He has performed mighty deeds with his arm; he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts. He has brought down rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the humble. He has filled the hungry with good things but has sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, remembering to be merciful to Abraham and his descendants forever, just as he promised our ancestors.”

Mary stayed with Elizabeth for about three months and then returned home. (Luke 1:51-56)

So, here in Mary’s song lies a dangerous heart-of-the-Gospel thread that ought to rightly make us uncomfortable.

It is a thread that runs throughout the Bible. It perhaps begins in the story of Cain and Able as God asks Cain the question “where is your brother Able?” “Am I my brother’s keeper?” Cain replies. “Yes, you are,” God’s response seems to say.

In the Old Testament, this idea is enshrined in law. “Love your neighbour as yourself” says Leviticus 19:18. And many other laws go on to spell out the implications in defence of the place and the cause of the poor, the orphans, the widows, and the foreigners. You are your brother’s keeper. Your sister’s too.

But sin is pervasive. The poor and marginalized are continually used and abused by the rich and powerful, even as Able was slain by his brother. And so in the course of time, after Hannah gives birth to Samuel and dedicates him to the Lord, she sings not such a different song than Mary will. A song that declares the great reversals that the Lord’s justice will bring. The warriors are broken, but the weak are made strong; the full starve and the hungry are filled; “The Lord sends poverty and wealth; he humbles and he exalts.”

That’s a song that echoes not only with Mary’s song, but with Jesus’ own oft’ repeated refrain: “The last shall be first, and the first shall be last.”

Why should this make us uncomfortable? Because we are the first. We are the rich.

Gathered with thousands of other Christians from around the world at the last meeting of the World Communion of Reformed Churches, this became for me, again, a palpable reality. The cries for justice from the delegates from the Global South against us in North who have built, on their backs, the luxuries of our anything-at-the-click-of-a-button, all consuming consumerist society. It all still flows from the historic power differential of colonial rule and exploitation. I didn’t personally do any of that colonizing or enslaving, of course, but I have participated and benefitted from the same arrangements that keep us rich and them poor. And confronted with my brothers and sisters in Christ from those long-marginalized countries who confront me about why I’m not doing something to reverse this unjust reality: I’m inclined to run and hide, as many of us are when confronted with things closer to home, like Canada’s treatment of indigenous people and their children.

But even if I don’t do anything about it, Mary’s song reminds me that God will. I am the rich one that will be sent away empty. Maybe the proud one and the ruling one sometimes too—the one who needs to be scattered and brought down for justice to be done, for the poor to be released from their bondage to the needs of my lifestyle, and the resources of the Creation to be liberated from the over-asking of my consumption. Does that mean I won’t have a place in God’s heaven? No. But perhaps I won’t be the one who gets a crown.

Of course, we don’t have to wait for God to bring this judgement on our own heads. We can already begin to live like he’s called us, even now. To humble ourselves. To sell our possessions and give to the poor, even spending ourselves on behalf of the poor: time, talents, and treasures. Indeed: the call is actually nothing less than to die to ourselves, trusting God fully with everything: not just with our souls, but also with our identity, our status, security, and wealth. Our very lives. Is this not what we’re actually praying when we ask for God’s will to be done and for his kingdom to come on earth as it is in heaven: a radical justice that levels out the blessings of Creation so that everyone has enough? A New Creation and a New Humanity that keeps boundaries, brothers, and sisters in mutual love and dignity under the just rule of Jesus?

Sounds radical, doesn’t it? Jaques Ellul, writing just after WWII, was convinced that nothing short of a radical shift in Christians’ lifestyle would actually be able to crack through the walls of our culture and create a true, missionary encounter within our own society.

Things to ponder. If you’d like to listen to Mary’s song as you do so, here’s a link to an excellent rendition: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A7fTuH_0agE