“I don’t even know"

A sermon preached with the people of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Oakland, California.

Some people need Mary to be mother and comforter; some resistance leader and freedom fighter; some prophet and protector. Some need her to be a constant companion — to the poor, the sick, the weak, the exploited and the victimized. Some need her to be queen of the universe.

She needs to be meek and mild. And fierce and unyielding. She needs to be serenely silent. And loud and clear. Some need her to be fully embodied. A person with a uterus. A person who endured childbirth. Some need her to be a virgin, and remain one. Removed from sex, and separate from the blood and mess of this human experience.

Over the centuries, Christians have asked Mary to be everything they need all at once. Have asked Mary to be and do things directly at odds with one another. Have asked Mary to be a perfect woman.

This morning we find her being visited by a terrifying supernatural being. The supernatural being assures her she shouldn’t be afraid. And then tells her she will become pregnant and bear the son of God.  

Nope, nothing here to be afraid about!

She asks the question I suspect we all would, if we were brave enough to voice it. How, exactly, will this work.

The angel says, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy.”

So – that absolutely clears it all up.

And then, the angel turns to news of Mary’s beloved relative, Elizabeth. She, in her old age, is also pregnant, and will also have a son.

In her joy and her faith, Mary responds: “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”

And off goes the angel.

I have. So. many questions. I have. So. many. concerns. And I’m not alone. On Facebook this week, I saw many preachers concerned with this passage. Some wanting to leave out the word “virgin” when reading the Gospel. Some wanting there to be a more clear sign of consent from Mary. Some wishing Mary had not used “servant” or “handmaiden” or “slave” (depending on translation) to describe herself.

These are particular 21st century concerns from a particular, progressive corner of the church. The corner I certainly inhabit – and I will go out on a limb and guess many of you do too. And I want to be clear I am very happy to inhabit this corner of the church

And, I have spent a lot of time lobbing critique after critique at what church tradition has done to Mary over the centuries; and, in turn, what that tradition has done to all women.

But this year it strikes me that I ought to be careful that I don’t also ask the impossible of Mary.  That I don’t ask her to be absolutely everything I need all the time, even when those things are at odds with one another.

That I don’t make Mary a problem.

Because of course, that is what we do to women. Because of course, “it is literally impossible to be a woman.”

That last line is from, stay with me here, The Barbie Movie. Maybe some of you have seen it?

The film’s premise is that there exists a “Barbieland” universe where all the Barbie and Ken dolls live, and patriarchy does not exist. Barbie and Ken visit “the real world,” and in the process patriarchy infects Barbieland.

And Barbie learns what it’s like to be a real woman in our world. She becomes deeply critical of herself – wonders why she can’t live up to all the expectations people have of her. And her new real-world friend Gloria, played by America Ferrera explains through a now-famous monologue (text) that there is no way to live up to all those expectations. There are too many of them, and they contradict one another. She remarks that if this is true of “a doll, representing a woman, then I don’t even know.”

Maybe don’t report to my bishop that on this Advent IV I have compared Mary, the mother of our Lord Jesus Christ to Barbie, but … here we are.

Because Mary bears the burden of representing women. She has carried that burden for so. long.

And what’s really wild about that, is that Mary is indeed the mother of God. The mother of God!

And somehow, that has still not been enough. And somehow, we continue — I continue — to need to add details, to edit. To fix. To demand more.

So I tried something out this week. I let go of all those demands I have of Mary. All those questions and concerns.

And, just for these few days, I let myself just love that she lived.

Love that she was there. She was just plain there. At the center of this story. This the story we shift to today as we move from Advent to Christmas.

Love her for being.

And guess what happened? I found myself placing fewer demands on everyone else. And yes, fewer demands on myself. For just a bit.

We will never know the details of Mary’s life. We will never know about her internal world, nor her personality type. We will never know what she would think about all these towering cathedrals and institutions built in her honor. Or the years and years of scholarship, sermons, and debate seeking to restrict and restrain, or protect and reclaim her image.

But we will always know she lived.

We will always know the essential role she plays in our story; the one we will celebrate tonight with music and familiar words and laughter and tears.

And if that isn’t enough “I don’t even know.”