Need more Ogle

It was my first year of seminary. The choir director of my local congregation asked me to put together a narrative, in three parts, interspersed between the choir’s Christmas anthems. Flattered, I imagined a one-woman drama, in which I played a character in the Bethlehem narrative. I imagined seeing the tired but proud mother, the soft cry of the baby, the choir’s lullaby, stepping over sheep and around lowing cattle in my character’s quest to worship the newborn king. So I wandered the Cokesbury store, peering into advent devotion books, peeking into a collection of Christmas drams, imagining the worship experience I would create.

Daniel Ogle asked the question we all ask, seeing one another in the Cokesbury store after classes are well underway. “What are you doing here?” After all, who in a seminary has the time, money, or inclination to shop for additional reading? I explained my quest—did he know of a female monologue set in the Christmas story?

In best rabbinic tradition, Daniel answered my question with one of his own. “What’s wrong with the magnificat?”

“Nothing. Just not what I’m looking for.”

I left the store soon after, flabbergasted by the encounter.

Yes, I knew about Mary’s monologue (Luke 1:46-55). I was ashamed of myself…I had not even considered turning to scripture. What did that say about the authority of scripture?

But the greater shame…I knew that I would choose not to use the magnificat. I wanted sweet; I wanted sappy. I would not tell my congregation that the Messiah would turn the economic order upside down, put down the mighty and exalt the low, fill the hungry and send the rich away, empty. I would give them the Messiah they wanted and expected.

I knew then that I am not as brave as Mary; I failed to cry out that God would scatter we who are proud. My congregation expected lullabies. They would revolt if I instead proclaimed scripture!

I struggle to be brave.

I strain to, at most, sneak in words of liberation and rebellion. Wearing boots instead of pumps is about as subversive as I get.

I will always have the tendency to comfort the afflicted rather than afflict the comfortable. The comforted are always so appreciative. They like me.

I sit in my comfortable chair, in my well-apportioned office, with my pretty crosses decorating the wall, thinking maybe I need some Ogle.