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Hey Mary,Whatcha Gonna Call That Baby?
As many of you know, I’m sort of grumpy about the commercialization of the most gracious day that rolls around this time of year. Christmas is the celebration of God’s inbreaking into our often too pathetic human affairs. It’s not for commercial “Christmas creep” — buying a bunch of stuff we can’t afford for people we hardly know, don’t like that much, and that they don’t need.
Despite the “grumpy,” I do allow some early Christmas music to seep into my soul. One of my favorites is the Gospel song, “Mary, Mary, Whatcha Goina Call That Baby?” That gets special honor right up there with Handel’s Messiah – wholesome, spiritual preparation for December 25th!
“Mary, Mary,” a folk hymn with a hundred different versions when it comes to the verses. So, here’s my take:
“Mary, Mary, Whatcha goina call that pretty little baby? Think I’ll call him Jesus. Think I’ll call him Jesus cause he’s gonna save his people.
Think I’ll call him Jesus. Strong to Save.
That might be his name, but he looks a whole lot like Liz Cheney when it comes to saving this republic.
Yes, we couldn’t handle his message so we nailed him to a cross – and Liz Cheney’s party can’t handle her message of warning. She has been politically crucified as well.
She and I, as you all know, disagree on virtually all policy issues. But on one thing, the most important thing, we’re absolutely on the same page – saving this republic.
I’ve been listening to her book on my car stereo system. Often, I find tears of gratitude rolling down my cheeks, listening to what this woman has had to endure from her tribe for standing tall. For doing the right thing – country over party.[1]
“Think I’ll call him Savior,” because we all need a little help here. We need a little help on the democracy front right here. Actually, a lot of help!
Liz Cheney has sounded the clear, clarion call to her party to reject the lies and wackadoodle conspiracy theories swirling around the January 6th insurrection.
In one of the most closely contested elections ever, she notes that Vice President Al Gore graciously conceded defeat. But not Donald Trump!
The Former Guy riled up an enraged, armed mob to storm the House of Democracy.
“But by January 6, 2021, Donald Trump had consumed a good portion of almost every day in a rage: inventing and spreading lies about election fraud, preying on the patriotism of his supporters, and telling them they had to ‘fight like hell’ if they wanted to save their country…
“Some of my Republican colleagues in the House were preparing to use Trump’s stolen-election lies as the basis for an unconstitutional attempt to overturn the election results.”[2]
Tears, streamed down my face. It’s this sort of political courage that will save our democracy.
“Think I’ll call him Savior,” ‘cause we all need a little help down here.
And he pops up into history right at the time needed, when all has gone to rot. In history, for God’s sake. And for ours.
There he is in the stuff of daily existence. We know the time. Emperor Augustus is on the seat of power of the Roman Empire. We know the place –one of the most out-of-the-way places, Nazareth.
And we know to whom: to the most unlikely of women, actually, a young girl. Most likely, barely sixteen or so.
Dropped down out from the birth canal right into the messy stuff of our world. “Think I’ll name him Jesus, for he will save his people.” Glory, Hallelujah! And all the angels, stage left, are readying the refrain: “Glory, Hallelujah.
“Mary, Mary, Whatcha Gonna Call that Pretty Lil Baby?”
Think I’ll call him Emanuel, God with Us.
The present-day hammer of God sounding out danger, sounding out warning.
John, the Baptizer, got it right. The ax is presently laid at the root tree of our human existence. The planet heats up. The planet floods up. Misery is the menu item of the day.
The name might be “Emanuel” but this heavenly presence looks a lot like Jake Bittle, with his warning, The Great Displacement: Climate Change and the Next American Migration.
Our gracious present under the Yuletide tree is the prescient warning of disaster to come if we don’t Stop. Look. And Listen. Read and heed, my dear friends.
We know of the Great Migration out of the South, fueled by Jim Crow. How millions of newly freed African Americans fled the KKK and abject poverty for decent jobs and breathing room in the North.
Jake Bittle writes of a new Great Migration of the same magnitude now in the wings. This time, due to global warming. The science is clear. The time is now. The drowning Florida Keys are the canary in this coal mine.
A migration every bit as fraught as all the real stuff of history, as perilous as that of Mary and Joseph; forced to travel for a census enrollment in the City of David, Bethlehem. That’s how this “God-with-us stuff always happens. In bits and pieces. Dribs and drabs. Emanuel!
Danger and promise, as Mary and Joseph begin their fateful journey.
A bumpy, donkey ride, as pastor Heidi Neumark characterizes it. She recalls a donkey ride she and her son took down the Grand Canyon trail to the floorof the canyon. A ride that caused her to imagine Mary’s ride to Bethlehem.[3]
Time to cue up Ferde Grofé’s “The Grand Canyon Suite” in your mind.
Pastor Neumark and the other travelers were sternly warned, “…the National Parks Service did not guarantee the safety of any participant and was not responsible for any injury, major or minor, brain damage or death, that might result from our journey.”[4]
They had to guarantee that they had no known serious health problems or heart conditions, weren’t afraid of heights and were not recently recovering from open-heart surgery. And, especially, that NO ONE WAS PREGNANT!
And “if you can’t follow instructions and advice — If any of this scares you, get your refund and get out now!” That was the park ranger’s parting shot.
Mary, Mary…such a long road to travel. Watcha gonna call your baby?
As Heidi and her son and their couple of donkeys plodded down to the floor of the canyon, she thought of Mary’s journey to Bethlehem.
Once Mary’ had “said yes to the angel, she signed on for a trip with no way out. No chance to get out now and get her money back.”[5]
“Mary’s journey was just as uncomfortable [as mine]. She traveled on the edge, where injury and death are likely eventualities. The knowledge already pierced her heart. Did she turn her fearful gaze from her feet to the larger view—the seismic shifts in her womb, spectacular as a canyon carved with the signature of heaven?”[6]
Mary, Mary, whatcha gonna call your pretty lil’ baby. Think I’ll call him Jesus ‘cause we all need a little saving down here. Think I’ll call him Emanuel, ‘cause we definitely need God with us. Think I’ll call him Prince of Peace, ‘cause our warfare has been long and we’re sick and tired of the hate. Think I’ll call him Joy, for unto us He will be born a great joy. Gloria! Gloria!
“Think I’ll call him Jesus,” but he’s goina look a lot like you and me.
And, as Charles Wesley, quoting Philippians, put it, “Rejoice Again, I Say Rejoice.” Amen.
[1] Liz Cheney, Oath and Honor: A Memoir and a Warning (New York: Little, Brown and Company, 2023).
[2] Op. cit., 82.
[3]Heidi Newmark, “Mule Ride,” Christian Century, December 12, 2001.
[4] Ibid.
[5] Ibid.
[6] Ibid.
December 24, 2023
Christmas Eve
The Rev. Dr. John C. Forney
Isaiah 9:2-4, 6-7; Psalm 96;
Titus 2:11-14; Luke 2:1-14
“Hey Mary, Whatcha Gonna Call That Baby?”
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