At the sight of Mary, Elizabeth is overwhelmed by the Holy Spirit; the infant John in her womb jumps for joy; Elizabeth cries out in a loud voice: "Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb." And this, of course, is the second verse of our Rosary. Then she says: "Who am I that the mother of my Lord should come to me?" Inspired by the Spirit, Elizabeth already knows she is in the presence of the Mother of Christ.

Mary responds with her own exalted words. This we call the "Magnificat" after the first word in the Latin translation. It begins: "My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit has found gladness in God my Savior, because He has regarded the low estate of His handmaid; for behold, henceforth all generations shall call me blessed." And this is exactly what all generations of Catholics have called her. What stronger scriptural warrant could Christians have for venerating and praying to the Virgin Mary?

Yet this is an argument for "pre-critical" times. It should suffice for anyone who takes the truth of Scripture for granted. But it will not do for the academic world of biblical scholars. For a couple of centuries now, biblical exegetes have engaged in historical criticism, literary criticism, form criticism, philological criticism, and any other sort of so-called "higher criticism" which in various ways calls into question the inerrancy of the Bible. Scholars have discerned "strata" of composition. They have imagined primitive documents used as raw material for later ones. They have posited "faith communities" which (they think) have plugged later liturgical and theological developments back into the story of the life of Jesus. Bits and pieces of early sayings float around the various churches, and, after decades of pious redaction, are now merged artistically into a dramatic whole — by Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Methodologies and fashions of secular literary criticism have moved into biblical studies, with no leftover credulity in the notion of Scripture as inspired to mar the proceedings.

A nice characterization of this academic world was rendered by A. H. N. Green-Arytage in his 1952 book John Who Saw:

There is a world — I do not say a world in which all scholars live but one at any rate into which all of them sometimes stray, and which some of them seem permanently to inhabit — which is not the world in which I live . . . In my world, almost every book, except some of those produced by government departments, is written by one author. In that world almost every book is produced by a committee, and some of them by a whole series of committees. In my world, if I read that Churchill, in 1935, said that Europe was heading for a disastrous war, I applaud his foresight. In that world no prophecy, however vaguely worded, is ever made except after the event. In my world we say, "The First World War took place in 1914-1918." In that world they say, "The World-War narrative took shape in the third decade of the twentieth century."

Is there, then, a certain bias in even the most respectable and intelligent biblical scholars? Let us take a look at how the dean of American Catholic exegetes, Raymond E. Brown, deals with the Magnificat in his mammoth book, The Birth of the Messiah. (The 1993 edition contains over 750 tightly packed pages.)

Not original with Brown, but as a sort of received scholarly wisdom, the Magnificat is said to be "modeled" on the Song of Hannah in the Old Testament (1 Samuel 2:1-10). Brown accepts this idea, with additions. He finds resemblances not only with the Song of Hannah, but also matches up many short Magnificat phrases with: Habakkuk 3:18 ("I shall find gladness in the Lord"; Gen. 29:32 ("Because the Lord has regarded my low estate"); Gen. 30:13 ("Fortunate am I, for all women call me fortunate"); 18 other Old Testament references, and one from Qumram. These are all set next to each other in a table Brown calls "Background of the Magnificat."

Brown refuses to decide whether or not Luke (the physician friend of St. Paul) is the true author of the Gospel of that name. He will, however, use the name "Luke" for the sake of convenience. In any case, he sees this author as composing in general the infancy narrative, but not the canticles appearing in the narrative. (The canticles Brown refers to are the angelic Gloria in Excelsis, the Magnificat, the Benedictus by Zechariah, and the Nunc Dimittus by Simeon.)

He claims the Magnificat fits poorly into the scene at hand, but is rather in the likeness of a traditional Hebrew hymn in praise of God. He finds it full of "non-Lucan" Hebraic phrases. For these and other technical reasons Brown argues for Luke having discovered it in an early Jewish Christian community centered in Jerusalem, and then adapted it and placed it on the lips of Mary in the Visitation scene.

Such free-wheeling artistic license, Brown says (pg. 347), "is not a question of a purely fictional creation, for the dramatis personae are remembered or conceived of as representative of a certain type of piety which the canticles vocalize." But I would say an author’s pulling together various quotations from various sources and putting them in the mouths of various speakers — "remembered or conceived" — is fiction pure and simple, if not purely creative fiction.

Brown will have no truck with the traditional theory that "the canticles were composed by those to whom they are attributed in the narrative." He explains (pg. 346):

[T]his theory dominated in pre-critical times when the infancy narrative was treated as a history stemming from family circles. It is obviously unlikely that such finished poetry could have been composed on the spot by ordinary people, and today there would be no serious scholarly support for such a naive hypothesis.

Then in a footnote (bottom of pg. 346) he bows generously but unseriously to that naive hypothesis: "This difficulty was overcome by the argument that the Holy Spirit inspired the speakers poetically, not only religiously." But this is by the way: the considered, "critical" argument entertained by Brown is as above. That is, a creative tour de force perpetrated by a dramatist intent on writing an exciting play full of prophetic hymns and stupendous miracles.

The only verse in the Magnificat Brown says does not come from an earlier Jewish Christian source is: "Because he has regarded the low estate of his handmaid; for behold, henceforth all generations shall call me blessed." This being the only verse Mary applies to herself, Brown thinks it was added to the hymn by Luke, in order to make the whole song seem appropriately uttered by the designated speaker.

One must wonder at the strained logic to all this discernment of artistic composition. Let us go back to the first claim, that the Magnificat is modeled on the Song of Hannah. This is what first caught my eye, so I checked on it. I read the Magnificat, and I read the Song of Hannah, and found a wealth of difference between the two. I suggest the reader take up his Bible and look. Here are the fragments Brown compares in the table mentioned above:

Magnificat (Luke 1:51a-53b):
He has shown His strength with His arm;
He has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.

He has put down the mighty from their thrones
and has exalted those of low degree.
He has filled the hungry with good things,
and the rich He has sent empty away.

I Samuel 2:7-8:
The Lord makes poor and makes rich;
He reduces to lowliness and He lifts up.
He lifts the needy from the earth,
and from the dung heap he raises up the poor
to seat them with the mighty,
making them inherit a throne of glory.

There is a similarity here: as in many biblical prophecies there is an eschatological prediction of redress for social inequities. But I would have the reader take a little quiz. Answer these questions: (1) Which fragment concludes with the poor raised up and seated with the mighty? (2) Which fragment suggests God Himself is the cause of poverty and riches? (3) Which poem contains rhetoric such as "inherit a throne of glory" and "from the dung heap" and which one contains grand phrases such as "He has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts"?

Do we have a model and an imitation, or do we have some similarities, some differences, an entirely different diction, and at least a shadow of difference in religious thinking? The Magnificat says that the poor shall be lifted up and the rich shall be brought low. The Song of Hannah says that the poor shall be lifted up to share in the riches of the mighty. The older poem hints at an ancient fatalism in parts, akin to Isaiah’s "I am the Lord . . . author alike of prosperity and trouble" (Isaiah 45:7). There are any number of phrases in the Song of Hannah which cannot serve as a model: "My mouth derides my enemies"; "the Lord kills and brings to life"; "the adversaries of the Lord shall be broken in pieces." Read the whole Song of Hannah to discern for yourself the difference in rhetoric and meaning. The whole tone is different.

More importantly, psalms of praise containing eschatological retribution, exalting the poor in spirit and damning the proud and mighty, are spread throughout Scripture. They form a constant Jewish and Christian motif. Brown has found some 23 resemblances to Hebrew phrases scattered throughout the Old Testament. What does this prove other than that eschatological sentiments couched in common idioms are central in biblical prophecy? If this sort of "model" is the best "higher critics" can come up with, I would suggest they are straining at the leash, looking feverishly for something imitative, lest they come back to the "naive" hypothesis that Mary said what she is reported to have said.

As for the verse Brown wants to excise from the canticle and make it an invention of Luke’s, I find it strange in containing the very line used as a Catholic proof-text for the veneration of the Virgin. It fits right in with what comes before, as the second half of a parallelism. It is a parallelism expressing a reversal of the world’s wisdom, as in the rest of the poem. The Lord is good beyond all human good just because He has picked a lowly handmaid to be the Mother of God.

Brown would remove the whole verse from the original song because it does not fit his theory that the song itself is a general psalm composed by a Jewish Christian community. On these grounds he should also take out the previous verse (46b-47): "My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit has found gladness in God my Savior." This also is a single person’s statement. But these lines Brown sees as "having a background" in I Samuel 2:1-2. Once again, he discerns a source in the Song of Hannah.

Brown’s reasoning in these pages is extremely difficult to sort out. It is not clear, for instance, how much Luke has supposedly revised any part of the "Jewish Christian" psalm. But with Old Testament parallels provided for both verses 46b-47 and verse 48, one wonders why only verse 48 is said to be a Lucan invention. Is it ungracious to suggest Brown’s primary motive here is to rid the poem of just that glorious statement, "henceforth, all generations shall call me blessed," which has rung down the centuries to vivify our religion, and has been the motive for so many superb Marian prayers?

Why is it so difficult for exegetes to think Mary lived long enough, and was available enough, to have told certain apostles what she was inspired to say at certain unforgettable times in her life? She was with the apostles in the "upper room," as Luke himself reports in Acts 1:13. Especially after the Resurrection appearances and Pentecost, she would certainly have been interrogated by numerous new followers of the Christ. The Annunciation by the Angel, and the Visitation, would certainly be events dragged out of her by converts stunned by the miraculous event of Pentecost. Her words would have been written down and have immediately become sacred, revered, and unalterable. Those diaries would soon go to Peter, then to Paul, then to Luke. Or they would find a place in the earliest assembly of worshipers, to be set in stone, as it were, and then made available to Luke. Are these suppositions "naive"?

Let us say Mary was 45 at the moment of the Crucifixion. Let us say Luke wrote his Gospel in the 60s, when Mary was 75 or so. It is even possible he could have interviewed her himself. Brown thinks Luke wrote his Gospel in the 80s, but I fail to see how any of the Gospels could have been written after the destruction of the temple in A.D. 70 without mentioning this horrendous fact. There was a rebellion, its brutal crushing, and a wipe-out not only of multitudes of Jews, but also probably nearly all the Christians remaining in the See of Jerusalem. And Jesus had predicted it. Would not the event have necessarily been included in the Gospels and Acts?

In recent years there has been more and more of a consensus in the world of biblical scholarship to push the dates for the Gospels back closer to the time of the Resurrection. In 1996 the fascinating Eyewitness to Jesus made an appearance. This book, co-authored by Carsten Peter Thiede and Matthew D’Ancona, discusses the discovery of a few scraps from Matthew’s Gospel which they argue must be dated to around 55 A.D. If true, this dating upsets the apple cart of those who would find layers upon layers in ancient texts, and a hidden genealogy of hypothetical documents going into the construction of the Gospels we have. There is just no time for it. What we have now is something fairly close to eyewitness reporting.

I do not think St. Luke interviewed Mary personally, or he probably would have said so. But that her true words were preserved, I have no doubt. The question remains as to the traditional Hebraic character of the Magnificat, in both its rhetoric and its content. Well, was not Mary a Jew? Did not Jesus read Isaiah in the synagogue in Nazareth? In fact all but the poorest illiterates in first century Palestine were brought up living and breathing the Law and the Prophets. It was their education, their worship, the rhythm of their lives. Mary, along with so many other Jews, was surely consumed by an eschatological hope. She was fresh from her own stupendous Holy Spirit experience, which any believer must take as fact. Is it not likely that in her exaltation she would use the idioms of her people and draw on the prophetic style of Israel?

Luke was a Greek, writing in a personal Greek style. But when he quoted the Jews, he would, if honest, quote them accurately, along with all their "Hebraisms." And if they sang Hebrew songs, he would transliterate those songs into the Greek language to the best of his ability. The quoted words of Mary or Zechariah or Simeon would be "Hebrew" in character. What else could they be?

And if, at a supernal meeting where two women and an unborn baby were exalted to heavenly urges by the presence of another Unborn Baby, Mary talked first of the almighty power of God, then ingenuously about herself ("All generations shall call me blessed"), then sang of the perennial hope of her people, how can it be gainsaid? Was not what she sang in the Magnificat exactly what God wanted her to sing? God was in her womb when she sang it. But, says Brown (pg. 341), "Virtually no serious scholar would argue today that the Magnificat was composed by Mary."

Whenever I hear a pundit engaging in such ad hominem statements, I smell a rat. I immediately suspect there are indeed serious scholars who argue that the Magnificat was composed by Mary (or rather, inspired by God and uttered by Mary). These scholars are just not in Brown’s camp. There is and has been, for two centuries, a methodology in biblical criticism carrying with it an agenda. You can get no better inkling of it than by reading Albert Schweitzer’s In Search of the Historical Jesus. Schweitzer runs through nearly all the modern biblical critics, giving each a synopsis. The story of critical modernism in relation to biblical studies begins back near the end of the 1700s in Protestant Germany. Catholics pick up the trend with Renan’s Vie de Jesus, published in 1863. This hugely popular book argued for a split between the Jesus of faith and the Jesus of history. The Jesus of faith was said to be concocted by legend and fictional miraculous events. The real Jesus, the Jesus of history, is portrayed as nothing more than a heretical Jewish teacher who provoked his own martyrdom.

Variations on these themes have bedeviled the Christian religion up through the present day. Brown is not cast in the same mold as these thieves of the Faith. But his scholarship tends to make the infancy stories in the Gospels fictionalized accounts with a core of truth beneath them. The core of truth, for instance, is exemplified by Brown’s adherence to the dogma of the Virgin Birth. It is only the way it is presented in Luke and Matthew, with angels and "old" hymns, which he finds unacceptable as true renditions of the event. But if one takes the scholarly tack that claims a psalm of praise could not have been Mary’s own inspired utterance, how much more fantastical is the notion that this same Mary was impregnated by the Holy Spirit?

I do not think a mind freed from religious awe in the presence of Scripture will necessarily reason along the lines of Raymond E. Brown’s exposition. I think reason itself, prior to any faith in the inspiration of Scripture, can argue the way I have argued above. There is, for reason to attend to, the fact of a Church existing for 2000 years. Something happened. If Christ is God, where is the problem with prophetic poems uttered by His Mother? It is also reasonable to see a continuity between Judaism and Christianity, so that the prophetic utterance of a first Christian could sound very much like a Judaic hymn to God’s mercy and justice. And it is reasonable to find statements in the Magnificat coherent with statements by Jesus, such as: "The first shall be last, and the last shall be first." Mothers and sons often think alike. Such a Mother (when she speaks prophetically), and such a Son would, it is reasonable to think, speak with the voice of God.

But taking an utterly rational, "critical" approach to Scripture is part of the problem. To deal with the Christmas stories in Luke and Matthew purely as if they were ancient pieces of literature, while setting aside (for the purposes of the analysis) God and the Christian Faith, is itself an irrational pose. It is a mistake to treat Scripture as if were a secular book, to be torn apart, manipulated, and stripped of whatever events seem incredible to the analyst. The Faith gave us Scripture, and God gave us the Faith. Forgetting any part of that equation is to describe a wagon without wheels and without the horse that draws the wagon. How can you get rid of scriptural stories talking of events leading up to Christmas without eventually getting rid of those events, and eventually getting rid of Christmas?

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