by the Rev. Craig Lemming
Today’s cruel political ramifications for the poor, unhoused, hungry, differently abled, elders, children, non-whites, women, LGBTQ+ folks, and immigrants, overwhelm and terrify me. Like Maya Angelou, I find refuge in music.
As this Saturday’s Feast of the Visitation approaches, J.S. Bach’s setting of Mary’s revolutionary Magnificat has been on repeat. As I listen to, pray with, and meditate on Mary’s astonishing lyrics, I wonder what new meanings might be gleaned from her timeless canticle. What wisdom can we find in the words the Mother of God sings, especially to those completely overwhelmed by the current barrage of political chaos and endless, ruthless harm?
In the chapter I contributed to Pathways to Belonging, I write:
Mary the mother of Jesus sang her Magnificat while pregnant with God’s Redeeming Love (Luke 1:46–55). In phrases that juxtapose our human extremities, Mary’s adolescent voice and verse hold them together in divine paradox: magnificence and lowliness; might and mercy; put-downs and exaltations; fullness and emptiness. Did Mary teach her song to her son? Did Jesus sing her Magnificat? 1
With Pride Month and Juneteenth on the horizon, I created a digital collage of seven beloved forebears who were living paradoxes. Bayard Rustin, Audre Lorde, Langston Hughes, Pauli Murray, Gloria Anzaldúa, Alvin Ailey, and James Baldwin straddled treacherous breaches between lowliness and magnificence; mercy and might; exaltations and put-downs. Each of them hungered and thirsted for justice and God filled their lives and legacies with good things.
When I remember the good things each of these souls bring into my world, our world, I find hope when despair threatens to drown me. Rustin’s justice organizing genius, Lorde’s fiercely tender insights, Hughes’ charming melancholia, Murray’s indomitable multiplicities of excellence, Anzaldúa’s healing mestizaje magic, Ailey’s electricity enfleshed, and only Toni Morrison’s eulogy can do Baldwin justice:
You knew, didn’t you, how I needed your language and the mind that formed it? How I relied on your fierce courage to tame wildernesses for me? How strengthened I was by the certainty that came from knowing you would never hurt me? You knew, didn’t you, how I loved your love? You knew. This then is no calamity. No. This is jubilee. “Our crown,” you said, “has already been bought and paid for. All we have to do,” you said, “is wear it.” And we do, Jimmy. You crowned us.2
I invite you to create your own digital collages of beloved forebears who fill your world, our world, with good things. Who comes to mind when you read the words below from the Apostle Paul?
Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honor. Do not lag in zeal, be ardent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers.
Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly.
— Romans 12:9-16b
Can you think of two or three or seven such souls? With what good things did they fill your world, our world?
As you create your collage and cherish these sacred gifts, listen to, pray with, and meditate on Mary’s Magnificat. As her canticle is prayed every day around the globe in the Daily Office, may each of us know in the depths of our being, just as our forebears did, that God still turns never into nevertheless.
- Craig Lemming, “Voice and Verse: Breathing and Belonging Together” in Pathways to Belonging (Eugene, OR: Cascade Books / Wipf and Stock Publishers, 2025), 149. ↩︎
- https://archive.nytimes.com/www.nytimes.com/books/98/03/29/specials/baldwin-morrison.html ↩︎
