My Soul Glorifies the Lord

This time of year, we spend a lot of time talking about Mary – a very young woman, pregnant out of wedlock, giving birth in a stable. We talk a lot about the joy she must have felt – the joy of being a mother, the joy of knowing that God was using her to bring his son into the world. Lately, though, I've started to wonder about the things Mary feared. She had been promised wonderful things, but she was also promised pain: “And a sword will pierce your own soul too" (Luke 2:35).

If there's one thing basically every mother I've ever met has in common, it's that they worry. And the worries of a mother in the developing world are on a whole different scale from those of many of the mothers I know. Did these things bother Mary, too? Mary's first response to the angel was, after all, to be "greatly troubled" (Luke 1:29).

I wonder if Mary worried about practical things. In Bolivia, I’ve met mothers who have little to nothing to feed their children, and I wonder if Mary, Joseph, and Jesus ever lacked food. On the journey to Bethlehem and when they fled to Egypt, did they ever wonder where their next meal would come from? They were a poor family, after all. Did Mary ever go without food so that her little boy could eat?

Did Mary worry about the dangers of childbearing? I have no idea what the maternal mortality rate was in the Roman Empire back then, but I imagine it wasn't very good. Did Mary ever worry about if she would survive to see her son grow up, to realize the promises the angel had made? As far as we know, the promises she received included nothing about what would happen to her.

Mary must have had at least moments of doubt and fear, of wondering how this was all going to work out and if she was doing what it was that God had picked her to do. Yet, in all of this, she sang,

My soul glorifies the Lord
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has been mindful
of the humble state of his servant.
From now on all generations will call me blessed,
for the Mighty One has done great things for me—
holy is his name.
His mercy extends to those who fear him,
from generation to generation.
He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;
he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.
He has brought down rulers from their thrones
but has lifted up the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things
but has sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel,
remembering to be merciful
to Abraham and his descendants forever,
even as he said to our fathers.
Luke 1:46-55

This Christmas, I’m praying for a bit more of Mary’s courage, and for all of the mothers around the world who share some of her fears. And I am praising the God who “has filled the hungry with good things” – who sent his Son to become fully human, to share in our sufferings, our hopes, and our joys.

A Confession

I had been in Bolivia for a week and a half when I saw her. It was past dusk, and she sat on the side of the road, weaving on a small hand-held loom. She couldn’t have been more than ten years old.

I walked past. I’d seen this before, in Guatemala, in Mexico, in Bolivia. I knew she would probably sleep on the street, but so would a lot of other kids. There wasn’t anything I could do.

It wasn’t until later that it hit me. I’d become calloused. Things that used to shock me no longer shocked me. I prayed for forgiveness, and I prayed that God would protect her.

It’s hard, when you see things like this on a regular basis, to continue to care. We get used to suffering. To protect ourselves, to be able to keep living our normal lives, we stop letting it bother us.

I decided that night that I never want to become calloused again. I never want to let other people’s pain stop bothering me. With Bob Pierce, the founder of World Vision, I pray, “Let my heart be broken by the things that break the heart of God.”

We have a God who did not just walk past when he saw us alone, sitting in our brokenness and pain. We have a God who came to us in our poverty and need, who made himself one of us in order to save us. I am so glad that he did not just walk on by.

Please Help Me

“Please help me,” she begged. Kneeling before me, tears running down her face, she asked again, “Please help me.”

It was three days before I would leave Bolivia, and I was visiting the home of one of our patients. After welcoming me into the one room where she and her six children slept, she had offered me a glass of juice and begun telling me her story.

She told me of past trauma, of secrets that she had only before revealed to her priest, of the predatory lender for whom she slaved. “Please, just give me the money to pay off my debt,” she asked. “I won’t ask for anything else; just give me the money to pay my debt.”

I didn’t know what to do. Her debt was $1,000, and she was asking me to pay it. I don’t have a thousand dollars just lying around. And, more than that, how was I to know if her story was true? How could I trust that she wasn’t simply trying to manipulate me, a (relatively) wealthy American?

I asked if I could pray for her, and she agreed. As I prayed I couldn’t stop thinking of James 2:15-16, which says, “Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, ‘Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed,’ but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it?” This question kept echoing in my head. What good was it for me to pray for her, if I did nothing to help her?

I gave her everything I had in my pockets, just reserving enough change for bus fare home. It wouldn’t do much for her and her family, but, if her story of her children going hungry were true, it would at least purchase food for a day or two.

As I left, I promised to pray and to talk to some people and to see what I could do for her. I couldn’t promise to give her a thousand dollars, but I promised to help if I could.

When I got home, exhausted from the effort of listening, praying, and trying to decide what to do, I called my friend Javier, a lawyer. I told him her story, of the 20% per month interest the lender was charging. I hoped Javier would help, as he’d told me before about his interest in providing legal assistance to the poor. I couldn’t think of a better case to start with.

When he heard about the exorbitant interest, Javier confirmed my suspicions. “That’s illegal,” he told me. “5 or 6% is okay, but 20% is not.” He promised me to help her, that he would start the legal proceedings necessary to free her.

I left the following Monday, praying that Javier would be able to help, that, if her story were true, he would be able to take on her opponent and win.

I don’t know what will happen to this woman and her family. Will they lose their home, as they fear? Will she give into the despair that has tempted her to take her own life and that of her youngest children? I pray that the answer to these questions is no. I pray that God will take up her cause, that he will bring justice and set her free. I pray for Javier, that he will be able to pursue this case and win it.

I think that I made the right decision in this case. I think that I have done what I could for this woman and her family, even though it isn’t what she asked me to do. But these are questions I may never know the answer to.

I wish I knew, but I don’t. All I know is that I have entrusted them to my Heavenly Father, and that He loves them and has the power to save them. In that, I put my hope.