I have been thinking a lot about Mary. Maybe that’s a natural thing to do this time of year—as we watch Christmas movies or go to church services or put nativity sets out on the mantle. But I don’t think I gave much heed to Mary outside the last decade or so. Yes, Mary was always crucial to the Jesus story, and even though I grew up hearing Luke 2 read every Christmas morning, I saw her more of a supporting character than leading lady, a prelude rather than a person.
The Mary I crafted in my mind was much more like the ceramic figurine I unwrapped year after year from old newspaper—fragile, boring, unrelatable, if not a touch vacant. Had Mary attended my high school, I might have rolled my eyes at the stories I heard of her gentle willingness to go along with Gabriel’s plan. (“Are you kidding me?”)
But some combination of time and motherhood and grief softening my perspective has shifted the narrative for me, and these days, I find myself more and more compelled by the person of Mary. I wonder about all the miracles God was trying to reveal through this one woman, the indwelling of her womb, and the openness of her soul.
This year in particular, two miracles involving Mary stand out.
The first miracle is that through Mary God became one of us. He who is infinite put on the finitude of flesh. He willingly became contained to the limitations of being human so that we might know the limitless-ness of his love. He entered the world with the vulnerability of an infant and let himself be held long before his own arms could hold.
While there’s so much more to consider here (and I hope we do), that’s the story of Luke 2. That’s the miracle of which many of us are familiar. But if we rewind to Luke 1, we find that before Jesus even put a toe upon the earth, another miracle took place: the Divine came to us from within.
This is the miracle that has captured my attention.
Jesus did not appear as a fully grown man out of thin air but was folded secretly, quietly into the depths of a woman’s womb. Shrouded in mystery and defying biology, the greatness of God entered Mary (Luke 1:35). Before a word was on his lips, the Word dwelled from within.
And I keep thinking: If Jesus came to us enwombed in flesh, why would we not find him there still? Has he not inhabited us from the beginning?
In the Genesis narrative, we read of a God who created humankind out of dust and (unlike the bears or bushes or pointy-nosed birds) made us in his essence. He folded our flesh “in his image” so that every person could find him within their own personhood, nestled deep within the fabric of who we are (Gen. 1:27). He tucked glimpses of himself in every molecule, every atom, so that our human desire—that ancient longing—could be avenues that inviting us further in to himself.
Maybe through Mary, God was trying to remind us of the miracle that began it all: that Immanuel is closer than our own skin. As poet Malcom Guite writes,
“Although her role as Theotokos, the God-bearer, is in one way unique, in that she alone physically nurtures and brings into the world the body and person of Jesus Christ, in another way Mary is the archetype of every Christian soul, and of the whole Church.”
Yes, we so often we struggle to see. Like Mary, we become “deeply troubled” by life’s unexpected turns (Luke 1:29). The little prisms of God within us often get dull or forgotten or dragged through the mud. Maybe in those early days, Jesus’ presence was so small and undetectable that, like us, Mary wondered whether the Son of God was really even there at all. We are people prone to lostness, to try to be God rather than be with him. But he is here: Immanuel. God with us. God within us. And while we ourselves are not gods, we cannot be human without retaining the original essence—the Imago Dei—that God placed deeper than our blood and our bones.
Mary is our reminder. She points us back to our origins—the Love of God already enwombed within us—so that the very Love he tucked into our tender corners might continue to grow, to shape us, to expand us outward toward each other. In Mary, we remember that our humanity is not a hindrance but the very flesh in which God wants to dwell.
Thanks for this reflection. I recently wrote about some of these themes as well. Growing up praying the Rosary, Mary holds a special place in my journey of faith.
Just got an early Christmas present from my daughter the book “Be Still” enjoying the devotions already! To my surprise didn’t realize you lived in Ft. Wayne I preach in Garrett Indiana at Garrett First Church of Christ! If you only knew how much I have shared your devotion on touch the earth that is why my daughter surprised me with your book may God continue to bless your ministry!