Daily Verse Luke 1:46-47
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The verses above are the beginning of a hymn of praise by Mary
Mary’s Hymn of Praise to God Luke 1:46-56
46 And Mary said,
“My soul exalts the Lord,
47 and my spirit has rejoiced greatly in God my Savior,
48 because he has looked upon the humble state of his female slave,
for behold, from now on all generations will consider me blessed,
49 because the Mighty One has done great things for me,
and holy is his name.
50 And his mercy is for generation after generation
to those who fear him.
51 He has done a mighty deed with his arm;
he has dispersed the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
52 He has brought down rulers from their thrones,
and has exalted the lowly.
53 He has filled those who are hungry with good things,
and those who are rich he has sent away empty-handed.
54 He has helped Israel his servant,
remembering his mercy,
55 just as he spoke to our fathers,
to Abraham and to his descendants ⌊forever⌋.”
56 And Mary stayed with her about three months, and returned to her home.
W. Hall Harris III et al., eds., The Lexham English Bible (Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2012), Lk 1:46–56.
Mary’s Hymn of Praise to God Luke 1:46-56
46 And Mary said,
“My soul exalts the Lord,
47 and my spirit has rejoiced greatly in God my Savior,
48 because he has looked upon the humble state of his female slave,
for behold, from now on all generations will consider me blessed,
49 because the Mighty One has done great things for me,
and holy is his name.
50 And his mercy is for generation after generation
to those who fear him.
51 He has done a mighty deed with his arm;
he has dispersed the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
52 He has brought down rulers from their thrones,
and has exalted the lowly.
53 He has filled those who are hungry with good things,
and those who are rich he has sent away empty-handed.
54 He has helped Israel his servant,
remembering his mercy,
55 just as he spoke to our fathers,
to Abraham and to his descendants ⌊forever⌋.”
56 And Mary stayed with her about three months, and returned to her home.
W. Hall Harris III et al., eds., The Lexham English Bible (Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2012), Lk 1:46–56.
1:45 blessed is she who believed In contrast to Zechariah, Mary believed Gabriel’s words (compare v. 20).
1:46 My soul exalts the Lord Mary’s introduction reflects Hannah’s in 1 Sam 2:1.
John D. Barry et al., Faithlife Study Bible (Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2012, 2016), Lk 1:45–46.
| 1:46–56 Known as the Magnificat, Mary’s song marks the first of four hymns in Luke’s birth narratives. It is styled after Hannah’s song of praise in 1 Sam 2:1–10. |
John D. Barry et al., Faithlife Study Bible (Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2012, 2016), Lk 1:45–46.
Mary’s song
The traditional name for Mary’s hymn of praise in Luke 1:46–55 is the Magnificat, a translation of Luke 1:46 in Jerome’s Latin text, which begins: Magnificat anima mea Dominum (“my soul magnifies the Lord”). Perhaps the best known and loved of the four lyrical psalms in the Lukan infancy narrative (see also the Benedictus, Lk 1:68–79; the Gloria in Excelsis, Lk 2:14; the Nunc Dimittis, Lk 2:29–32; see Birth of Jesus), Mary’s Song has for centuries been incorporated into the liturgies, hymnody and art of many Christian traditions.
Some early textual traditions and patristic writers proposed that the hymn was originally attributed to Elizabeth, but the consensus of authoritative textual traditions, witnesses of the church and critical scholarship favors the traditional view in attributing the hymn to Mary. Attempts to identify the life setting of the Song have yielded proposals of an early Greek-speaking Jewish Christian community, and a Jewish-Christian circle of the poor ones, or ʿānāwîm (a remnant of Israel’s economically poor who lived in pious dependence on God*; see Rich and Poor). Certainly the Song’s predominant dependence on the Septuagint (LXX) or Greek OT is indicated by the Greek forms of the OT verses involved.
Mary’s Song echoes OT traditions in which men and women sang hymns of praise in response to God’s mighty deeds in the life of the people Israel* (Moses, Ex 15:1–18; Miriam, Ex 15:19–21; Deborah, Judg 5:1–31; see Worship). The close literary, stylistic and thematic parallels between Mary’s Song and the Song of Hannah in 1 Samuel 2:1–10 has led many interpreters to conclude that the Song of Hannah served as the model for Mary’s sonorous poem. Mary, like Hannah, extols God’s greatness (Lk 1:46–49; 1 Sam 2:1–10). Both Mary and Hannah are called God’s “handmaiden,” or “maidservant,” underscoring their availability to God (Lk 1:48; 1 Sam 1:11). Both women acknowledge that God’s purposes will be accomplished through the birth of their respective child (Lk 1:32–35, 46–50; 1 Sam 1:11, 21–28). Striking points of comparison have also been noted between Mary’s Song and the Song of Moses (Ex 15:1–18), the Song of Asaph (1 Chron 16:7–36) and hymns of praise in the canonical psalms (Ps 33; 47; 136).
Structurally, this beautiful hymn of praise begins with an introduction (Lk 1:46b–47) in which Mary proclaims Yahweh’s greatness and recognizes Yahweh as her Savior.* The theme of salvation is thus sounded at the very outset of the poem. Verses 48–50 reveal Mary’s motives for praising God. Mary was a mere Palestinian peasant girl, but God chose her as an agent through whom the divine promises would be fulfilled in the person of Jesus, the Son of God (Lk 1:31–34; see Son of God). She is blessed, not because she is pregnant, or because of any intrinsic holiness or merit but because God’s salvific purposes are being accomplished through her. Mary thus becomes one in a long line of recipients of God’s grace and mercy* in salvation history (Lk 1:50).
Verses 51–53 set forth Yahweh’s great deeds. The six verbs in the aorist tense (the simple past tense) in this section have been interpreted as referring to God’s past redemptive actions toward Israel (e.g., the Exodus event, Deut 5:15). As Luke is also interpreting in retrospect the significance of the life, death (see Death of Jesus) and resurrection* of Jesus (post-resurrection soteriology), the celebration of Yahweh’s mighty acts in the career of Jesus may also be in view. The carefully constructed climax of this section betrays creative literary artistry with a concluding chiasm: mighty/humble: hungry/rich. Yahweh “puts down the mighty from their thrones” and “exalts those of low degree” (RSV). This reversal motif (cf. 1 Sam 2:7–8; Job 5:8–11; Is 2:11; 5:15–16; Ezek 17:24; 21:25–26; Mt 23:11–12; Jas 1:9) suggests a new order of life and hope wherein God is at work in both the lives of individuals and in the whole social order. This emphasis forecasts a theme that Luke will develop in his succeeding Gospel narrative: God is not only mighty, holy and merciful toward all of those who fear God (Lk 1:49–50, 54), but the dawning of the messianic age reveals God’s continued deep regard for the widow, the orphan, the lowly, the hungry and the poor (Deut 15:7–11; Lev 19:9–18; Is 1:12–17; Amos 2:6–7). Jesus’ programmatic statement in the Temple* affirms this concern about those on the social and economic margins of society (Lk 4:18–19), as do the Lukan Beatitudes and Woes (Lk 6:20–26; see Sermon on the Mount).
The poem concludes in verses 54–55 with a rehearsal of the availability of God’s mercy in every generation, and that particularly through God’s servant Israel. It is through the covenant that God made with Abraham* and his posterity that God’s promises and mercy will extend to all peoples in all generations.
Mary’s Song resonates with grateful and expectant joy. Mary as mother of the Son of the Most High (see Son of God) and the King in the line of David (Lk 1:31–33; see Son of David) is presented as both lowly handmaiden and active (believing) agent in Christian salvation. This canticle of grace foreshadows several recurrent themes which will unfold in Luke’s two-volume work Luke-Acts, including the use of speeches and citations to provide advance summaries of the Christian kerygma (Lk 3:3–6; 4:16–20; Acts 2:17–21); the accent on the fulfillment of God’s promises (Lk 7:20–27; Acts 13:16–40); the grateful celebration of salvation (Lk 2:13, 20; 13:17; Acts 2:43–47; 3:1–16; 5:40–42); and the favor which Jesus showed toward women* (Lk 7:12–17; 8:1–3; 10:38–42; 11:27–28; 13:10–17). The central theme of the Song, the celebration of God’s fulfillment of the promises of old through the birth of Jesus the Christ, represents the heart of the enduring message and the empowering legacy of Mary’s Song for generations of Christian believers.
C. J. Martin, “Mary’s Song,” ed. Joel B. Green and Scot McKnight, Dictionary of Jesus and the Gospels (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1992), 525–526.
The traditional name for Mary’s hymn of praise in Luke 1:46–55 is the Magnificat, a translation of Luke 1:46 in Jerome’s Latin text, which begins: Magnificat anima mea Dominum (“my soul magnifies the Lord”). Perhaps the best known and loved of the four lyrical psalms in the Lukan infancy narrative (see also the Benedictus, Lk 1:68–79; the Gloria in Excelsis, Lk 2:14; the Nunc Dimittis, Lk 2:29–32; see Birth of Jesus), Mary’s Song has for centuries been incorporated into the liturgies, hymnody and art of many Christian traditions.
Some early textual traditions and patristic writers proposed that the hymn was originally attributed to Elizabeth, but the consensus of authoritative textual traditions, witnesses of the church and critical scholarship favors the traditional view in attributing the hymn to Mary. Attempts to identify the life setting of the Song have yielded proposals of an early Greek-speaking Jewish Christian community, and a Jewish-Christian circle of the poor ones, or ʿānāwîm (a remnant of Israel’s economically poor who lived in pious dependence on God*; see Rich and Poor). Certainly the Song’s predominant dependence on the Septuagint (LXX) or Greek OT is indicated by the Greek forms of the OT verses involved.
Mary’s Song echoes OT traditions in which men and women sang hymns of praise in response to God’s mighty deeds in the life of the people Israel* (Moses, Ex 15:1–18; Miriam, Ex 15:19–21; Deborah, Judg 5:1–31; see Worship). The close literary, stylistic and thematic parallels between Mary’s Song and the Song of Hannah in 1 Samuel 2:1–10 has led many interpreters to conclude that the Song of Hannah served as the model for Mary’s sonorous poem. Mary, like Hannah, extols God’s greatness (Lk 1:46–49; 1 Sam 2:1–10). Both Mary and Hannah are called God’s “handmaiden,” or “maidservant,” underscoring their availability to God (Lk 1:48; 1 Sam 1:11). Both women acknowledge that God’s purposes will be accomplished through the birth of their respective child (Lk 1:32–35, 46–50; 1 Sam 1:11, 21–28). Striking points of comparison have also been noted between Mary’s Song and the Song of Moses (Ex 15:1–18), the Song of Asaph (1 Chron 16:7–36) and hymns of praise in the canonical psalms (Ps 33; 47; 136).
Structurally, this beautiful hymn of praise begins with an introduction (Lk 1:46b–47) in which Mary proclaims Yahweh’s greatness and recognizes Yahweh as her Savior.* The theme of salvation is thus sounded at the very outset of the poem. Verses 48–50 reveal Mary’s motives for praising God. Mary was a mere Palestinian peasant girl, but God chose her as an agent through whom the divine promises would be fulfilled in the person of Jesus, the Son of God (Lk 1:31–34; see Son of God). She is blessed, not because she is pregnant, or because of any intrinsic holiness or merit but because God’s salvific purposes are being accomplished through her. Mary thus becomes one in a long line of recipients of God’s grace and mercy* in salvation history (Lk 1:50).
Verses 51–53 set forth Yahweh’s great deeds. The six verbs in the aorist tense (the simple past tense) in this section have been interpreted as referring to God’s past redemptive actions toward Israel (e.g., the Exodus event, Deut 5:15). As Luke is also interpreting in retrospect the significance of the life, death (see Death of Jesus) and resurrection* of Jesus (post-resurrection soteriology), the celebration of Yahweh’s mighty acts in the career of Jesus may also be in view. The carefully constructed climax of this section betrays creative literary artistry with a concluding chiasm: mighty/humble: hungry/rich. Yahweh “puts down the mighty from their thrones” and “exalts those of low degree” (RSV). This reversal motif (cf. 1 Sam 2:7–8; Job 5:8–11; Is 2:11; 5:15–16; Ezek 17:24; 21:25–26; Mt 23:11–12; Jas 1:9) suggests a new order of life and hope wherein God is at work in both the lives of individuals and in the whole social order. This emphasis forecasts a theme that Luke will develop in his succeeding Gospel narrative: God is not only mighty, holy and merciful toward all of those who fear God (Lk 1:49–50, 54), but the dawning of the messianic age reveals God’s continued deep regard for the widow, the orphan, the lowly, the hungry and the poor (Deut 15:7–11; Lev 19:9–18; Is 1:12–17; Amos 2:6–7). Jesus’ programmatic statement in the Temple* affirms this concern about those on the social and economic margins of society (Lk 4:18–19), as do the Lukan Beatitudes and Woes (Lk 6:20–26; see Sermon on the Mount).
The poem concludes in verses 54–55 with a rehearsal of the availability of God’s mercy in every generation, and that particularly through God’s servant Israel. It is through the covenant that God made with Abraham* and his posterity that God’s promises and mercy will extend to all peoples in all generations.
Mary’s Song resonates with grateful and expectant joy. Mary as mother of the Son of the Most High (see Son of God) and the King in the line of David (Lk 1:31–33; see Son of David) is presented as both lowly handmaiden and active (believing) agent in Christian salvation. This canticle of grace foreshadows several recurrent themes which will unfold in Luke’s two-volume work Luke-Acts, including the use of speeches and citations to provide advance summaries of the Christian kerygma (Lk 3:3–6; 4:16–20; Acts 2:17–21); the accent on the fulfillment of God’s promises (Lk 7:20–27; Acts 13:16–40); the grateful celebration of salvation (Lk 2:13, 20; 13:17; Acts 2:43–47; 3:1–16; 5:40–42); and the favor which Jesus showed toward women* (Lk 7:12–17; 8:1–3; 10:38–42; 11:27–28; 13:10–17). The central theme of the Song, the celebration of God’s fulfillment of the promises of old through the birth of Jesus the Christ, represents the heart of the enduring message and the empowering legacy of Mary’s Song for generations of Christian believers.
C. J. Martin, “Mary’s Song,” ed. Joel B. Green and Scot McKnight, Dictionary of Jesus and the Gospels (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1992), 525–526.
And from N.T. Wright:
Luke 1:39-56
The Magnificat: Mary’s Song of Praise
39 Mary got up then and there, and went in excitement to the hill country of Judaea. 40 She went into Zechariah’s house, and greeted Elisabeth. 41 When Elisabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the baby gave a leap in her womb. Elisabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit, 42 and shouted at the top of her voice:
‘Of all women, you’re the blessed one! And the fruit of your womb—he’s blessed, too! 43 Why should this happen to me, that the mother of my Lord should come to me? 44 Look—when the sound of your greeting came to my ears, the child in my womb gave a great leap for joy! 45 A blessing on you, for believing that what the Lord said to you would come true!’
46 Mary said,
‘My heart declares that the Lord is great,
47 My spirit exults in my saviour, my God.
48 He saw his servant-girl in her humility;
From now, I’ll be blessed by all peoples to come.
49 The Powerful One, whose name is Holy,
Has done great things for me, for me.
50 His mercy extends from father to son,
From mother to daughter for those who fear him.
51 Powerful things he has done with his arm:
He routed the arrogant through their own cunning.
52 Down from their thrones he hurled the rulers,
Up from the earth he raised the humble.
53 The hungry he filled with the fat of the land,
But the rich he sent off with nothing to eat.
54 He has rescued his servant, Israel his child,
Because he remembered his mercy of old,
55 Just as he said to our long-ago ancestors—
Abraham and his descendants for ever.’
56 Mary stayed with Elisabeth for three months, and then returned home.
What would make you celebrate wildly, without inhibition?
Perhaps it would be the news that someone close to you who’d been very sick was getting better and would soon be home.
Perhaps it would be the news that your country had escaped from tyranny and oppression, and could look forward to a new time of freedom and prosperity.
Perhaps it would be seeing that the floods which had threatened your home were going down again.
Perhaps it would be the message that all your money worries, or business worries, had been sorted out and you could relax.
Perhaps it would be the telephone call to say that you had been appointed to the job you’d always longed for.
Whatever it might be, you’d do things you normally wouldn’t.
You might dance round and round with a friend.
You might shout and throw your hat in the air (I once did that without thinking, before I stopped to reflect what a cliché it was).
You might telephone everybody you could think of and invite them to a party.
You might sing a song. You might even make one up as you went along—probably out of snatches of poems and songs you already knew, or perhaps by adding your own new words to a great old hymn.
And if you lived in any kind of culture where rhythm and beat mattered, it would be the sort of song you could clap your hands to, or stamp on the ground.
Now read Mary’s song like that. (It’s often called Magnificat, because that is its first word in Latin.) It’s one of the most famous songs in Christianity. It’s been whispered in monasteries, chanted in cathedrals, recited in small remote churches by evening candlelight, and set to music with trumpets and kettledrums by Johann Sebastian Bach.
It’s the gospel before the gospel, a fierce bright shout of triumph thirty weeks before Bethlehem, thirty years before Calvary and Easter. It goes with a swing and a clap and a stamp. It’s all about God, and it’s all about revolution. And it’s all because of Jesus—Jesus who’s only just been conceived, not yet born, but who has made Elisabeth’s baby leap for joy in her womb and has made Mary giddy with excitement and hope and triumph. In many cultures today, it’s the women who really know how to celebrate, to sing and dance, with their bodies and voices saying things far deeper than words. That’s how Mary’s song comes across here.
Yes, Mary will have to learn many other things as well. A sword will pierce her soul, she is told when Jesus is a baby. She will lose him for three days when he’s twelve. She will think he’s gone mad when he’s thirty. She will despair completely for a further three days in Jerusalem, as the God she now wildly celebrates seems to have deceived her (that, too, is part of the same Jewish tradition she draws on in this song). All of us who sing her song should remember these things too. But the moment of triumph will return with Easter and Pentecost, and this time it won’t be taken away.
Why did Mary launch into a song like this? What has the news of her son got to do with God’s strong power overthrowing the power structures of the world, demolishing the mighty and exalting the humble?
Mary and Elisabeth shared a dream. It was the ancient dream of Israel: the dream that one day all that the prophets had said would come true. One day Israel’s God would do what he had said to Israel’s earliest ancestors: all nations would be blessed through Abraham’s family. But for that to happen, the powers that kept the world in slavery had to be toppled. Nobody would normally thank God for blessing if they were poor, hungry, enslaved and miserable. God would have to win a victory over the bullies, the power-brokers, the forces of evil which people like Mary and Elisabeth knew all too well, living as they did in the dark days of Herod the Great, whose casual brutality was backed up with the threat of Rome. Mary and Elisabeth, like so many Jews of their time, searched the scriptures, soaked themselves in the psalms and prophetic writings which spoke of mercy, hope, fulfilment, reversal, revolution, victory over evil, and of God coming to the rescue at last.
All of that is poured into this song, like a rich, foaming drink that comes bubbling over the edge of the jug and spills out all round. Almost every word is a biblical quotation such as Mary would have known from childhood. Much of it echoes the song of Hannah in 1 Samuel 2, the song which celebrated the birth of Samuel and all that God was going to do through him. Now these two mothers-to-be celebrate together what God is going to do through their sons, John and Jesus.
This is all part of Luke’s scene-setting for what will follow, as the two boys grow up and really do become the agents of God’s long-promised revolution, the victory over the powers of evil. Much of Mary’s song is echoed by her son’s preaching, as he warns the rich not to trust in their wealth, and promises God’s kingdom to the poor.
But once again Luke hasn’t just given us a big picture. Mary’s visit to Elisabeth is a wonderful human portrait of the older woman, pregnant at last after hope had gone, and the younger one, pregnant far sooner than she had expected. That might have been a moment of tension: Mary might have felt proud, Elisabeth perhaps resentful. Nothing of that happens. Instead, the intimate details: John, three months before his birth, leaping in the womb at Mary’s voice, and the Holy Spirit carrying Elisabeth into shouted praise and Mary into song.
Underneath it all is a celebration of God. God has taken the initiative—God the Lord, the saviour, the Powerful One, the Holy One, the Merciful One, the Faithful One. God is the ultimate reason to celebrate.
Tom Wright, Luke for Everyone (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 2004), 12–16.
Luke 1:39-56
The Magnificat: Mary’s Song of Praise
39 Mary got up then and there, and went in excitement to the hill country of Judaea. 40 She went into Zechariah’s house, and greeted Elisabeth. 41 When Elisabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the baby gave a leap in her womb. Elisabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit, 42 and shouted at the top of her voice:
‘Of all women, you’re the blessed one! And the fruit of your womb—he’s blessed, too! 43 Why should this happen to me, that the mother of my Lord should come to me? 44 Look—when the sound of your greeting came to my ears, the child in my womb gave a great leap for joy! 45 A blessing on you, for believing that what the Lord said to you would come true!’
46 Mary said,
‘My heart declares that the Lord is great,
47 My spirit exults in my saviour, my God.
48 He saw his servant-girl in her humility;
From now, I’ll be blessed by all peoples to come.
49 The Powerful One, whose name is Holy,
Has done great things for me, for me.
50 His mercy extends from father to son,
From mother to daughter for those who fear him.
51 Powerful things he has done with his arm:
He routed the arrogant through their own cunning.
52 Down from their thrones he hurled the rulers,
Up from the earth he raised the humble.
53 The hungry he filled with the fat of the land,
But the rich he sent off with nothing to eat.
54 He has rescued his servant, Israel his child,
Because he remembered his mercy of old,
55 Just as he said to our long-ago ancestors—
Abraham and his descendants for ever.’
56 Mary stayed with Elisabeth for three months, and then returned home.
What would make you celebrate wildly, without inhibition?
Perhaps it would be the news that someone close to you who’d been very sick was getting better and would soon be home.
Perhaps it would be the news that your country had escaped from tyranny and oppression, and could look forward to a new time of freedom and prosperity.
Perhaps it would be seeing that the floods which had threatened your home were going down again.
Perhaps it would be the message that all your money worries, or business worries, had been sorted out and you could relax.
Perhaps it would be the telephone call to say that you had been appointed to the job you’d always longed for.
Whatever it might be, you’d do things you normally wouldn’t.
You might dance round and round with a friend.
You might shout and throw your hat in the air (I once did that without thinking, before I stopped to reflect what a cliché it was).
You might telephone everybody you could think of and invite them to a party.
You might sing a song. You might even make one up as you went along—probably out of snatches of poems and songs you already knew, or perhaps by adding your own new words to a great old hymn.
And if you lived in any kind of culture where rhythm and beat mattered, it would be the sort of song you could clap your hands to, or stamp on the ground.
Now read Mary’s song like that. (It’s often called Magnificat, because that is its first word in Latin.) It’s one of the most famous songs in Christianity. It’s been whispered in monasteries, chanted in cathedrals, recited in small remote churches by evening candlelight, and set to music with trumpets and kettledrums by Johann Sebastian Bach.
It’s the gospel before the gospel, a fierce bright shout of triumph thirty weeks before Bethlehem, thirty years before Calvary and Easter. It goes with a swing and a clap and a stamp. It’s all about God, and it’s all about revolution. And it’s all because of Jesus—Jesus who’s only just been conceived, not yet born, but who has made Elisabeth’s baby leap for joy in her womb and has made Mary giddy with excitement and hope and triumph. In many cultures today, it’s the women who really know how to celebrate, to sing and dance, with their bodies and voices saying things far deeper than words. That’s how Mary’s song comes across here.
Yes, Mary will have to learn many other things as well. A sword will pierce her soul, she is told when Jesus is a baby. She will lose him for three days when he’s twelve. She will think he’s gone mad when he’s thirty. She will despair completely for a further three days in Jerusalem, as the God she now wildly celebrates seems to have deceived her (that, too, is part of the same Jewish tradition she draws on in this song). All of us who sing her song should remember these things too. But the moment of triumph will return with Easter and Pentecost, and this time it won’t be taken away.
Why did Mary launch into a song like this? What has the news of her son got to do with God’s strong power overthrowing the power structures of the world, demolishing the mighty and exalting the humble?
Mary and Elisabeth shared a dream. It was the ancient dream of Israel: the dream that one day all that the prophets had said would come true. One day Israel’s God would do what he had said to Israel’s earliest ancestors: all nations would be blessed through Abraham’s family. But for that to happen, the powers that kept the world in slavery had to be toppled. Nobody would normally thank God for blessing if they were poor, hungry, enslaved and miserable. God would have to win a victory over the bullies, the power-brokers, the forces of evil which people like Mary and Elisabeth knew all too well, living as they did in the dark days of Herod the Great, whose casual brutality was backed up with the threat of Rome. Mary and Elisabeth, like so many Jews of their time, searched the scriptures, soaked themselves in the psalms and prophetic writings which spoke of mercy, hope, fulfilment, reversal, revolution, victory over evil, and of God coming to the rescue at last.
All of that is poured into this song, like a rich, foaming drink that comes bubbling over the edge of the jug and spills out all round. Almost every word is a biblical quotation such as Mary would have known from childhood. Much of it echoes the song of Hannah in 1 Samuel 2, the song which celebrated the birth of Samuel and all that God was going to do through him. Now these two mothers-to-be celebrate together what God is going to do through their sons, John and Jesus.
This is all part of Luke’s scene-setting for what will follow, as the two boys grow up and really do become the agents of God’s long-promised revolution, the victory over the powers of evil. Much of Mary’s song is echoed by her son’s preaching, as he warns the rich not to trust in their wealth, and promises God’s kingdom to the poor.
But once again Luke hasn’t just given us a big picture. Mary’s visit to Elisabeth is a wonderful human portrait of the older woman, pregnant at last after hope had gone, and the younger one, pregnant far sooner than she had expected. That might have been a moment of tension: Mary might have felt proud, Elisabeth perhaps resentful. Nothing of that happens. Instead, the intimate details: John, three months before his birth, leaping in the womb at Mary’s voice, and the Holy Spirit carrying Elisabeth into shouted praise and Mary into song.
Underneath it all is a celebration of God. God has taken the initiative—God the Lord, the saviour, the Powerful One, the Holy One, the Merciful One, the Faithful One. God is the ultimate reason to celebrate.
Tom Wright, Luke for Everyone (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 2004), 12–16.