Of rebellion and redemption

Today’s gospel (Luke 1: 46-56) needs no introduction to a COLW audience. It is for many of us a daily prayer. For all those who want to turn towards God, it is a kind of anthem, a celebration of God’s gracious gaze upon His servants, of His providential power, and of His enduring faithfulness to Abraham and his descendants forever.

But there is something else in the Magnificat which is also tangible: the reality of revolt and the reality of fidelity, the contrast between rebellion and redemption. In this light, two outstanding temptations beset us every day: the temptation to make peace with our sins, and the temptation to think God won’t mind them because He is a loving God. But they are lures in a world full of mortal danger.

The only human being who has ever been truly justified in being at peace with their choices is the Blessed Mother. Conceived without the stain of sin and constantly attuned to God’s will, Mary’s joy is to exult in God at every moment of her life, even in her greatest trials. The Magnificat tells us this. If we do not exult in the same way as Mary, it is because despite our resolutions and efforts, we are still children of rebellion.

Let us not think that the proud of heart who are routed by God in Mary's words are some other class of sinner to which we do not belong, thank heavens. We are the proud of heart when we refuse God’s rule over our choices. We set ourselves up as princes to be pulled down from our thrones when we prefer our way to God’s.

No human felt more justly proud than Peter when Jesus classed him as the rock of his Church (Matthew 16: 18-19), but within a few verses we see Jesus denounce Peter as Satan (Matthew 16: 22-23) because he judged the prospect of Jesus’ suffering from a human and not a divine perspective. Here Peter enters into rebellion simply by imposing his worldly judgement on the circumstances of the Passion that Jesus prophesied for the disciples. Would that Peter had a tenth of the Virgin’s wisdom to understand how sin had misled humanity and how far the plan of salvation would have to go – to the very roots of our souls! – to bring us back from the brink.

And here the second temptation becomes germane. If God does not really mind our revolt, why on earth does He tear the mighty from their thrones? Why on earth does He feed the starving with good things and send the rich away empty? Again, we must not see this purely as some kind of social commentary. Who are the rich if not those who are full of themselves, their own sufficiency, their own satisfactions and their own plans? Who are the rich if not ourselves when we make our own choices into the treasure we long for? Yet we do not know what is good for us. If God cares about sin, it is not because He is a rigid rule giver; it is because He knows that we can never be happy ultimately unless, as St Augustine says, our hearts rest in Him. But for that, we must come down from our pinnacles of pride and turn to penance.

If God were not to cast the mighty from their thrones, if He were not to mind that we choose ourselves over Him, He would be giving up on being God. Mary’s Magnificat not only tells us about her own vocation. It tells us about the kind of God who loves us so much, that He is willing to conquer every obstacle we place in His way, in all our rebellion against Him, if we will but let go of our tinsel crowns and seats of power and join our ‘yes’ to Mary’s ‘yes’. 

The Magnificat is a resounding 'yes' to God's reconciliation and 'no' to the revolt that sets us against Him. We cannot say 'yes' to God without in some way saying 'no' to ourselves. There is no Magnificat that does not somehow involve the Cross which leads the way to the uplands of God's peace.