Great Reversals

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) 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.  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 weak are continually used and abused by the rich and powerful, even as Able was slain by his brother.  In the course of time we come to the book of 1 Samuel, which Luke patterns his gospel after.  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 though?  Because we are the first.  We are the rich.   I am the rich one that might just be sent away empty.  Maybe the proud one and the ruling one sometimes too—the one who needs to be scattered and brought down in order for justice to be done: for the poor to be released from their bondage to the needs of my lifestyle, the resources of the Creation to be liberated from the over-asking of my consumption. Of course, we ought not wait for God's judgement to level that playing field: as followers of Jesus, we are actively invited into this song as agents of God's justice.  We are invited 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—isn't that what we seek? Maybe that sounds radical.  But Jaques Ellul, writing just after WWII, was convinced that nothing short of a radical shift in Christians' lifestyles like this would actually be able to crack through the walls of our culture and create a true, missionary encounter within our own society.  I think he's right.  Mary in her song seems to think so too.