Mary

She appears in manger scenes everywhere this time of year—Mary molded in plastic, glowing with the light from a bulb hidden deep inside. She’s (inexplicably) blond and draped in a blue gown. Her hands are folded serenely; under her hovering halo she smiles sweetly at her chubby cherub in his straw-cushioned cradle. I look at the Christmas Marys and wonder—was the real Mary always that tranquil?

When she came back from visiting her cousin Elisabeth and appeared on the streets of Nazareth great with child, the hometown gossips must have gotten busy. Did their whispered doubts and insinuations lead to uncertainties of her own? Did this very young woman stare at the desert night sky and see question marks in the stars? Did she ever wonder if she had truly seen Gabriel and heard his incredible announcement—or had she only imagined it?

At the end of a strenuous late-pregnancy trek to a strange city teeming with travelers, enduring labor on the streets while Joseph begged for a room—any room—where she could deliver her baby, did she moan, “What am I doing here? I want to go home. I want my mother!”

Laying her firstborn in an animal’s feeding trough, did it hurt that it was not a cradle hand-crafted by Joseph? When frantic, heavy-breathing shepherds crowded into the stable to see and touch the tiny babe, did she ache for a clean, private place to nurse her newborn?

She probably breathed a sigh of relief forty days later when she entered the temple with Joseph to make a dedication offering for baby Jesus. Finally, something normal—this familiar custom of Jewish law. But then a strange old man drew the baby from her arms and began prophesying over him in a loud voice, ending with a prediction of heart-piercing anguish in Mary’s future.

Was it anguish she felt when, from the safety of exile in Egypt, she heard that Herod was slaughtering Bethlehem infants? Did her heart break for the mothers whose children were murdered because of Herod’s jealous rage toward her own little boy? Think of her sorrow when Jesus was rejected by her other children. What happened in her heart when she discovered that her own religious authorities were plotting His murder? Contemplate the courage it took for Mary to follow the mob to Calvary and watch helplessly as her innocent Son was tortured.

Artists depict Mary as a delicate creature in a flowing gown, but it would be more realistic to dress her in denim and give her a backbone of steel. Life wasn’t easy for Mary.

So, was she miserable, frustrated by events so out of her control and contrary to her plans? Was she enraged by the injustice of it all? I don’t think so. To Gabriel she had called herself simply “the handmaid of the Lord” (Luke 1:38), and a bondslave doesn’t expect an easy life.

She had feelings, of course, like every female. And I suspect that this woman of contemplative disposition, who knew how to treasure up thoughts for private reflection (Luke 2:19), had an even deeper emotional well than most of us. But when she surrendered her will to Jehovah, she also surrendered her feelings and then, despite the costs, simply obeyed.

Was it worth it? Someday you can ask her. Mary, the only one present with Jesus at both His birth and His death, has now been with Him in glory for over 20 centuries. If you, like Mary, call Him your Savior (Luke 1:47), you will meet her there.

The next time you spot a Christmas Mary, think of the flesh-and-blood Mary and ask her Son to make you—like her—simply a handmaid of the Lord.