Thousands of artists have painted their pictures of the Virgin Mary, and, after much labor for many days, I would add mine, a faint impression in mere words. Of the legends that have gathered around this Most Blessed of Women, I am content with one, that she was ever dressed in natural colors, for so we find her in the composite portrait which appears in the Gospels. Joseph's pedigrees were as stiff as parchment, but the royal ancestry of Mary is only hinted at--in the Prophets, the message of Gabriel, her own song of gratitude, and Paul's letter to the Romans--while as to her birth and death Scripture is silent. We see her simply as a maiden of Nazareth--that turbulent little village which still clings to the water-worn crags of limestone, whence gushes Mary's well--and she crosses the stage like Melchizedek, King and Priest of Salem, who was without father, without mother, without descent, having neither beginning of days nor end of life. As a girl, a mother, a wife, and a widow--the four conditions of womanhood--Mary was the long-awaited daughter of Eve, the eternal vindicator of her sex, whose seed was to bruise the serpent's head and dispel the shame of our race.
This peasant-princess was devoid of what is called genius. She was no Esther, destined by her beauty to sway an Eastern court. On one occasion only was she a poetess, and her song was in part a paraphrase of Hannah's. Elizabeth of Hungary was a woman of sincere piety, but her saintliness turned to tragedy, and even Joan of Arc lived too much on visions. But Mary's temperament was normal. She was as orderly, as sensible, and as capable as Florence Nightingale. She did not prophesy. She did not preach. She suffered no martyrdom. In her home there was a steady discipline and every wholesome interest. Her vocation was housekeeping, and she adorned it.
The Annunciation
One cannot imagine a girl less likely to be deluded into thinking that the Angel Gabriel had visited her. Of that scene she is, perforce, the only witness, but her evidence has stood two thousand years of cross-examination; and when I read her story, so candid and simple, I cannot believe her capable of defending her innocence against suspicion by putting forward so tremendous a blasphemy as a fabricated Annunciation. We have not one account of her only, but four. She was watched from every side. She lived, in a village, where slander is ruthless. Some incident in her record, some word, some look, some betrayal, would assuredly have dispelled any unreal miracle. I sometimes think that if births did not occur amongst us hourly, science would prove that birth is incredible. The Virgin Birth is not more wonderful than yours or mine,--this, I am told is the view even of the scientists who criticize,--yet as a miracle it stands alone; for, in coming to Christ, we must learn at outset that, as the Angel Gabriel expressed it, "with God nothing is impossible." Essentially, Christ's birth was different from ours. He was born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but as a gift from God, unsought and undeserved and free--and in one of His earliest recorded utterances He tells us that our souls must be born again, like that.
Painters show us the Annunciation as a flash of golden light, descending on Mary, as she knelt in her quiet and simply arranged chamber. What actually happened was no such spectacle. The Angel Gabriel, glorious with the radiance of heavenly service, spoke to her: she listened, she answered, and the Spirit of God came upon her. Mary displayed neither doubt nor fear; and her surprise was not at the Angel; for, as John learnt when he witnessed the glories of heaven, angels are bound with us to one common obedience. But the Angel's salutation, his salutation to her,--this it was that perplexed her, for his words were like no other greeting that she had ever heard. For what reason was she, in her obscure station in life, to be highly favored among women? She did not speak, but the Angel reassured her, with the yet more tremendous news that she should bear a son. Then, indeed, as a maiden of stainless integrity, she was entitled to put a question, direct and unmistakable, as from an equal to an equal. No girl, betrothed as she was to an honorable and upright man, could have done otherwise-and it mattered nothing that, while she was only a village maiden, Gabriel was a favored prince of heaven. She had her answer, brief, explicit, and sufficient; and when she heard it, she added not one word about her own emotions, but submitted herself to God. To me, the employment of an Angel as ambassador to Mary arouses no astonishment; it was surely most fitting, for I look in vain for a man or woman to whom--in fairness to the maiden--the mission could have been entrusted. Mary gave way to no light-headed elation. She did not boast or put forward pretensions. Her visit to Elizabeth was in precise accord with the Angel's kindly hint. Nor when she saw her cousin was she first with her news. It was Elizabeth who welcomed her as the mother of her Lord. It was the unborn John who leapt at the approach of the unborn Jesus. Mary magnified not herself, but her God.
Mary and Christ
The Virgin was a woman of quick decision, of unhesitating impulse. With what haste she hurried to her cousin Elizabeth--with what personal courage, though hoping to be a mother, she accompanied Joseph when he went to be enrolled at Bethlehem, the city of David! Sometimes her intensely practical mind failed to appreciate Christ's love for the soul. She it was, and not Joseph, who sharply chided her Boy, then twelve years old, because He had spent three days in Jerusalem, and caused much domestic inconvenience, by questioning learned men about things eternal. At the Marriage Feast, what chiefly concerned her was the shortage of mere wine. And, at the climax of our Lord's ministry, she was almost persuaded by her other children that her eldest Son had, after all, lost His reason. Yet the faith of these mothers in Israel was truly astonishing. Elizabeth, in her address to Mary, never doubted that God had really spoken to the two of them, or that there would be "a performance" of what He said. The burdens of maternity were made radiant with spontaneous psalms.
There was no estrangement between our Lord and His mother. When, in the Temple, Jesus answered her, with something of her own directness, the very form of His rebuke drew them together. Mary alone knew all that He meant when He said that He must be about His Father's business. At Cana, it may have been only the wine that caused her worry; but, again, she understood perfectly what was in her Son's mind when He told her that His " hour ' was not yet come. Although He had then performed no miracle, she and she alone believed that miracles would be seen, and--this being her faith, after a life of intimacy with Him--she told the servants to obey Jesus in all that He said to them. As our Lord's career was unfolded, Mary, realizing that He must shape it in His own way, ceased to assert herself, but was ever with Him, even at the Cross. There, with exquisite economy of words--for these two needed no explanations--He resigned her, weeping, to the care of His most beloved of followers, thus planning a home for her, when all the world's sin weighed Him down to death. By that crushing blow she was not overwhelmed. The Virgin, whose own honor had been assailed thirty-three years before, whose ruin had been almost decreed, shared with her Son a great tenderness for women accused of evil. She did not criticize His goodness to publicans and sinners, but chose the Magdalene, out of whom He cast seven devils, to be her companion at the Cross. By sending her away with John, our Lord made it clear that she was in no way associated with His atoning work; and when He ascended, we leave her still among His friends, praying with them, which, despite all later teaching, was her only " rapture," her sufficient " coronation."
A Mother's Influence
To her illustrious Son she gave her best, transmitting to Him in full measure the native vigor of her strong character. Jesus was brought up as a gentleman, considerate of others, yet able to rebuke all liberties. Simon the Pharisee might be rich, and our Lord longed to win his heart; but Simon must not forget the usual courtesies of a host, merely because Jesus was a missionary without private means. Like His mother, our Lord insisted on things being done right. The thousands must be fed, but they must sit in ranks, there must be no scramble, and scrupulous care must be taken to avoid waste. Her very flash of anger against Him when He was a Boy is, as it were, reflected back in that astounding capacity for indignation which enabled Him, in His turn, to clear the Temple of money-changers, confound the scribes and Pharisees with His terrible rhetoric, and cow His accusers with a glance. Yet in His public work He never consulted her; nor did she once, like the mother of Zebedee's children, use her position to seek from Him a blessing, whether for her own sons or anyone else. We left her praying with the disciples, not receiving their prayers, nor is there the slightest hint that she ever aspired to Christ's special majesty, or now approaches Him on our behalf with intercessions. St. John was the Apostle to whose care she was committed by her dying Son, yet in that Book of the Revelation which bears his name, and describes heaven opened, there is no mention of the Virgin Mary-let alone of the Virgin enthroned.
Her name is with us, as in her own day, one of the commonest-a name shared by maid-servants with queens. It is the same as Miriam, who was sister of Moses, and it means "revolt"--one had almost said "militancy." The first Miriam--born a slave under that Egyptian terror which did not spare the infants--was devoted from birth to the desperate hope of liberation. Mary, bred under the yoke of Rome, was not less inspired by a passion for freedom. What flamed through her memory was Hannah's defiance of the proud--her passionate belief that God would humble the princes on their throne and exalt them of low degree. But in Mary's song there is a more personal note, a gentler melody, as if oppression were not only by princes and the proud and the rich, but were a more intimate affair, only to be resisted through "God, my Saviour."
Since the period of the Nestorians there has been a tendency to fortify the Incarnation by attributing Divine honors to the Lord's mother. Anyone who, in one of our museums, looks at a later Buddhist shrine, will there find a statue of the Queen of Heaven which is, at first glance, indistinguishable from a Roman Catholic image of the Blessed Virgin. Mary of Nazareth was no such abstraction. Let us think of her, not as a pale and cloistered nun, but as she was painted with broad and human brush by Raphael, in whom were blended the reverence of the Middle Ages and the freedom of the Renaissance. He shows us Mary as a real sister to every woman, unencumbered by any crown save her hair ; needing no throne, since she treads the earth itself; breathing our wholesome air, clad in a generous robe, her cloak sweeping with majestic grandeur above her head, and clouds of doubt and trouble rolling slowly from her feet. Her Child is no weakling babe, but a fine and healthy Boy who surveys the universe with steady eyes, as if He were able, thus young, to leave His strong mother's over-weighted arms; and those roguish cherubs, leaning their chubby cheeks on their fat little hands, smile gaily, knowing well that a Friend has come at last, who will make things happier for children.