I appreciate all forms of music. Well, that’s not really true. I appreciate most forms of music. What I appreciate most is the story that music tells through its lyrics and melody. Church music, even contemporary Church music, can help to shape one’s understanding of difficult theological topics and paint a picture through words and music.
However, for that music to paint that picture, the theology needs to be accurate. Just because the song has a nice tune and catchy lyrics does not make it theologically correct. Just because your favorite artist sings a particular song does not mean that the theological position of the writer of the words is orthodox in their theological understanding.
Every Advent, a familiar song finds its way into our Churches, our playlists, and our psyche. “Mary, Did You Know?” is a tender, reverent song full of wonder and bad theology. And it attempts to minimize Mary’s role and her understanding not only of what she is being asked to do, but also of who Jesus is and will become. The lyrics ask questions that many of us have heard so often that it almost feels like part of the biblical story itself.
Mary, did you know your baby boy would one day walk on water?
Did you know he would save our sons and daughters?
Did you know he would calm the storm, give sight to the blind, and conquer the grave?
These certainly are interesting questions, but when we listen carefully to today’s Gospel and hear Mary’s response, the answer becomes clear.
Yes. Mary did know.
She may not have known every detail. She did not have a timeline, a theological treatise, or a clear roadmap of what lies ahead. But Mary knew something far deeper and far more dangerous than the song allows.
She knew this child would change the world. She knew her yes would change the world.
Luke tells us that Mary’s response to God’s astonishing invitation is not confusion, not silence, not even fear, but a song. And this song, the Magnificat, is not soft or sentimental. It is bold. It is defiant. It is revolutionary. Coming from the lips of a young woman who, in her day, was told to sit down and shut up.
“My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.”
This is the joy of the Third Sunday of Advent, not shallow happiness, but courageous joy. The kind of joy that speaks out loud about what God is doing, even when the world has not yet caught up.
Mary knows exactly what kind of God she is dealing with.
“He has brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted up the lowly.”
Mary did know.
She knew that empires tremble when God enters the world as a child. She knew that power does not get the final word. She knew that God’s justice does not favor the comfortable but reaches for the forgotten.
This is not the song of a naïve girl unaware of the consequences. This is the song of a woman who understands the cost of her yes and sings anyway.
Mary knew that her yes would put her at risk. She knew her reputation would be questioned. She did know that Rome would not welcome this child. She did know that power never surrenders quietly.
And still she sings.
The song asks, “Did you know your baby boy would give sight to the blind?”
Mary answers, “He has filled the hungry with good things.”
The song asks, “Did you know your baby boy would calm the storm?”
Mary answers, “He has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.”
The song asks, “Did you know your baby boy is Lord of all creation?”
Mary answers, “Holy is his name… from generation to generation.”
Mary’s joy is rooted not in ignorance, but in trust. She knows that God is faithful to promises made long before her, promises to Abraham, to Sarah, to a people who had waited centuries for liberation. She knows this child is the embodiment of God’s mercy breaking into history.
And this is where Advent speaks to us.
We often ask Mary’s question of ourselves:
Do we know what it means to welcome Jesus? Do we know what it costs to say yes to God’s future? Do we know that following Jesus is not simply comforting, but disruptive?
Because if Mary knew, and she did, then her song is not just her testimony. It is our calling.
Advent joy does not come from pretending everything is fine. It comes from trusting that God is at work even when the world feels upside down. It comes from believing that the lowly will be lifted, the hungry filled, the proud humbled, not someday in the abstract, but in the real world we inhabit.
Mary’s song reminds us that God does not enter the world quietly, leaving it unchanged. God enters boldly, vulnerably, and decisively, to reorder our priorities, challenge our systems, and call us to live differently.
Friends, this Third Sunday of Advent, as we light the candle of joy, let us retire the question and embrace the truth:
Mary did know.
She knew enough to sing. She knew enough to trust. She knew enough to risk everything on God’s promise.
And the deeper question becomes this:
Do we know? Do we know that joy is found not in safety, but in faithfulness? Do we know that God’s mercy still overturns unjust thrones? Do we know that saying yes to Christ still has consequences and still brings life?
May we, like Mary, know enough to sing God’s future into being.
May our souls magnify the Lord. May our spirits rejoice in God our Savior. And may our lives, like hers, proclaim that God is already at work, turning the world upside down with love.
Amen.
