A Thrill of Hope for Those Who Need to Be Seen
December 14, 2025
Preached by Benjamin Vrbicek
Scripture Reading
Luke 1:39-56
39 In those days Mary arose and went with haste into the hill country, to a town in Judah, 40 and she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. 41 And when Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary, the baby leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit, 42 and she exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb! 43 And why is this granted to me that the mother of my Lord should come to me? 44 For behold, when the sound of your greeting came to my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy. 45 And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord.”
46 And Mary said,
“My soul magnifies the Lord,
47 and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
48 for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant.
For behold, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
49 for he who is mighty has done great things for me,
and holy is his name.
50 And his mercy is for those who fear him
from generation to generation.
51 He has shown strength with his arm;
he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts;
52 he has brought down the mighty from their thrones
and exalted those of humble estate;
53 he has filled the hungry with good things,
and the rich he has sent away empty.
54 He has helped his servant Israel,
in remembrance of his mercy,
55 as he spoke to our fathers,
to Abraham and to his offspring forever.”
56 And Mary remained with her about three months and returned to her home.
With all the potential new members, I’ve been wondering for about two months how much time I’d have to preach today. Since there are over sixty new members, we thought if we gave each person just sixty seconds, it would take sixty minutes, leaving time for one song and a five-minute sermon.
We didn’t do that, so I’ll take more than five minutes but not much more than fifteen. Let’s say a quick prayer, and we’ll look at this passage together.
“Dear Heavenly Father . . .”
We have a phrase in culture about being understood that goes something like, “I feel seen.” You’ve probably heard someone say that; maybe you’ve even said it. The phrase is used often enough that it also has an ironic and comedic use. So, some sports fan might declare how much he loves a certain team, how he’ll always root for them even though he knows how lousy the team is, how the team never has a winning season, how the team always trades away their best players, and so on for the last twenty years. As he says all this, someone else might say to him, “You know, it’s a really honorable thing for you to do, staying loyal to a team that’s so lousy. It must be so hard for you.” And the sports fan says back, “Thank you. I feel seen.” That’s the ironic and comedic use.
But in a sober and sincere and empathetic way, there’s something to the phrase that deeply ministers to us. When we’re in the midst of some great trial or some great adventure, we all have this desire to be seen. It means a lot to be seen by someone who knows and understands your struggle, someone who understands what it’s like to go through what you’re going through.
We don’t sing much in real life, not spontaneously anyway. We sing at church, sports events, or concerts. But ordinarily, we don’t just burst into song. Except in musicals people do. Why? Because some emotions, some ideas, some truths, are so powerful and felt so deeply, that they are worth setting to poetry and setting to melodies.
The opening chapters of the gospel of Luke are like a Broadway musical with setting, character development, plot, and dialogue—and, of course, like a musical: singing.
In our passage, Mary busts into song, I think, because she feels seen. And not in the comedic way, but in the serious and sober way. Look at her words again in vv. 46–48,
“My soul magnifies the Lord,
47 and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
48 for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant.
In a musical, the dialogue is said between the actors on stage, but when characters sing, they often sing to the audience, just as, in a way, Mary does to us now (see David Garland, Luke, 88). I believe Mary explodes into song and wants you to join her because she feels seen by God, and wants you to feel seen by God too. For God has, as she says, looked upon her humble estate. That’s a fancy way to say that Mary has a lot of needs. And she knows that the Lord sees them and sees her. She feels seen.
If you weren’t here last week or are less familiar with the story, that’s okay. Let me explain. She fled her home with such haste, traveling some fifty or seventy miles over several days, to meet her relative Elizabeth. An angel had come to Mary and told her that she, though a virgin, would have a child—and no ordinary child at that, but the very child the people of God had been waiting for, indeed, the child that all of creation had been waiting for, the promised one who would crush the head of evil.
We might be tempted to think that a virgin conception was the sort of thing that primitive people back then might have seen no issue with, but we’d be wrong. This was a conundrum for Mary. She’s certainly encouraged by this pronouncement, but she asks, How can this be? This doesn’t make sense. That’s not how these things work. Then the angel explains a bit more and tells her of her relative Elizabeth, who is also having a special child. Elizabeth is too old for children, and, for Mary, it’s too soon.
In these previous passages, we saw Mary’s tremendous faith and her beautiful submission to the Lord; she has an obedience that we all should strive to copy. Remember, she says to the angel, “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word” (Luke 1:38). Such faith. Such submission. Such obedience.
But her willingness and her submission and her faith and her obedience actually create a huge need. Who is going to believe her? Joseph, her soon-to-be husband, we’re told elsewhere, is a righteous man, and he’s not going to believe her. Her family and friends won’t believe her. The local community will mock her, perhaps exposing her scandal in the town square. She’ll be a destitute unwed mother, all because she followed the Lord. These weren’t her plans. She appreciates the tremendous honor of it all, but that honor gets hard to appreciate when she anticipates living homeless and unable to afford bread.
Lest you think Mary’s social and financial fears were unfounded, consider a few places from later in the Gospels. In Mark 6, we read of people being amazed at the miraculous works that Jesus is doing. But they take offense at him and sneer, “Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary”? (Mark 6:3). They go on to mention his brothers by name and also his group of sisters. In Jewish culture, you would have been most identified by your father, and they name everyone but his father as a way to say, “We know all about your family but strangely we don’t know about your father.” They mock the virgin birth.
Then in John 8, we read of Jesus confronting the religious leaders. Jesus tells the religious leaders that even though they think they are righteous and pious and holy and all of that, he tells them they are slaves to sin. Their response to him is that they have never been slaves of anyone, and, by the way, they say, “We were not born of sexual immorality” (John 8:41). The point being that they don’t believe the virgin birth either.
I bring up these later moments to say that in these early moments, Mary flees in haste to her relative with all these fears swirling around, fears that she will spend her life scandalized, which appears to be a legitimate fear because, in some ways, it did happen.
On top of all this, she wonders how such favor will come to her when she herself is a sinner and in need of a savior. She sings, “My spirit rejoices in God my Savior” (v. 47). In short, Mary had needs, and so do we.
We read that in v. 40 that Mary greets her relative. I don’t think that has to mean a mere quick hug and hello. I suspect this is shorthand for them talking for a while, explaining the story of the angels and the story of the pregnancies. Elizabeth, remember, is Mary’s social superior; she’s older, from an esteemed family line, and her husband is a priest.
And after all that discussion between them, what does pious, religious Elizabeth say to Mary? Does she say, “Listen, young woman, virgins don’t conceive. Don’t blaspheme God’s name by adding him to your sin”? Is that what she says? No. Look at it.
And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit, 42 and she exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb! 43 And why is this granted to me that the mother of my Lord should come to me? 44 For behold, when the sound of your greeting came to my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy. (vv. 41–44)
Elizabeth doesn’t think Mary is crazy or immoral. Not at all. Notice even the phrase, “the mother of my Lord.” That’s particularly interesting in light of the Christmas song, “Silent Night,” which says, “Jesus, Lord at Thy birth.” Here, Elizabeth calls Jesus her Lord, not at his birth, but at perhaps just a few weeks old in Mary’s womb.
This is my explanation for where Mary’s “Magnificat” song comes from. She knows her need. And feels seen. Yes, seen by Elizabeth, but more so, seen by God. Next comes her song, which I’ll read again.
“My soul magnifies the Lord,
47 and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
48 for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant.
For behold, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
49 for he who is mighty has done great things for me,
and holy is his name.
50 And his mercy is for those who fear him
from generation to generation.
51 He has shown strength with his arm;
he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts;
52 he has brought down the mighty from their thrones
and exalted those of humble estate;
53 he has filled the hungry with good things,
and the rich he has sent away empty.
54 He has helped his servant Israel,
in remembrance of his mercy,
55 as he spoke to our fathers,
to Abraham and to his offspring forever.” (vv. 46–55)
Mary sings about the great themes of reversal that God has done. And she sings about it in the past tense because, for her and in her Lord, it’s as good as done.
The final line is helpful to notice. Luke adds, “And Mary remained with her about three months and returned to her home” (v. 56). Mary, now with all this confidence and faith, has the courage to go home and face whatever comes. Being seen by God has this effect on people. They change.
I wonder what great challenge is in front of you right now? Is there something you know is good and godly that you should be doing—maybe a hard thing to say or a hard thing to do; or maybe stopping doing a thing that’s hard to stop doing—and perhaps you’ve been running from this? What would have to change in your life this morning that, for you, we could read this passage and it would say, “So-and-so fled to church this morning in haste, and so-and-so left church and returned home to confront the challenge full of faith.” What might cause you to change in this way?
If we’re going change, we need to feel seen by God in all that we’re going through, to know that God sees our humble estate. But before we can feel seen, we have to see our own needs, our own humble estate. And knowing your needs, knowing your humble estate will either make or break your Christmas this season. In fact, bringing your needs to the Lord will make or break your eternity.
Some thirty years later, when Jesus had begun his ministry, in Luke 6, we read that he preached these words,
“Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.
21 “Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you shall be satisfied.
“Blessed are you who weep now, for you shall laugh….
24 “But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation.
25 “Woe to you who are full now, for you shall be hungry.
“Woe to you who laugh now, for you shall mourn and weep.
26 “Woe to you, when all people speak well of you, for so their fathers did to the false prophets. (Luke 6:20–21, 24–26)
If those themes of reversal sound a lot like his mother’s song, it’s because they do sound a lot like Mary’s song. And they sound a lot like another sermon Jesus gave, this one in Revelation 3. The opening of Revelation is an address by Jesus to his churches. After his life, death, resurrection, and ascension to his throne in heaven, he writes letters to his churches. He says to one of them, even in a way to us,
17 For you say, “I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing,” not realizing that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked. (Rev. 3:17)
We could paraphrase this as, people saying back to God, “I have no need. God, your salvation is a very nice offer, but I kind of thought you’d be happy to have me on your team because I have so much to offer you.” To this Jesus responds,
18 I counsel you to buy from me gold refined by fire, so that you may be rich, and white garments so that you may clothe yourself and the shame of your nakedness may not be seen, and salve to anoint your eyes, so that you may see. (Rev. 3:17–18)
Being seen by God changed Mary. It gave her confidence, joy, and courage. But before Mary could magnify the Lord for who God is and what he is about to do in the Savior, she had to know she needed a savior.
Will we be humble enough this Christmas to know our same need? If so, Christmas might be for us the thrill of hope that God intends for it to be.
Let’s pray.
“Dear Heavenly Father…”
