divine will despite their inadequacy and “lowliness” (1:7, 48), mothers of faith who recognize that they have been touched by God and been given a divine gift in their children, which is not only a blessing for them and their kin, but for all God’s people.
Two mothers, two children, and two births, but this story—and the one in Luke 2—makes it crystal clear where we should set our focus: on one mother, one child, and one birth. Although these two mothers are linked by blood and divine selection, one of them, elderly Elizabeth, points to the other, maiden Mary, and her child. Although these two children—named by angel (Lk 1:13, 60 and 1:31, 2:21)—are linked by both blood and divine purpose, and their lives intertwined (as Luke makes clear), the older one of them, called John, points to Jesus, the younger one, and prepares the way for him. As John’s Gospel puts it: “He must increase, but I must decrease” (3:30).
So, although Luke devotes most of his first chapter to John and his parents, Zechariah and Elizabeth (1:5–25, 36, 40–45 [46–56], 57–80), and the Church’s calendar recognizes the birth of John (1:57), whom we call the Baptist (24th June in the West, and 25th June in the East), Luke focuses on Mary and the birth of Jesus, “the son of the Most High” (1:32), whom we call the Christ. And it doesn’t need me to tell you that our commemoration of the birth of Jesus Christ far exceeds that of any birth, including that of John the Baptist. Although Luke doesn’t tell us precisely on which day he was born, we celebrate Christ-mas Day as Jesus’ official birthday. And, thanks to Luke’s Gospel, that stupendous God-given birth is surrounded by stories of Joseph and Mary, a long journey to Bethlehem, of swaddling clothes and a manger, of angels and shepherds. For us it is a holiday, a holy-day, a day of rest and recreation, feasting and joy. Even those who are not Christian have been drawn into its celebration such has been its power and significance. For the celebration of Christmas is much more than a birth-day celebration: Jesus Christ’s birth impacts time itself, so that history and the recording of time is seen now in a different way.
Before his birth was one period of time, ‘before He came (BCE)’. After his birth, thus becomes ‘after He came’—and, therefore, his time (CE). So, this birth-day is unlike our own birthday, which merely clocks our entry into the world and the start of our personal history. The birth of Christ into the world signals something much more momentous, and beyond our capacity to fully understand or appreciate. The God of life, the God of history has come amongst us in human flesh—the Eternal has entered history not to displace history or overwhelm it, but to live within and under its constraints and encumbrances. The divine Logos, the Word and Wisdom of God, is tabernacled among us: in the Fourth Gospel’s memorable words: “The Divine Word became flesh” (Jn 1:14).
This entering into Mary’s womb of the holy (Lk 1:35), this birthing of the divine-human into history is beyond words, beyond telling. All we can do is sing and praise. Is it no wonder, then, that Christmas has had more impact than any other event on art and music? Painters are drawn to the scene of the birth of the Christ-child—depicted in their different ways by Luke and Matthew and tradition—that we re-create in our church crib scenes or on cards we send to each other or in our Nativity Plays. Musicians and song writers are inspired to compose carols that evoke that moment, that wonder, that mystery wrapped in humble flesh and infant child: on that “silent night”, that “starry night”, that “midnight clear”, that “blessed morn”, “in the bleak midwinter”, “amid the winter’s snow”; the child “in a borrowed room”, “in a stable bare”, “cradled in a stall”, “lying on a bed of straw”, “away in a manger”, “all meanly wrapped in swaddling bands”…
Perhaps we do well—and better than we know—when we simply want to enjoy singing carols at this time of year: by candelight, around the piano in the pub, in the quietness of our hearts, at Midnight Mass. The best response to Christmas is, as Mary demonstrates, a song rather than a sermon, praise rather than explanation, rejoicing rather than speculation.
So, let us focus this Christmas on one mother, one child, and one birth, speaking profoundly to us of God, of life, of God among us in our troubled world. And let us sing: “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my saviour” (1:46–47).