12/22/19 “The Gospel of Modern Day Mary” by Nancy Petty
Scripture: Matthew 1:18-25
Throughout history men have told the story of Jesus’ birth. Matthew and Luke tell us how the story took place with Matthew focusing on the angel’s visit to Joseph and Luke gospel narrative emphasizes the journey of the refugee parents fleeing their homeland and their encounter with some shepherds and angels. Mark, in his gospel, doesn’t cover the birth narrative at all. And John, going back to the beginning of creation, tells us the meaning of the birth. Written history has, for the most part, silenced Mary’s voice in the telling o her son’s birth. Outside of that beautiful song Mary sang when she rejoiced with her friend and confident, Elizabeth, it seems no one really bothered with telling the story from Mary’s perspective.
One can only imagine how Mary might have told the story if given the opportunity. Maybe she would have talked about what it was like to have been a very young pregnant, unmarried woman in a culture where she was already devalued. Had she had her chance to speak, it is possible she would have shared with us what it was like to live in both the fear of being pregnant and unmarried and the excitement of knowing that she was birthing new life—that she was going to be a mom. Maybe she would have given voice to the anxieties and worries of being a first-time parent—would she know what to do with a baby, who would teach her about nursing her child, what happens in childbirth, and what if something went wrong in delivery. Perhaps in her gospel we would have heard a conversation between her and the midwife about what to do when her water broke and the breathing methods that might help her as she pushed in between contractions. Instead of chronicling the questions and reservations of the father-to-be, maybe Mary’s gospel would have recorded her food cravings, what she felt the first time her baby move in her womb, what morning sickness was like, and the secret dreams and hopes she held in her heart for her child’s future.
Can you imagine Christian theology today if in our sacred scriptures there had been included the Gospel of Mary—her thoughts, her experiences, her understanding of her son’s birth and life and death in her own words? Can you imagine how we would be talking about atonement in the church today had Mary had a chance to speak of her son’s death? Had Mary been given the chance to tell her story would we be speaking of a virgin birth or would the focus be on how unplanned love can change the world? Can you even begin to imagine the shape of our Christian doctrines today if Mary and all the other Marys and Marthas and unnamed women would have had a place at the writing table to record their understanding of the life and teachings of the son they give birth to, nurtured as a child, and followed as an adult? Honestly, I actually can imagine, had they been given a chance at writing their gospels, that our sacred scripture would focus less on sin and a salvation that is necessary to save us from the fires of hell and the abominations of loving your same gender and more on what it is like to love with abandon, to show more mercy, to share power, to make peace, and to include all at God’s table. I imagine, had the women had a chance to tell the story from their perspective, we would know more about the burden and privilege of power rather than the abuse of power; we would know more about pains and quiet sacrifices of laboring for love than the prestige of privilege and the insatiable desire for power; we would understand on a deeper level the true meaning of submission and less about the need for authority and always winning.
This year, as I have contemplated the story of Jesus’ birth that I inherited from my faith tradition I have wondered how my theology and faith might be different had I learned it from both men of faith and women of faith, specifically from the perspective of the woman who carried my “Christ” in her womb; and from those early women disciples who had the courage to birth hope, peace, joy and love in the world at the risk of their lives. I have tried to image a theology shaped from the perspective of the “other,” the “silenced,” and the “devalued” one instead of a theology shaped by those who held the power, who made all the decisions, and who were the ultimate meaning makers. Let me be clear, the missing voice I’m contemplating, of compassion and of love is not one of a specific gender, but one of the suffering that comes with being outside the power of privilege; the suffering of the ones who are not wielding the power, the pen, the prosperity.
And so, as an act of resistance and as an act of faith it has been my practice this Advent to listen to the gospel of the modern day Marys. I have tried to listen to the gospel of the pregnant young woman who walked hundreds of miles with her toddler in tow to reach a border that she hoped to cross because she longed for the safety and well-being of both her living child and her unborn child. I’ve tried to not shut my ears to her cries, close my eyes to her tears or close my heart to her heartbreak as she was shoved into one detention center while her toddler was caged in another. I have tried to not turn a deaf ear or hardened heart to the pregnant teenager whose boyfriend was arrested on a possession of marijuana charge and sentenced to 3 years in prison, who has no health insurance and no chance at receiving proper prenatal care. I have tried to not shut my eyes this Advent to the gospel of Maria who is struggling with mental health issues and sleeping on concrete slab that I pass by every day, who has left her two kids in the care of her grandmother who just had her food stamps taken from her. I have asked myself, what would Mary’s gospel say to the mothers sitting in detention centers here in America separated from their children filled with fear that they may never see their child again? What would she say to the unmarried pregnant teenager whose family has disowned her and she, herself, is unsure who the father of her child is? What would Mary’s gospel say to the modern day Marys about who God is and how God chooses God’s favored ones to birth love into this world? What would Mary’s gospel say about our responsibility to birth love into the world? What risks would she tell us to take? What fear would she ask us to set aside? What courageous action would she encourage us to take—for love? For God’s love to be born in our world?
What I have not acknowledged thus far is that there is actually a manuscript called The Gospel of Mary. Most scholars agree that the original gospel was written in Greek sometime during the 2nd century. However, Hollis Professor of Divinity Karen King at Harvard Divinity School suggests that it was written during the time of Christ. King, who has studied the manuscript extensively, writes of its content:
The Gospel of Mary is “an intriguing glimpse into a kind of Christianity lost for almost fifteen hundred years…[it] presents a radical interpretation of Jesus’ teachings as a path to inner spiritual knowledge; it rejects His suffering and death as the path to eternal life; it exposes the erroneous view that Mary of Magdala was a prostitute for what it is—a piece of theological fiction; it presents the most straightforward and convincing argument in any early Christian writing for the legitimacy of women’s leadership; it offers a sharp critique of illegitimate power and a utopian vision of spiritual perfection; it challenges our rather romantic views about the harmony and unanimity of the first Christians; and it asks us to rethink the basis for church authority.
(King, Karen L, The Gospel of Mary of Magdala: Jesus and the first woman apostle, p. 3.)
No wonder Mary’s gospel is not included in our canon!
I like to imagine that if we had more manuscripts from the women in Jesus’ life we might read things like: For God so loved the world, period. Or “Jesus died so that poor people might be saved from laboring at a job that doesn’t pay a living wage.” not to save us from some personal sin that we inherited from birth. I like to imagine there would be a verse that said something like: “Unplanned love—love that looks different from what the world calls love—can change the world if you are willing to trust God.” And I like to think that the very next verse would say, “Love will cost you dearly. And it will break your heart. But in the end, it [love] will save the world.”
In my imagination, Mary’s birth narrative begins this way: Now this is the way the birth of my son took place. Love grew inside of me. It doesn’t really matter how that love got inside of me. It just did, and I said yes to it. And when the time came, I birthed that love into the world. And it wasn’t easy. Birthing comes with pain and struggle. People didn’t want me to birth it. They kept telling me there wasn’t room for it in the world. But I didn’t believe them. And so I found a place, an unusual place, a place on the edge of town, and God and I birthed love into the world. Joseph was there with us and as I bore love, he bore witness. That love that God and I birthed into the world, well, I knew that it would change the world and that it would keep changing the world. For you see, only love can turn greed into generosity, resentment into forgiveness, fear into freedom, callousness into compassion, and death into life. The story of my son’s birth is all about love and how ultimately love is the only thing that can save us, and the world. So love. Love God with all you heart, mind, soul and strength. Love your neighbor as yourself. In so doing, you, too, will find the true meaning of Emmanuel, God with us.”
This season asks us to love with abandon. May we live this season not just one day of the year but 365 days of the year! And in so doing, may we find the love we long to know.
