'I like this Miriam, an ordinary, believable young woman, part of a community focussed on the business of survival.' Photo: by Mariusz Matuszewski from Pixabay.
There’s something about Mary, says Marisa Johnson
‘Mary has been dis-incarnated, placed in a heaven that cannot be known in this life.’
For the current issue of the Friends Quarterly I wrote some reflections on Mary, the mother of Jesus. I explored my personal connection to her, and how her story has resonated strongly in my life. But here I want to focus on Mary herself, and what the mythology that surrounds her may be obscuring. What we know of her story comes from the writings of men who had an agenda, and who wanted to portray the story of Jesus in ways that proved the points they were making, namely that he was the Messiah foretold in Scripture.
Neither Mark nor John mention the story of Mary’s miraculous conception. In Matthew’s account it is Joseph, not Mary, who receives the angelic visitation and revelation of the divine nature of the child in Mary’s womb. Luke does put Mary at the centre of the story of the Annunciation, and gives her the wonderful speech known as the Magnificat. I wonder how Luke would have known of these events. Would Mary, who is always portrayed as shy and reflective, have spoken about them to her son’s followers?
I very much like an alternative version of the Annunciation, imagined by the poet and theologian Nicola Slee, who places Miriam, another version of Mary’s name, in the more likely context of a busy extended first-century family. The poem (from The Book of Mary) ends thus:
I was never alone anyway. / There was always somebody wanting something: / “Miriam, help me make the bread.” / “Miriam, clear that trestle.” / “Miriam, fetch more water.” / No angel wafted in on golden wings. / Gabriel barged in, banging his bag down on the table. / It was the only way he could get my attention above the din. / At least a dozen pairs of eyes turned to look where he stood, dishevelled and dusty, shouting, / “Miriam, there’s another job for you to do”.
I like this Miriam, an ordinary, believable young woman, part of a community focussed on the business of survival. I imagine her healthy, down-to-earth, unphased by the messy reality of birth – and death. Would she really have known that she was carrying God’s child? Is it more likely that an awareness of Jesus’ destiny unfolded slowly, as she accompanied him through his prophetic witness?
The iconography of the past 2,000 years has not been fair, or kind, to Mary/Miriam. It has created images of virginal aloofness, of unexpressed sorrow, that have put her above and beyond the reach of ordinary women. Like Jesus, Mary has been dis-incarnated, placed in a heaven that cannot be known in this life, where her only role is to pray and intercede for us. This could not be further from the triumph Mary claims in Luke’s gospel: ‘He has brought down rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the humble’ (Luke 1:52). Isn’t this the miracle in the story? Isn’t this ‘The Kingdom of God’ that people had been promised?
As this extraordinary year draws to a close I want to celebrate a lifeforce that is undaunted, a hope that the promise of heaven on earth will be fulfilled, through the overturning of ‘the powers’ and the lifting up of the down-trodden. Today Mary is on the march, with a placard saying ‘Black Lives Matter’. It is God’s word, incarnated in her.
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