The First Christmas Carol: Mary's Song of Grace and Revolution
In the familiar rhythm of Advent, we often rush past one of the most profound moments in the Christmas story. Before the angels sang to shepherds, before the wise men followed their star, there was another song—the very first Christmas carol. And it wasn't sung by angels or heavenly hosts. It was sung by a young woman who had just received news that would change everything.
The Journey to Understanding
Picture Mary, having just received the angel's announcement that she would bear God's Son. She responds with courage, saying "May it be to me as you have said." But this isn't a moment of unbridled joy—not yet. It's what we might call a "semi-comprehending surrender." She submits to God's will, knowing full well that her life is about to become incredibly difficult. An unwed mother in first-century Judea faced social ruin, broken relationships, and public shame.
Yet something remarkable happens when Mary hurries to visit her cousin Elizabeth. The moment Mary enters the house, Elizabeth is filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaims, "Why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?"
This encounter changes everything. Elizabeth's Spirit-filled words do something profound for Mary. First, they honor her—this young woman from the poorest class, who would soon be scorned as an unwed mother, is suddenly being treated with deference and respect. Second, Elizabeth's words reveal deep theological truth about who Jesus is. Notice the language: Elizabeth speaks of "the Lord" who made promises to Mary, but she also calls the baby in Mary's womb "my Lord." The Father is Lord. The Son is Lord. This is high-level Trinitarian theology flowing from a woman filled with the Holy Spirit.
The Power of Community
There's a crucial lesson in this encounter that we cannot miss: Mary doesn't find clarity alone. She finds it in fellowship with another believer. The angel himself hints at this, essentially telling Mary, "Go see Elizabeth." The word from God that we need so often comes through a brother or sister in Christ.
This is a beautiful picture of what Christian community should be. We come together, we share what God is doing in our lives, and suddenly the pieces of the puzzle click into place. The human personality is so rich that one person cannot bring out all of who we are. How much more is this true of knowing Jesus Christ? Our brothers and sisters, from their unique vantage points, see aspects of Christ's glory that we might miss on our own.
Mary's example also teaches us humility about spiritual calling. She doesn't announce, "An angel told me I'm going to be the mother of the Messiah—bow down!" Instead, she quietly goes to Elizabeth and waits for confirmation. If we sense God calling us to something, we should serve humbly and wait for others to recognize what God is doing. We cannot be self-anointed or self-accredited. Delusion is too easy.
A Song of Revolution
When understanding finally breaks through, Mary bursts into song. And what a song it is! This is no sentimental Christmas ditty about snow and sleigh bells. This is a revolutionary manifesto wrapped in worship.
Mary begins personally: "My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior." Notice that she calls God her Savior. Perfect people don't need saving. Mary knows she's a sinner saved by grace. Yet she also recognizes that God has given her tremendous honor: "From now on all generations will call me blessed."
This is the paradox every Christian lives: we are sinners in desperate need of grace, yet God has seated us at his right hand, made us holy and blameless in his sight. We haven't simply adopted a new code of ethics or turned over a new leaf. We've been shaken to the depths of our being, taken up by God himself.
But Mary's song quickly shifts from "me" to "he." And here's where it becomes wonderfully unsentimental and radically challenging.
The Wind of Grace
Mary describes God's grace like a powerful wind. The same wind that can whisk a skilled sailor to their destination can also capsize a boat or drive it into the rocks. Everything depends on how we meet this wind.
First, there's a psychological revolution: "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." If you come to God scattered and broken, admitting you're all to pieces, God will gather you together. But if you come thinking you're already together, God will scatter your pretensions. Humility receives confidence; pride receives humbling.
Second, there's a sociological revolution: "He has filled the hungry with good things but has sent the rich away empty." The gospel lifts up the poor because it tells them that pedigree, education, and connections don't matter. Salvation is a supernatural act of grace. The most decent, well-connected people are just as lost as anyone else—and anyone who comes to God in faith becomes a prophet, priest, and king before him.
But the gospel also pulls down the rich and professional class. It shows them they're no better than anyone else. The gospel can teach us this gently now, or we can learn it the hard way later. When middle-class and wealthy people truly hear the gospel, they realize they didn't deserve God's blessings any more than the poor. This realization should make us radically generous with what we've been given.
The Promise Keeper
Mary ends her song remembering God's promise to Abraham—a promise 2,000 years old when Jesus was born, yet fulfilled. Now we wait for another 2,000-year-old promise: Christ's return to make all things right. Don't doubt it. The wind is still blowing.
Today, right now, we can decide how we'll meet this wind of grace. Will we come with humility, admitting we're at the bottom, allowing God to lift us up? Or will we resist, thinking we're already good enough?
This is the message of the first Christmas carol—unsentimental, revolutionary, and utterly transformative. Mary's song reminds us that Christmas isn't about nostalgia or sentiment. It's about the grace of God breaking into our world, scattering the proud, lifting the humble, and keeping his ancient promises.
May our souls, like Mary's, magnify the Lord. May our spirits rejoice in God our Savior. And may we, like Elizabeth, recognize the Lord when he comes to us—even in the most unexpected ways.