Luke 1:26-38
Baby it’s cold outside – remake
In the original, a woman’s voice says I really can't stay
And a man’s voice responds
... Baby it's cold outside
...Beautiful, please don't hurry
...No cabs to be had out there
... I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell
...What’s the sense in hurting my pride?
Lyrics like this cause discomfort as we reflect on consent, explicitly given, explicitly not given, and the many subtle areas in between. You can read a feminist defense of the original Baby it’s cold outside song, arguing it’s about a woman expressing her agency and desire in a restrictive 1940s context, but for many people, the lyrics just sound off in 2017.
Lydia Liza and Josiah Lemanski, who sang the remake, felt this way: "It was meant to be playful, but all those lyrics just sit wrong with me — especially being from this generation," Liza is quoted saying. She means a generation brought up to understand that consent isn’t as simple as getting someone to say yes to whatever you’ve got planned.
Like Lydia Liza and Josiah with Baby it’s cold outside, I’ve become uneasy about aspects of the story of Mary’s miraculous pregnancy since I’ve taken on the daunting task of parenting the next generation myself.
Genocide, slavery, murder – I know the bible isn’t a children’s book to be dished up recklessly.
And yet: Emmanuel, God with us, a tiny divine human in a manger – I want my children to know and love the nativity story.
But the sticking point is this: You don’t get to impregnate someone without their complete and enthusiastic consent. And when there are differences in power (divinity and humanity), informed and enthusiastic consent may not be possible.
Before I go on, I should float an alternative view. It’s simply this: God is inappropriate, imposing, consuming. Ask Stephen, stoned to death, Paul, imprisoned and executed, Perpetua, martyred in a Roman stadium, Oscar Romero, shot while sharing mass, and Cassie Bernall, whose family believe she was killed at Columbine for saying “yes” when asked if she believed in God… So we have to keep that possibility on the table.
And I’m certainly not hinting at sexual misconduct on God’s part. The virgin birth rejects sex, intercourse, sexual violence… I’m talking about body autonomy, the foundation of consent.
Mary agrees to her baby Jesus, of that there is no doubt. But if you really want to receive someone’s full and free consent, emphasizing how favoured they are, dismissing their fear, and laying out a possible future as fact, isn’t the way to go about it.
“Greetings favoured one! The Lord is with you.”
“Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favour with God.”
“And now...
you will conceive
you will name him Jesus
he will be great
will be called the Son of the Most High
the Lord God will give to him the throne
he will reign over
of his kingdom there will be no end.
The Holy Spirit will come upon you
the power of the Most High will overshadow you
the child to be born will be holy
he will be called Son of God.
The Disciples Literal New Testament concludes: “And Mary said, ‘Behold the slave of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.’”
You may recall the fabulous Advent Calendars produced by Southwest Baptist Church? In our family we have greatly enjoyed the pictures, the flaps, and re-reading the story each Advent. Libby sent me a discussion link a few years ago, a mother objecting to one such Advent calendar in which a stranger, speaking on behalf of God, pressures Mary to have a baby. I understood her point – I’m also raising children in a world where we read articles on how to nurture a child’s safe body autonomy by changing nappies respectfully and applying unwanted sunblock responsibly.
Indeed, an early version calendar states:
2. Mary was just an ordinary girl, sitting in her room, when suddenly a large bright angel appeared before her.
3. She was incredibly frightened and tried to hide.
Debie Thomas reminds us of kenosis, God’s self emptying of power and control: "A God who entered humanity red-faced and crying, a God whose greatest displays of power included riding on a donkey, washing dirty feet, hanging on a cross, and frying fish on a beach for his agnostic friends. How exactly, I wonder now, did we go from this God of kenosis — the God who empties himself of all privilege, the God who perpetually pours himself out and surrenders his own life for his loved ones — to God as Iron Man?" (From here.)
But we haven’t got to kenosis yet, when we encounter Mary encountering an angel, and someone coming cold to the Christian message, who doesn’t hold the premise that God is utterly good and trustworthy, is right to raise these concerns.
In fact Southwest Baptist may changed the text of the Advent calendar. Here’s what the most recent version (a couple of years ago) says:
2 [God] saw a girl called Mary. He looked at her heart and was happy.
3 He sent Gabriel, an angel, to Mary. “Hi Mary, you’ve been chosen to have God’s baby son. This baby will be special,” the angel said.
4 “What?” said Mary “How can I have a baby?”
5 “God will make you pregnant, nothing is impossible for God!” said Gabriel. Mary was happy. (Emphasis mine)
Whether it was changed in response to the objecting mother or not, I recognise the attempt to make the story less concerning; no mention of fear or perplexity, just happiness.
It’s a conundrum though, because a happiness gloss doesn’t do theological justice to the story…
Although we note that Mary is engaged and, in her culture, pregnancy and childbirth are in her best future, God still does ask something outrageous of her – to put her life on the line with a pregnancy beyond her marriage.
But the story suggests that Mary, without referring to any of the men who might claim to rule her life, did give her own full and enthusiastic consent. Because Mary brings her own challenge, her own conviction, her own vision, to God. It’s not a one-sided set up.
So it’s not that we need to shy away from the nativity story, I think, but that we need to include the Magnificat in our Advent calendars.
God has shown strength with his arm;
God has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
God has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
and lifted up the lowly;
God has filled the hungry with good things,
and sent the rich away empty.
Mary’s not a sweet innocent. She’s an assured political activist.
When you hear the angel’s description of the coming king, there is nothing to stop you picturing a majestic warrior on a regal horse. It is Mary who articulates subversion and overturn – a messiah on a donkey, riding to a cross. It is not the official messenger of God but Mary who introduces the essential themes of a never-ending kingdom, themes that will thrill and horrify us as the gospel goes on.
I don’t suggest God was planning a heroic alpha king and Mary changed the plan with her strident political theology. I do suggest that what she contributes is essential, and God is reliant on her. She is not a meek receptacle; she is an originator too.
Some people believe in playing unborn babies classical music to develop intelligence – which is unlikely – but the baby can recognise the music and be soothed by it after birth. Well, Mary’s baby heard in utero of the powerful being taken down, the lowly lifted up, the hungry filled. This is his formation.
Mary is young and lacking in status. But I can’t read this as an abusive story. She turns that possibility on its head. She possesses something, she knows something, she is something, she brings something, and she holds her own with God. Why shouldn’t she? Jacob wrestles God all night and prevails. A Canaanite woman claims crumbs with great faith and, some believe, causes Jesus to reimagine his mission.
Mary is truly the Mother of God.
Language like this would have scared me 15 years ago. But now I recognize the essential, powerful, paradox of it.
This Advent, every Advent, we’re invited to recognise the unlikely but indispensible contributions that humans make to God’s story. As Amnesty International insist on this postcard I keep pinned up on my wall: You Are Powerful.
How will you use your power?
Baby it’s cold outside – remake
In the original, a woman’s voice says I really can't stay
And a man’s voice responds
... Baby it's cold outside
...Beautiful, please don't hurry
...No cabs to be had out there
... I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell
...What’s the sense in hurting my pride?
Lyrics like this cause discomfort as we reflect on consent, explicitly given, explicitly not given, and the many subtle areas in between. You can read a feminist defense of the original Baby it’s cold outside song, arguing it’s about a woman expressing her agency and desire in a restrictive 1940s context, but for many people, the lyrics just sound off in 2017.
Lydia Liza and Josiah Lemanski, who sang the remake, felt this way: "It was meant to be playful, but all those lyrics just sit wrong with me — especially being from this generation," Liza is quoted saying. She means a generation brought up to understand that consent isn’t as simple as getting someone to say yes to whatever you’ve got planned.
Like Lydia Liza and Josiah with Baby it’s cold outside, I’ve become uneasy about aspects of the story of Mary’s miraculous pregnancy since I’ve taken on the daunting task of parenting the next generation myself.
Genocide, slavery, murder – I know the bible isn’t a children’s book to be dished up recklessly.
And yet: Emmanuel, God with us, a tiny divine human in a manger – I want my children to know and love the nativity story.
But the sticking point is this: You don’t get to impregnate someone without their complete and enthusiastic consent. And when there are differences in power (divinity and humanity), informed and enthusiastic consent may not be possible.
Before I go on, I should float an alternative view. It’s simply this: God is inappropriate, imposing, consuming. Ask Stephen, stoned to death, Paul, imprisoned and executed, Perpetua, martyred in a Roman stadium, Oscar Romero, shot while sharing mass, and Cassie Bernall, whose family believe she was killed at Columbine for saying “yes” when asked if she believed in God… So we have to keep that possibility on the table.
And I’m certainly not hinting at sexual misconduct on God’s part. The virgin birth rejects sex, intercourse, sexual violence… I’m talking about body autonomy, the foundation of consent.
Mary agrees to her baby Jesus, of that there is no doubt. But if you really want to receive someone’s full and free consent, emphasizing how favoured they are, dismissing their fear, and laying out a possible future as fact, isn’t the way to go about it.
“Greetings favoured one! The Lord is with you.”
“Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favour with God.”
“And now...
you will conceive
you will name him Jesus
he will be great
will be called the Son of the Most High
the Lord God will give to him the throne
he will reign over
of his kingdom there will be no end.
The Holy Spirit will come upon you
the power of the Most High will overshadow you
the child to be born will be holy
he will be called Son of God.
The Disciples Literal New Testament concludes: “And Mary said, ‘Behold the slave of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.’”
You may recall the fabulous Advent Calendars produced by Southwest Baptist Church? In our family we have greatly enjoyed the pictures, the flaps, and re-reading the story each Advent. Libby sent me a discussion link a few years ago, a mother objecting to one such Advent calendar in which a stranger, speaking on behalf of God, pressures Mary to have a baby. I understood her point – I’m also raising children in a world where we read articles on how to nurture a child’s safe body autonomy by changing nappies respectfully and applying unwanted sunblock responsibly.
Indeed, an early version calendar states:
2. Mary was just an ordinary girl, sitting in her room, when suddenly a large bright angel appeared before her.
3. She was incredibly frightened and tried to hide.
Debie Thomas reminds us of kenosis, God’s self emptying of power and control: "A God who entered humanity red-faced and crying, a God whose greatest displays of power included riding on a donkey, washing dirty feet, hanging on a cross, and frying fish on a beach for his agnostic friends. How exactly, I wonder now, did we go from this God of kenosis — the God who empties himself of all privilege, the God who perpetually pours himself out and surrenders his own life for his loved ones — to God as Iron Man?" (From here.)
But we haven’t got to kenosis yet, when we encounter Mary encountering an angel, and someone coming cold to the Christian message, who doesn’t hold the premise that God is utterly good and trustworthy, is right to raise these concerns.
In fact Southwest Baptist may changed the text of the Advent calendar. Here’s what the most recent version (a couple of years ago) says:
2 [God] saw a girl called Mary. He looked at her heart and was happy.
3 He sent Gabriel, an angel, to Mary. “Hi Mary, you’ve been chosen to have God’s baby son. This baby will be special,” the angel said.
4 “What?” said Mary “How can I have a baby?”
5 “God will make you pregnant, nothing is impossible for God!” said Gabriel. Mary was happy. (Emphasis mine)
Whether it was changed in response to the objecting mother or not, I recognise the attempt to make the story less concerning; no mention of fear or perplexity, just happiness.
It’s a conundrum though, because a happiness gloss doesn’t do theological justice to the story…
Although we note that Mary is engaged and, in her culture, pregnancy and childbirth are in her best future, God still does ask something outrageous of her – to put her life on the line with a pregnancy beyond her marriage.
But the story suggests that Mary, without referring to any of the men who might claim to rule her life, did give her own full and enthusiastic consent. Because Mary brings her own challenge, her own conviction, her own vision, to God. It’s not a one-sided set up.
So it’s not that we need to shy away from the nativity story, I think, but that we need to include the Magnificat in our Advent calendars.
God has shown strength with his arm;
God has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
God has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
and lifted up the lowly;
God has filled the hungry with good things,
and sent the rich away empty.
Mary’s not a sweet innocent. She’s an assured political activist.
When you hear the angel’s description of the coming king, there is nothing to stop you picturing a majestic warrior on a regal horse. It is Mary who articulates subversion and overturn – a messiah on a donkey, riding to a cross. It is not the official messenger of God but Mary who introduces the essential themes of a never-ending kingdom, themes that will thrill and horrify us as the gospel goes on.
I don’t suggest God was planning a heroic alpha king and Mary changed the plan with her strident political theology. I do suggest that what she contributes is essential, and God is reliant on her. She is not a meek receptacle; she is an originator too.
Some people believe in playing unborn babies classical music to develop intelligence – which is unlikely – but the baby can recognise the music and be soothed by it after birth. Well, Mary’s baby heard in utero of the powerful being taken down, the lowly lifted up, the hungry filled. This is his formation.
Mary is young and lacking in status. But I can’t read this as an abusive story. She turns that possibility on its head. She possesses something, she knows something, she is something, she brings something, and she holds her own with God. Why shouldn’t she? Jacob wrestles God all night and prevails. A Canaanite woman claims crumbs with great faith and, some believe, causes Jesus to reimagine his mission.
Mary is truly the Mother of God.
Language like this would have scared me 15 years ago. But now I recognize the essential, powerful, paradox of it.
This Advent, every Advent, we’re invited to recognise the unlikely but indispensible contributions that humans make to God’s story. As Amnesty International insist on this postcard I keep pinned up on my wall: You Are Powerful.
How will you use your power?
