Most of us can’t give full-time attention to the brokenness of our national politics, but nor can we tune it out. How do we identify a sustainable approach to living ethically in these difficult times? — “What Now?” [editorial], Christian Century, Jan. 2025.
Advent and Christmas have always had a somber undertone amid all the piped-in (and hyped-up) carols of the season. Advent in particular stands out as a time of self-examination and watchful waiting. Especially this year. The incoming Trump 2.0 administration promises what the editors of Christian Century describe as “an authoritarian threat that is unprecedented in the United States.” Closer to home, my parish church is torn up by internal dissension. Not a lot of comfort there. More than ever, Advent is a time of watchful waiting this year.
So, if I had to choose the main title theme for a soundtrack, it would sound less like “Joy to the World” and more like Merle Haggard’s “If We Make It Through December.” It’s just not a joyful time, not this year.
But Sunday morning came a moment of clarity, if not exactly encouragement.
Most weeks at my parish church, Peace Lutheran in Springfield, a small group meets in the choir loft after services to discuss the next week’s pericope, or Gospel reading, as part of an ELCA program called Dwelling in the Word. Our reading was Luke 1:39-55, the pericope for the fourth Sunday in Advent, which includes Mary’s hymn, commonly known as the Magnificat. I first heard it as a kid, recited in the Episcopal prayer book of 1928. I certainly understood the part about Mary. I’m sure my Sunday school teachers made sure of that:
My soul doth magnify the Lord, * and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.
For he hath regarded * the lowliness of his handmaiden.For behold, from henceforth * all generations shall call me blessed.
For he that is mighty hath magnified me; * and holy is his Name.
But, even though the 16th-century language of the prayer book is clear enough 475 years later, I don’t remember being aware as a kid of its potential for reordering society. (Maybe we just didn’t think about things like that during the 1950s.) It is definitely there, though:
He hath showed strength with his arm; * he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.
He hath put down the mighty from their seat, * and hath exalted the humble and meek;
He hath filled the hungry with good things; * and the rich he hath sent empty away.
He remembering his mercy hath holpen [helped] his servant Israel; * as he promised to our forefathers, Abraham and his seed, for ever.
Reading it in a small group discussion in the year of the Lord 2024, we were more than aware of its potential. We were also aware that the proud and the mighty have been exalted, at least in 21st-century America, and a government has been elected that looks like it’s hellbent to send the hungry — instead of the rich — empty away.
Someone mentioned an Advent hymn by Roman Catholic liturgist Rory Cooney of Chicago’s northwest suburbs. It’s in our hymnal, so we got it out. It’s titled the “Canticle of the Turning,” and it’s basically an updated version of the Magnificat.
According to a history of the hymn on the United Methodist Church’s Discipleship Ministries website, Cooney “wanted to compose something contrasting the docile Marian songs he grew up with.” And he found it in precisely the song of Mary that went over my head when I was growing up! The refrain (lyrics courtesy of Google) conveys its spirit:
My heart shall sing of the day you bring
Let the fires of your justice burn
Wipe away all tears
For the dawn draws near
And the world is about to turn!
The rest of it is a fairly close paraphrase of the Magnificat. The United Methodist history notes that the theme of the Magnificat and Cooney’s music are perfectly matched. An added attraction for me is that the melody comes from a trad Irish song, “The Star of the County Down,” I play on the dulcimer and am learning on the harmonica. The Methodists quote Cooney:
As a Catholic musician, I wanted to have the music be accessible to assembly singing and ensemble playing. Irish folk music, with its narrative milieu of longing for freedom and a sort of “bloom where you are planted” joie de vivre in the midst of penury and oppression, seemed to me to be a natural fit. STAR OF THE COUNTY DOWN, as far as I know, is a quasi-nationalistic song whose lyrics are about a plot to win over a beautiful girl. The tune is rhythmic and well-known and sung by crowds at rugby matches and the like. So it fit the bill for my needs.
“Canticle of the Turning” is in our Lutheran hymnal and our “Dwelling in the Word” discussion group meets in the choir loft, so we got out hymnals and read aloud. In the context of what looks like a time of coming penury and oppression, it spanned the 2,000-plus years between 1st-century occupied Palestine and the present day. And in Cooney’s paraphrase, I could put myself in Mary’s shoes in a way I never had before:
Though I am small, my God, my all, you
Work great things in me
And your mercy will last from the Depths
Of the past to the end of the age to be.
Am I being called to work great things in this new age that’s about to b e visited upon us? Will God’s mercy last? Well, maybe not great things, but am I called to do what I can in my small way? If not to scatter the proud and fill the hungry with good things, at least to support the parish micro-pantry and the the food bank downtown? Something to think about. And isn’t that, of course, what Dwelling in the Word is for? To give us something to think about so the words don’t fly over our head as we go through the liturgy week after week?
‘Bloom where you’re planted’
Cooney was inspired by the Chieftains’ up-tempo version of “Star of the County Down,” and worshipers often sing “Canticle” at a pretty good clip (like in this enthusiastic service at Loyola University in Baltimore). But I especially like a slower, more mediative YouTube video by Kat Moore, a worship leader at The Gathering, a nondenominational church in North Leatherhead, Surrey, in the UK. Even in the visuals, with a hint of sunlight low on the horizon beneath a wintry overcast, I find a message.
I’m not about to try an exegesis on Cooney’s “Canticle” here, let alone the Magnificat. But, although I am small, maybe somehow I can work toward great things. In Dwelling in the Word sessions, we’re encouraged to ask What captures my attention? What questions do I have? […] Where might God’s Spirit be nudging us? Well, I can’t exactly put myself in the shoes of the Virgin Mary, but that much I can do.
One thing that captures my attention right off the bat is Rory Cooney’s “narrative milieu of longing for freedom and a sort of ‘bloom where you are planted’ joie de vivre in the midst of penury and oppression.” For me, it shifts the focus. Instead of a song about Mary, I’m coming to see it as a song about how I can be more like Mary. How can I bloom where I’m planted?
Sunday morning as we were talking about the Magnificat, I remembered reading somewhere that Mary’s song was similar to a song in the Hebrew Bible, or Old Testament. So I asked the pastor. Yes, she said, it’s like the Song of Hannah in 1 Samuel. Hannah is the prophet Samuel’s mother, and her song is a hymn of praise to the Lord:
The bows of the mighty are broken,
but the feeble gird on strength.
Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread,
but those who were hungry are fat with spoil.
The barren has borne seven,
but she who has many children is forlorn.
The Lord kills and brings to life;
he brings down to Sheol and raises up.
The Lord makes poor and makes rich;
he brings low; he also exalts.
He raises up the poor from the dust;
he lifts the needy from the ash heap
to make them sit with princes
and inherit a seat of honor. (1 Samuel 2:4-8 RSVue).
Whatever else is going on in St. Luke’s infancy narrative, where the Magnificat is found, Mary is turning to her faith. I can’t go to Bethlehem and start a new world religion, and I’m not going to lead the children of Israel against the Philistines or anoint Kings Saul and David like the prophet Samuel did. (I can’t even seem to vote for a winning candidate in the 21st century). But I can turn to my faith when things go dark.
Not unlike the hint of sunlight in Kat Moore’s video of the “Canticle of the Turning,” the current print edition of Christian Century has a staff editorial on “living ethically in these difficult times.” (Unfortunately it’s available only in dead-tree format.) The editorial board counsels:
This will be a hard time, and then it will end. We can easily be consumed by trying to game out exactly how hard or for exactly how long. But our hope lies in being present and faithful to our calling to pursue justice, promote compassion, build solidarity, and stand up for things that matter.
Not only have we elected a government that seems openly hostile to feeding the hungry or welcoming the stranger, but one pledged “to keep citizens safe from evildoers and leave Christians alone to practice their faith,” as a prominent, politically active pastor told Jack Jenkins of Religion News Service. Judging by the rest of Jenkins’ article, in the National Catholic Reporter, those evildoers would also include Democrats, LGBTQ+ youth and women with complex medical issues. Trump, for his part, pledged on the campaign trail to create a “federal task force” to fight what he perceives as “anti-Christian bias.” The anger, grievance and divisiveness have me looking nervously over my shoulder.
With that in mind, a couple of points in Christian Century’s editorial stand out to me. They are not unrelated:
- Many people will be harmed by policy decisions to come. All who suffer deserve our compassion — whether or not they share our views. “Still of us, including my neighbors with the Trump signs, contain more than our political allegiences,” writes Valerie Weaver-Zercher in this issue (see “A time to endure,” [link HERE]).
- Nor can we think too narrowly about who we’re willing to work with politically going forward. Neither Geroge W. Bush’s political coalition nor Barack Obama’s is viable anymore. Whatever comes next requires an open mind.
We have no of knowing, in this gloomy Advent season, what awaits us. We have elected a president so erratic and undisciplined, for all his bluster, that no one knows, quite literally, what he’ll do next. But authoritarian movements have a way of devouring their own, from Robespierre and Trotsky to buffoons like ex-Rep. Matt Gaetz, R-Fla. And if Trump’s promised trade wars and mass deportations come to pass, many of his supporters who can least afford it, will be hurt by rising food and energy prices.
If nothing else, it’s a reminder that none of us, no matter how we voted, what our beliefs are or which side we’re on, can afford to be self-righteous. Nor can we sit back and agonize about what’s coming when there are still little things we can do to help raise up the poor from the dust and lift the needy from the ash heap.
Links and Citations
“Dwelling in the Word,” Central/Southern Illinois Synod, Evangelical Lutheran Church in America https://www.csis-elca.org/congregations/dwelling/.
C. Michael Hawn, “History of Hymns: ‘The Canticle of the Turning’,” Discipleship Ministries, United Methodist Church, Sept. 12, 2024 https://www.umcdiscipleship.org/articles/history-of-hymns-the-canticle-of-the-turning.
Jack Jenkins, “What evangelicals say they want from a second Trump term,” National Catholic Reporter, Nov. 14, 2024 https://www.ncronline.org/news/what-evangelicals-say-they-want-second-trump-term.
Valerie Weaver-Zercher, “A Time to Endure,” Christian Century, Nov. 19, 2024 https://www.christiancentury.org/features/time-endure.
“What Now?” [editorial], Christian Century, Jan. 2025, p. 9 [print edition].
[Uplinked Dec. 18, 2024]
Ordinary Time 