I love the poetry but it disturbs me deeply. It’s something about seeing … and seeing where you belong.
Elizabeth sees only honour and blessing and joy in her kinswoman’s womb. But Mary is more canny. Of all her people’s heroes she might have identified with, Mary claims kinship with Hannah and echoes the song the once barren mother sings not when she is to give birth but when she has to leave behind the child she has borne. There’s nothing given that doesn’t have it’s price.
There is joy, yes! Mary, full of her burden of life, chooses to name herself with Hannah. One barren who has been made fruitful. One low who has been raised high. One hungry who has been filled. One who has waited till she found her longing.
But there’s a hard edge. A true child of her race, every bone of her is political. Her child to come is destined for the falling and the rising of many. She knows the way of it. No one finds pride but that another is humiliated. No one rises without another’s fall. No one is fed but another goes hungry. No one finds their heart’s desire but that another is thwarted.
There is no level playing field. Wealth never trickles down. And, no, we can’t all be on the same side.
I love the poetry but it disturbs me deeply.