LUKE uses this passage as theological glue. It shows how the two conception stories (of John, then Jesus) speak to each other. John is the new Elijah, who will herald God’s Messiah. Jesus is that Messiah, who will affirm John’s unique position as a bridge between the old covenant and the new.
Mary, meanwhile, represents redeemed humanity. I say “redeemed” because her act of obedience to God (“Be it unto me”) is also her affirmation of belief in her virginal motherhood. That is a literal act of faith in Jesus: it “saves” her. Because she accepted him and his true nature, later generations of the faithful, the moment they do likewise, become her successors. The commentator Raymond Brown describes this as “a commissioning of Mary as the first Christian disciple”.
Now, the arrangement of the passage as a whole clicks into place, in exactly the same way as flat-pack furniture does not. Mary’s visit to her kinswoman is the first dispersal of the good news: a truly missional act. Through Mary, Elizabeth perceives God at work in human events: in this, whether we respond to the part played by Mary with reverence or suspicion, we are all Elizabeth’s successors.
If we want to interpret the visitation (as this episode is traditionally labelled), we must grapple with salvation-history in all its incomprehensible scope. How and why God chose this way of inaugurating his eternal Kingdom become pressing questions. Whatever we may think about the part played by Mary in the revelation of the Christ, we still need a word to describe what has been set in motion.
In earlier times, theologians would speak of God’s “economy”, or “dispensation”, of salvation. One word is of Greek origin, the other comes from Latin, but both encompass ideas of providence, history, and, above all, a plan. We are not to suppose that salvation unfolded in this way because the time “happened” to be right.
Perhaps the closest synonym for these two ideas is “design”. But that term has been harnessed to a different kind of theology (“intelligent design”). So — although it captures the conviction of God’s hand at work in human affairs, which was so fundamental to the birth of the new form of faith — it is probably best avoided.
From 17 December, the series of liturgical prayers known as the Advent “O” antiphons (most familiar from the hymn “O come, O come, Emmanuel”) have been fostering an increase in Christian expectation. They lay out the pattern of God’s dispensation, as it later came to be understood, through a series of titles for Christ: Wisdom, Lord, Root of Jesse, Key of David, Dayspring, King, Emmanuel. These prayers, so pure, so classic in their form (all consist of an address to God, a reminder of his nature, and a petition), were perhaps of Jewish origin and repurposed by Christians.
Many scholars think the same is true of the canticle Magnificat (Luke 1.46-55), and its companion text Benedictus (1.68-80). Whatever its origin, if Luke himself found the Magnificat and adapted it to explore Mary’s response to God’s “dispensation”, Mary’s song must be earlier than Luke’s Gospel. Comparisons are drawn with the song of Hannah in 1 Samuel 2. But the words of Habakkuk 3.18, “I will rejoice in the LORD; I will exult in the God of my salvation,” are even closer than Hannah’s to Mary’s Magnificat.
When readers of Luke focus more on explicit statements than implicit meanings in the Magnificat, social radicalism comes to the fore. This is consonant with Luke’s attitude to the poor elsewhere in his Gospel. But, when he calls people “poor”, it is more a religious than a political statement. Redistribution of wealth, in other words, cannot take the place of receiving the Kingdom.
As Advent makes way for Christmas, here is a gift: someone else’s insight. I turn again to Raymond Brown, from whose writings I have benefited much and often. He has studied the Gospel infancy narratives meticulously, helping my understanding time and again. Brown takes up the theme of God’s exaltation of the humble (verses 48, 52: both individual and group). He remarks that other New Testament texts explore that theme in terms of its Christological meaning (e.g. Philippians 2: answering the question “Who is Jesus?”). But here, he says, the exaltation of the lowly is soteriological (answering the question “What does Jesus do?”). A long word for an immense idea: Jesus comes to save us.