Was Mary the mother of Jesus humble, obedient, meek, and mild? Or perhaps a little sassy? I wonder?
I mean I don’t mean sassy in a disrespectful or dishonouring way – well perhaps not, anyway. Rather as someone with a little more spunk to her. Honestly, the Scriptures don’t really reveal her personality to us, but the picture given is that she was obedient, probably sourced from the verse “I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered. “May your word to me be fulfilled” (Luke 1:38). I’m pretty sure I would proclaim my servanthood and humble obedience if I received a terrifying appearance by an angel.
The theology of my upbringing has been complimentarian, meaning women are complimentary to men, Eve having been born after Adam to be his helper. I left behind this teaching years ago, but I wonder if Mary has been called servant, obedient, and humble because it fits into a complimentarian theology and for so so many generations, a complimentarian world. In this scenario she makes a perfect picture of how a Christian woman should apparently be.
Sure, she had to have a strong character with what she was asked to do – be the mother of God the Son, and all that came with that, but was she chosen because she was obedient, or chosen because she had some of what it would take to stand up to and handle all that was to come about? That all takes a little sass, I reckon. Perhaps it was neither of these. Perhaps she was chosen because God simply delighted in her. Or chosen just because. I don’t think there is a divine spinning wheel where God puts his finger out and wherever the wheel stops, this is the choice he goes with, but God sure does have interesting choices throughout history of who he gets to do stuff for him. And its often not who we would choose that’s for sure. They don’t have the qualifications or personalities that we would choose for the job at hand.
After talking backwards and forwards with a girl friend about our Mary views, and stories of her that we have written, I decided to have a go at writing a story about Mary that portrays her as one who had a little more, well, colour and boldness to her. You know, the free-spirited, stand up straight, flick your hair back, hands on hips, pouting lips kinda sass.
Got a minute? Read on …
Mary found herself for the hundredth time sitting on the craggy rocks watching the sheep. She’d been sent here again “to reflect, to think on your actions, to consider the consequences of your behaviour“ her father had scolded, gently scolded. She tried her best, she really did. He’d send her here away from the neighbours and the gossip – those who often wagged their finger at her with a “tisk tisk”, and who would give her mother the same old advice on how to raise this free-willed, they called her, girl-child.
She’d find her favourite rock and do her best to think, but as usual it was only minutes before she was lying face down, in the grass watching a grasshopper jump from blade to blade, or face up, arms extended watching the clouds float by. Nature was her joy and her escape. Nature had all the answers to her questions if only she could find them. Why was one flower blue, and the other yellow? What made them that way? What made the green toad a toad, and what made some turtles have hard shells, but the Pancake turtle’s soft?
But, the questions always came back to this – Why was she so different from the other girls? When they wore their hair up, she wanted hers down. When they had theirs down, she wanted hers braided up. To be honest she wished she could wear her hair short, shorter than it was at least. She’d never seen a girl with short hair and wondered why. Hers was such a bother, and each night as she and her sister took turns at combing each other’s hair, she grimaced more than her sister ever did as the comb pulled through the mattered knots. She loved to wander through the hills with her hair uncovered, allowing the breeze to whip through it, but that along with the dusty paths and the sweaty morning chores created the daily painful session of removing all the tangles, only to do it all again the next day.
She mused how that alongside the girls her age, she learned the skills of cooking and sewing for future husbands and households, but as she did, her attention often wandered off where she would be dreaming of fishing with her brother Jacob. She had done so on occasion, but not nearly enough if she had her way. There were so many fish, like the Catfish with its funny whiskers (a fish they were not allowed to eat, it having no fins or scales), or the Tilapia with its beautiful shimmering green underbelly, that was caught sometimes in large quantities depending on the season. This was her favourite to eat. To be honest, she spent most of her few fishing excursions dangling lazily over the boat’s edge with the tips of her hair getting wet, gazing into the water watching for fish to swim by, and feeling the silky cool water flow through her fingers. She longed to study the Torah like Joseph did, her betrothed, her husband to be, a kind and handsome boy just a little older than Jacob. Her ideal, her dream of all dreams, was to sit among the philosophers of the day in the city only a half a day’s walk, and ponder the meaning of life, study the plants and animals and planets and weather patterns and … oh … there was so so much to know. So many questions that filled her brain that she longed answers for.
Just yesterday, she recalled her conversation with Sheb, over Gaidaros (meaning ‘donkey’), but who since she were a toddler had called ‘Daros, and it had stuck. ‘Daros had refused to walk along the winding path to the creek. Old man, Sheb, a family friend who helped tend the animals in return for food and lodging, had told her that donkeys were known to be stubborn, but he believed they just looked out for their own safety with a fierce self-preservation – pointing out that last week when they had walked him down the same path to the creek, a grass snake had startled ‘Daros, and it would now take lots of encouragement to reassure him the passage was safe. Other donkey owners would beat theirs into submission, with very little result. You could often hear across the valley subtle curses and exasperation as a herd-boy tried to ‘move’ their donkey. But she watched Sheb, who was much more gentle and coaxed ‘Daros, talking softly to him all the way, caressing that favourite spot behind his ear. Mary observed these and their other animal’s behaviour and devoured this knowledge as if she were famished for it. She’d kicked off her sandals and walked barefoot down the dusty path alongside Sheb, and ‘Daros – just to feel what he would be feeling with his bare ‘feet’.
Each day after her chores were complete, Mary would spend long hours in the small field behind their home. She’d watch the wheat grow from seed to ready-to-harvest. Last season she had memorized the stages of its growth and this year she had chalked rough pictures of them and watched proudly as each stage came, comparing her drawings to the actual wheat before her. She’d sit with the baby goats and allow them to nibble at her fingers, and to her mother’s horror, the hem of her dress. She’d look down at her dress and see again the stains and the tears, and knew that these would be the first thing her mother would observe with a cluck of her tongue and a shake of her head when she came in for the evening meal. She’d often asked to wear the shorter tunics like her brothers, rather than the long flowing tunics that the women wore. “It would be much more sensible and I wouldn’t be always tearing the hem” she would say, to the chagrin of her mother.
Night was extra pleasing to Mary. From the lean-to attached to their home, she would stare for hours at the sky, wondering, wondering what was up there, how the stars shone, why sometimes she saw them shoot through the nighttime sky. She would marvel at how many there were, and think about what their purpose might be, her thoughts only broken by her father telling her it was bedtime. Occasionally, she was permitted to sleep outside on her mat with Zef, the family dog to keep her company. Those were the most glorious of nights. She’d create patterns in the stars, and fall asleep with the soft sound of Zef breathing and the warmth of his body next to hers. The rhythm of their breathing slowly syncing would lure her to sleep. She felt within and knew on these nights that YHWH saw her and YHWH loved her. Somehow she felt like his favour was on her. That he loved her questioning and curiosity and desires. That he was okay about her often-cavalier spirit. And so on the nights like this she too felt okay about herself, the way she was different from others. These nights made her feel close to YHWH, and she imagined herself his friend.
But today seated on the rock, again, her thoughts returned to the unanswered, often-asked questions. When the doubt and fears filled her, becoming loud and unable to be pushed down. When she wished she were a little less inquisitive and a little more home-attentive. Mary had listened to the whispers of her parents at night through the thin walls and knew their concerns over her different-to-the-others personality. It wasn’t that they didn’t love her or like her, she knew they did. It was the talk of others in the neighbourhood, and it was the cultural expectations of who she should be, not who she was, that bothered them. Why couldn’t she just fit in? She thought of the questions that she’d ask of her mother and her father despairingly – Why did YHWH allow her to be different from the other girls – and boys for that matter? Why was she not content to be just a girl like other girls? And, why, why could she not attend the school her eldest brother did, who when he returned home, she would sit for hours at his feet, plaguing him with question after question about what he had learned – science, was what he had called her favourite topic of all.
Mostly, she loved being a girl, really, and she wanted to have her own home, her own babies and a good husband. But life just seemed to have more questions than it did answers. It carried more mystery and adventure than her often-suffocating small world within her family and in her village, and what was all expected of her. She wanted to explore her surroundings and go beyond them to see what was out there – wherever there was! It grated her that life seemed more fun and free for the boys, choosing their life, their professions, their jobs and careers, but where ‘life’ was chosen for her. Joseph, even, was chosen for her. He would be her husband in a year’s time. They were betrothed already. He’d asked to marry her and her parents had agreed. Huh! She always mused when she thought on his choice of her. She had wild and questioning thoughts about Joseph. When she saw him, she felt a little giddy and shy. Why did seeing him do that to her? She tried to behave and keep her questions to herself when he visited, but saw the smile cross his face when she found herself trying to take back a statement said or a question asked that she wished she’d not put voice to. Then she’d do that thing that she always did. She knew it were like what Sheb said ‘Daros did – it was self-preservation, keeping her thoughts and herself safe – she’d put on a bold, almost defiant look, shrug her shoulders, shake her head to flick her hair away from her face, cross her hands in her lap, and well, try and sit pretty. Joseph, would always just look at her in a way that resembled pride and admiration. She loved his reaction, but it also made her stomach feel like it was full of butterflies.
Mary thought about today’s Sabbath – her latest rebuking and the reason she was again sitting on the rocks. Scolded again by the Rabbi, because unintentionally her questions were blurted out louder than she intended as she listened to the readings at Synagogue. This was the place of worship and learning the Holy Scriptures that her family, along with all the village people, attended. She always had so many questions, what would the Saviour be like? When would he come? Why did a lamb have to be killed for Passover? Why this … and how come that … and so on. Her father was proud of her curiosity, but in keeping with the rules of synagogue behaviour, he often had to shush her and today was no different. Today, she knew after it had been blurted out, in uncontrollable and incurable curiosity that she’d gone beyond simple questioning and had embarrassed her family when she forgot to use her synagogue voice and instead said rather loudly, “Father, instead of offering an innocent lamb or a young dove for our sins this year, why couldn’t we take Rache the rooster – he’s always bullying the chickens and seems such a nuisance…?” She saw the smile cross her father’s face before it was quickly replaced with a sternness, and a chastising look up from the scroll by Rabbi Jerome. The women behind had wriggled in their seats, the men had a-hemmed, and those her age had giggled, but were quickly quieted. Tobias had teased her following Synagogue, mimicking and adding to her words in a high pitched voice that sounded nothing like hers, and with a teasing tone, “this year … why don’t we take Joseph the rooster, he’s such a nuisance …” Mary had been so put out that she’d responded by commenting on the patchiness of his newly forming beard and he had run off so that the others couldn’t see his embarrassment. She’d seen Rabbi Jerome pull her mother and father to the side and talk in hushed tones to them, and other parents pull their sons and daughters away – tuttering about her unacceptable behaviour, and the dirty smudge she’d missed on her nose, and the way she brashly lifted her chin – as if they worried her behaviour might infect theirs.
“13 years old and she still not sitting in silence like the other girls her age have learned to do” she’d been told he had said, “and while this might be more tolerable if she were a young child, it is insolent behaviour for a young woman, and one to be married soon. Joseph is a fine and godly young man, but he would have every right to change his mind …” Her parents had reassured Rabbi Jerome that they would “talk” with Mary and make sure she understood the seriousness of her verbal outburst, and what was expected of her at Synagogue. Mary, knowing that her parents were receiving a rebuke on her behalf, had caught the Rabbi’s gaze, flicked her hair, lifted her chin, swung around, and walked home. She knew that this bordered on disrespect but she also didn’t know why Synagogue had to be so … well, stuffy, and why she was always quieted for her questioning. It was a place of learning after all. How could she learn if she couldn’t ask her questions?
Intentionally, she chose not to bypass the village houses like she did after other such occasions, knowing that she would be the talk of the town, again, rather, she walked straight down the pathway running between the houses like she’d done nothing at all. She didn’t care – well, not much, and not today anyway, the sun was too glorious and the trees too welcoming to fret about it – what was wrong with asking questions? She had so many; she had to let some of them out. She did feel a little uneasy with her outburst today though. But, only for poor Rache. He was a nuisance yes, constantly pecking at the hens, and bossing every other animal in the yard. But he did have the most beautiful feather coat, she mused. As she reached the end of the town and the short distance through the animal yard to their home, she hitched up her tunic-dress, tucked it around her waist so that her ankles caught the breeze, removed her shoes to feel the dust between her toes, threw back her head covering, tied her hair up high, looked up to the clouds above and smiled to YHWH (she hoped it was ok to do so) saying, “if they cant accept me like I am, then so be it!” Oh! Was that an affirming smile that she felt back?
Mary knew her mother and father would be pulling her aside to give her the “talk”, which in past cases was generally followed by a smile, a squeeze of her shoulders, and an acknowledgment of their pride, albeit worry, for her. She would take it all calmly, and welcome the time alone to sit, and to question. And so here she was …
Leaving the rock after several hours of reflecting, thinking on her actions, and considering the consequences of her behaviour, and many mind excursions towards the clouds, the wild flowers swaying the breeze, the insects gathering food – and biting her ankles – Mary wandered home to help her mother with the evening meal. She’d gotten so good at kneading the bread, her mother had expressed her pride and her father had whistled at its fluffy texture and freshness. Her brothers and sisters would just all hoe in hungrily, looking occasionally up at Mary to express their approval, fighting amongst themselves to grab the last piece. “You’re going to make a fine wife and mother” her father complimented. Joseph was present for the meal. She felt a warm sense of pride rise in her. Mary had combed her hair but left strands of it escaping from her head covering because he’d told her he loved her hair. She had worn her best tunic-dress and washed her own feet before washing his as he entered their home. They stole looks and shy smiles during the meal, and afterwards she was freed from the dishes to walk a short distance with Joseph. They shared together conversations about nature and science, and both removed their shoes to walk barefoot. They sat for a while and watched the wheat sway in the evening breeze. Mary could feel the closeness of Joseph and sense the tingle on her skin as their hands occasionally and accidentally touched as they talked animatedly and expressly. They sometimes argued about what they saw and observed in nature, but it was always friendly and it seemed like only minutes until they were called in before the sun set and the day darkened.
She said goodbye to Joseph and headed for bed. Mary could hear the final conversation between her mother and father and Joseph before he left their home for his. She could tell his ‘youthful maturity’ encouraged them, “Don’t be worried about Mary and her curiosity for life. It is one of the qualities that I admire in her. Her lack of concern for what others think of her makes me smile. Perhaps one day, it will do her well. I assure you that I am anticipating a long and happy marriage and future together with Mary.” Mary didn’t blush at this, she just felt filled-up and grateful to YHWH that her husband-to-be loved her the way she had been made, with all her questions, and her spiritedness. And what others thought of as brash and haughty made him smile. She would do her best to make him happy, as he made her.
———-
Mary lay thinking for a long time that night.
———-
She couldn’t be sure if she had fallen asleep or was wide-awake when she was startled by the bright light that shone through the crack in the wall. She glanced around and saw her family all sleeping quietly. What was this light? It was brighter than any star she’d gazed on, brighter than the sun, it seemed. She sat up abruptly, and pulled away from the light. She was both fearful of it and drawn into it. Within the light she saw a man, but more than a man, bigger in size than any man she had ever seen, in dazzling white clothing, fearsome, yet kind-looking. It was an all-consuming light. He had an urgency about him, but seeing her immediate fear, he slowed his voice, bent down so that he was at her level, and if tender gentleness combined with frightening awesomeness were possible, he spoke to her. Mary heard him say,
“Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you.”
Greatly troubled, Mary’s head spun with questions – who is this? What is this? What kind of greeting is this? Am I seeing things? Is this real? Is this a dream? This light – what could it be? What could it mean? Why can only I see it?
“The angel …
Mary, brung her blanket up almost over her head but so she could still see, sheltered her eyes both with fright, and from the brightness of his presence
… said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary”
He knew her name! She wasn’t sure if the surprise of this or the fear of his being, frightened her more, but in his comforting words she felt peace. YHWH was not to be feared, he was there, somewhere in this, she just knew it.
… you have found favour with God. You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over Jacob’s descendants forever; his kingdom will never end.”
Mary reeled with questions. More questions, and no answers. A million questions filling her head and her thoughts about the angel, about his words, about where he had come from, about God, about his favour, about the long awaited kingdom often talked about at Temple, about a son to be called Jesus.
A son …? Of all the things swirling in her head the most pressing was what came blurting out,
“How will this be,” Mary asked the angel, “since I am a virgin?”
She knew she sounded a little doubtful and brash. She was betrothed to Joseph but had not been with him. She couldn’t even bring herself to thinking what being with him meant. Her mother had simply said, “you’ll see”.
Right now, there were many things to ask. So much she didn’t understand. So overcome by what and how and when and why,
The angel answered, “The Holy Spirit will come on 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.”
Her head swirled … the Son of God … the … Son … of … God …
But still in that moment, at that pronouncement, all her questions were strangely silenced, her mind was still, she was filled with awe, and love, she felt such love, what kind of love was this? She bowed low to the angel, and she in an uncharacteristic and surprisingly calm and accepting voice heard herself say,
“I am the Lord’s servant, May your word to me be fulfilled.”
It was a humble and mild response and it delighted herself to hear it.
Then once again all was quiet, all was still. The angel left her. The calmness in her mind seemed to be felt within and without – all around her. Sitting again in the stillness of the night, the light having faded now, it’d only been moments since the angel’s visit had passed, she felt … how could she describe it? At first it was like a shadow, yes, but more of a covering, a warm blanket that felt like love, of a perfect kind embrace her and then “like a million tiny stars burst all at once inside of her”* Strangely, calmly, fearlessly, she knew. It had happened. Something had happened. The Son of God, the Son of God was within her, nestled and at home within her womb. A protectiveness, a motherliness, a possessive sheltering came over her. One that she instinctively knew she would have to fiercely hold onto.
———-
It consumed her thoughts for the days and weeks following, but she knew she had to tell. She’d started to notice changes. This could not be kept hidden.
The calmness continued which seemed a blessing to all but it was so uncharacteristic, that her father and her mother, her brothers and her sisters were looking sideways at her, often probing, and unsure of this new mood they were witnessing in her.
The questions and the walks alone, the sitting on her favourite rock, the bare feet and the torn hems continued. But now it was questions about him … she would recall often the words the angel spoke to her, about this baby growing within, Jesus, he was to be called, about how to tell her family, about how others would see her, talk about her, cluck their tongues and wag their fingers (well, that at least wouldn’t be something new). It took a stammering amount of courage, but with that self-preservation spirit she possessed, she put on a bold, almost defiant look, shrugged her shoulders, shook her head to flick her hair away from her face, lifted her chin, and walked into the kitchen where all were waiting to eat the evening meal. Joseph was there, dear Joseph.
She pronounced, just as the angel had,
“Mum, Dad, Joseph, everyone … I’m pregnant. I’m having a baby …”
———-
The look she first saw, first noticed, that first bothered her, that first caused her to emotionally recoil and temporarily lose her mental footing, was Joseph’s. His jaw dropped … his face reddened … moments like hours passed, then he quietly rose, looking like he was trying to find words, then gave up and left without speaking … her courage collapsed momentarily. In a moment of time, right then, right there, she thought a million thoughts and had a million questions race through her mind, but equally as if no time passed at all she recalled Sheb and ‘Daros, “he believed they just looked out for their own safety with fierce self-preservation” and she heard again Joseph’s words regarding her, “her lack of concern for what others think of her, makes me smile. Perhaps one day, it will do her well”, and in quiet defiance she put up her shield, but not brashly this time – for now she had the Son of God within, and with Him came a strength and peace that she had not felt before. She steadied herself, turned, and she too walked out the door, through the gate, found her favourite craggy rock out in the hills overlooking the sheep grazing, and the wheat swaying, sat down and looked up at the stars beginning to appear in the night sky. She knew her father and mother – both distraught and with many questions – would be along shortly. She needed to give herself space to prepare. She knew what this scenario looked like. What the immediate future would involve. Could almost hear the whispers begin in the town. The Saviour of the World was to be born, through her, a virgin, and she would need all the courage and self-preservation she could muster to walk this new journey within and without. If ‘Daros could walk down the path even though he knew snakes to be there, she could walk this journey with possible threats and discomforts along the way. She considered how similar his walk to the creek each day, would be like her life each day now. Mary thought again of the angel, she thought of God’s favour on her, the miracle within, and steadied herself again for the millionth time since that night. Perhaps it would be something she would do over and over and over again throughout the months and then the years ahead – steady herself, brace herself for what was to come.
But Joseph … ? Oh Joseph … !
The worry kept forming inside when she thought of him, but each time she’d feel the shadow, the covering, a blanket that felt like love of a perfect kind embrace her. Mary knew she may not hear from him for awhile. He too had much to think about and many questions to ask. She wondered, worried about him. She had a million questions and a million things she wanted to share with Joseph, just as they had shared about everything else since their betrothal, but inside this Spirit-shadow that continued with her each day, she knew she would have to wait for a miracle of another kind, a special miracle for Joseph, and this knowing calmed her fear and worry for him. She turned her head slightly to hear the footfall behind her and saw her mother and father, faces downcast, walk toward her. And again, like before, she braced herself. Funny she thought, I doubt this time there will be a smile, a squeeze of her shoulders, or an acknowledgment of their pride for her. She would have to be patient. She would have to let the angel’s message and YHWH’s presence assure them as it had her. She imagined a million little miracles coming together into their lives as they walked, all walked, this pregnancy and this birth of her son who would be born, not just to her, but to her family, to Joseph – somehow, and to the world.
*my girl friend’s description of what it might be like for the Spirit of God to have come upon Mary