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“Zoom In”

The Rev. Dr. Fred G. Garry

December 31, 2023

And Mary said,
‘My soul magnifies the Lord,
   and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.
   Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
   and holy is his name.
His mercy is for those who fear him
   from generation to generation.
He has shown strength with his arm;
   he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
   and lifted up the lowly;
he has filled the hungry with good things,
   and sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel,
   in remembrance of his mercy,
according to the promise he made to our ancestors,
   to Abraham and to his descendants forever.’

And Mary remained with her for about three months and then returned to her home.

             I moderated the session of a Korean congregation for a few years.  They hired a Baptist pastor to preach on Sundays and this didn't work with the polity of the church, so I moderated their session and provided the Lord's Supper each month. 

            This was a not a problem for me.  Each month after worship I joined their feast of great Korean food.  This was very good.  On one such occasion my zeal must have been too much to bear.  A Presbyterian Woman approached me as I slurped seaweed soup.  She said, "Not even Koreans eat seaweed soup." 

            Six months into moderating their session I got a call from the executive presbyter, Clint.  Clint asked me if I had met yet with the session.  "We meet each month," I said, "have for quite a while."  "So, they found their own interpreter," Clint asked. "Interpreter?  No.  Clint they all speak English very well."  There was a long silence. 

            What I came to find out was the Koreans refused to meet with representatives from the Presbytery unless there was an interpreter.  And thus, they dogged him long enough to know if the Baptist pastor would work and if it would be worth their effort to navigate the polity of the presbytery, read me and seaweed soup.

            In denominational circles, the Koreans can be less than popular.  Part of this lack of popularity is their reluctance to ordain women as elders.  The session I moderated was both men and women, but this was a tenuous compromise.  Tenuous because the Presbyterian Women ran the church.  The elders at the session meeting were more like messengers.  They were there to convey the decisions of the Presbyterian Women.

            This Korean church was a great example of how power is usually not what it is supposed to be on paper.  According to the Book of Order, on paper, the elders are the leaders of the church.  Yet, for generations, power in this congregation and many like it, was in the kitchen, preparing the after-worship feast; power was the decision of a group of very underestimated ladies.

            Power, not power in the sense of domination, but power as being the one who makes decisions, was on full display here.  The difference between abuse of power and the use of power is sometimes confused. They are not the same.  To navigate power, you need to see and appreciate who gets to choose, not who can abuse.  In this congregation it was very clear to me who made the decisions.

            For many years I led a summer program for students.  The program was something close to my experience with the Korean church.  The program was designed to help students understand who makes decisions in their community.  Were decisions based on someone's role; was it their connections; was it money?  Usually, it was a combination of these.

            At the end of the summer, young people knew what it meant to get something done in a community, who makes the decisions.  Again, such power can be and is abused, but for the most part what they gained was an image of power not being abused; it's how things get done.  They could see how power is being the one who decides.

            When I work with young pastors, I always encourage them to read, The Power Broker, by Robert Caro.  The Power Broker is the story of Robert Moses, how he built just about everything in New York state: damns, bridges, roads, parks, terrible housing.  He even built beaches.  When you read The Power Broker, you should be amazed and appalled.  Amazed he could accomplish so much and appalled by the skullduggery needed to accomplish so much.  It wasn't that Robert Moses broke the rules; he broke the mold where the rules were made and created one just for himself. 

            If you have tried to get a city or a county, let alone a state, to do something, then you know how much effort is needed for something insignificant, so much red tape and bureaucracy.  If you know this, you cannot help but be in awe of Robert Moses.  He had the power to get things done.  How he got it done. . . well . . ..

            Recently there was a string of comments on the local Metuchen Facebook page.  Comments about the house just torn down on Woodbridge Avenue, on the edge of the borough.  Large white home, older; a brick wall in front of the property.  The comments were outrage and contempt.  How can they do this?  We must fight this.  They must notify us.  It was clear that no one had read The Power Broker.  If you have the power to decide, you have the power to act.  You don't ask; you don't argue; you don't explain.  You do what you want when you have the power to decide.

            In the city of Nazareth there is a massive church, the church of the annunciation.  At the heart of the church covered in glass are the excavations from the 1st century, where legend holds the angel Gabriel came to talk to Mary.  In the nave of the church, which is kind of a circle, encircling the nave are mosaics from artists across the globe. Many, many countries took up the call to represent Mary in a mosaic embodying their nation's devotion.

            Most are sweet or kind, some are more of a "this is what Mary looks like to us who are from Indonesia."  It could just be my bias as an American, but I like our Mary the best.  The American depiction of Mary shows her completely in silver, she is rising out of an explosion of color.  Think metal statue breaking through ceramic tile.  It's not subtle.  What I love beside its lack of subtly is how it depicts Mary as power.  This is not a repining maiden, reading books and coddling the infant Jesus; this is a force to be reckoned with, an image as bold as her poem.

            Most Christian art depicts Mary as seated.  She is seated with Jesus; she is seated when the angel tells her of the plan; she is seated when shepherds and the magi visit; she is seated with body of Jesus after his crucifixion.  Even in heaven, Mary is seated on a throne, being crowned while angels, prophets, and apostles all stand nearby.  The American Mary in Nazareth not only breaks the surface of the mosaic, having Mary emerge from the shattered colors, she is flying. Powerful.  As if no walls, gravity, or rendition could contain or control her, capture her.

            If you want to uncover the poem of Mary, her Magnificat, you must read it like this mosaic.  God is the mighty one.  God shows strength, scattering the proud, and most importantly bringing down the powerful from their thrones.  God has the power to lift the lowly, feed the hungry, and send the rich packing.  What God does lasts forever. Is told from generation to generation.  God does great things.  This is not the poem of someone sitting down.  This is a poem of someone who knows where to find power.  She is flying.

            Again, not the common, devotional understanding of Mary. 

            To see Mary we need to zoom in to this poem.  We need not discard all the lovely images of her, the lore and legend of her appearances and weeping Madonna’s.  But we do need to zoom past the bathtub Marys, and the rosaries, and the centuries of art depicting her as a pensive, mild, reclining mother holding an infant while receiving prophets and saints who adore her.  For just a moment, we need to get Mary out of the barn with the sheep and the cattle.  We need to see her as a power broker.

            Mary as a power broker is hard for Protestants given our reluctance to place anything between us and our image of God.  We are not prone to intermediaries or intercessors.  And we certainly chafe at acts of penance or devotion where we secure grace or favor.  We don't like the idea of a spiritual shake down.

            I can remember a Methodist pastor on a trip to the holy land being upset by how many people lit candles in churches and the shrines we visited.  He railed at the thought that such an act had power.  "What does that do really do?  What happens when you light a candle," he pressed me for an answer.  "There is more light," I said.  "If nothing else, there is more light to fight the darkness."

            It is neither my role nor my purpose to convince you Mary has power, that she was a person who accomplished things.  It is certainly not my calling to lead you to be devoted to Mary.  But I would be amiss if we read Mary's poem and we did not see her in light of power.  This is a poem of someone who not only get things done, but this is also someone fights those who abuse power.  She is not confused by what it means act, to decide, to change the world. 

            We protestants may not be able to devote ourselves to the virgin, but we can heed her example, learn from her, and be mindful how her response is so far from our own.  We are more likely to be the confused folks on social media wondering why no one asked our permission or opinion; we are more likely to be the complainers than we are to be the Presbyterian Women in the kitchen taking care of business all the while making a feast, running circles around the people who are supposed to be in power, feeding them seaweed soup.

            Something I like to ask of myself is a question of power and well-being.  I conjure the image of Mary in Nazareth, the American Mary, the silver Mary breaking through the mosaic, flying, powerful.  I conjure this image and ask, can you imagine feeling such power, such freedom?  To be so free not even beauty can contain you.  I must confess my answer is often, no.  I can't even imagine it. 

            I read the papers and sigh.  I look to the news of Gaza and wring my hands.  I consider our southern border and the chaos and the overwhelming flood of migrants looking for freedom and it is just a few seconds before I am overwhelmed by my lack of power to affect any change, how far I am from being the one who decides, determines the course of events. 

            I feel powerless and then I remember Mary's poem.  In her heart God is the mighty one.  God has shown strength, scattered the proud, and most importantly brought down the powerful from their thrones.  God has the power to lift the lowly, feed the hungry, and send the rich packing.  What God does lasts forever. Is told from generation to generation.  God does great things.  This is Mary's poem.  Not the words of someone sitting down. 

            I wonder if you and I can ever have such a poem, have such tenacity of hope and strength— of desire— that we rise above our powerless repose?  I wonder what our mosaic would look like.  If we were to make an image of the church and the hope of the gospel, what would our image look like?  Would it be like the American Mary breaking lose and rising with power?  Could we be that bold?  Can we even imagine it?  Or would our mosaic be a repining, weary image of someone not able to stand, let alone fight the abuse of power? 

            What would our image be, what would be our poem?  I pray we find the power of Mary's poem.  Amen.