Luke 1:46-55 NRSVUE
And Mary said, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowly state of his servant. Surely from now on all generations will call me blessed, for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name; indeed, his mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty. He has come to the aid of his child Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.” And Mary remained with her about three months and then returned to her home.

Daring to Dream with Mary
by SueJeanne Koh

Mary’s Magnificat is a hymn of praise. It has a rich tradition in both the Eastern Orthodox and Roman Catholic Churches, sung frequently during vespers, and put to music by various Western classical music composers and contemporary artists. Certain interpretations have focused on the parts of this hymn that uphold Mary’s status as the mother of Christ, through whom salvation comes (vv.47-49); others have celebrated it as a universal paean to motherhood. Still others have focused more on the material aspects of the passage that speak to social reversals (vv.51-53), insisting on its radical and subversive message of revolutionary liberation or characterizing Mary as a protofeminist icon. And it is indeed breathtaking that Mary, a young woman from a rural region of a colonized nation, recognizes herself as “blessed,” a word typically associated with the rich, the powerful, and those of high social status. 

The subject of Mary’s song, however, is not Mary herself–it is God. It is God, not Mary in herself, or us, who is able to reverse the unjust order of the world. What message can Mary’s Magnificat, then, offer for us today in the United States, especially for those who find themselves in the “middle class”--neither desperately poor nor unfathomably wealthy? Asian Americans, as Mari Matsuda describes, often occupy the space of the “racial middle” in the United States–where ideas of economic class are inextricably tied to race. The temptation of the American Dream is that we can achieve success if we only pay enough to play, to belong. Mary’s song of reversals alludes to the reality of such a temptation when she proclaims how “[God] has scattered those with arrogant thoughts and proud inclinations.” In Scripture, the image of scattering is used to describe God’s judgment on a people–as in the Tower of Babel, or Israel in exile. Rather than unity or peace, God’s act of scattering is a response to people’s failure to recognize the reality of God’s economy, a failure rooted in our convictions that we can shape the world for our own ends. 

In “Common People,” a recent episode of Black Mirror, the dystopic, science fiction TV series, an elementary school teacher is diagnosed with a brain tumor. Desperate, the schoolteacher, Amanda, and her husband, Mike, turn to a tech startup, Rivermind, for a solution. Rivermind offers them the possibility of getting the tumor removed and having that area replaced with synthetic tissue powered by external servers. The catch is that this treatment is provided through a subscription model– paying a monthly fee that is a stretch for welder and schoolteacher’s salaries, and Amanda’s travel limited to a geographical area. Initially, the couple feel that the benefit outweighs the cost; over time, though, the subscription becomes increasingly expensive, requiring upgrades in order to block the ads that are now becoming interspersed into her daily speech, over which she has no control. 

The tragedy of this modern-day fable is that while the biotechnological aspects of this story are still in the future (for now), the social and political structures which enable this scenario are here today. The promise of individualized services–from healthcare, to access to fresh produce, meats, dairy, to good education and childcare from infancy through college–these are all outcomes of decades of building a neoliberal order in the United States and around the world. There are two important features to  neoliberalism. One, the “liberalism” in neoliberalism refers to the freeing of economic markets from state regulation. Anything and everything can potentially be bought and sold, and consumption becomes a primary marker of identity. It is not only about what we buy, but from where we buy any thing–whether from Target, or REI, Costco, Whole Foods, Etsy, or Amazon.

Two, neoliberalism is also about what we buy, which is everything. The market promises us “wellness”--a trillion-dollar industry. Instead of a “social safety net” which provides standardized healthcare, financial protections, and safeguards against poverty through the government –things that are meant to protect us from anxiety about our collective survival–these material goods and services are instead made available to those who can afford it. This is the parable of Amanda and Mike, of “common people.” Neoliberalism fractures the idea that such things should be made accessible to all. Rather, those who are “responsible” enough to learn how to earn and possess financial and social capital are the ones who deserve anything and everything. Capital buys security, but it is security for one’s self and one’s family, not for all. This is the pride of capitalism–it diminishes and limits our vision of flourishing because it tempts us to believe that we only have enough for ourselves.  

The dual falsehood of neoliberalism is not only that we can secure our own happiness and well-being through consumption, but also that such consumption scatters and divides us–into the haves and have nots, the powerful and disenfranchised, the neighbor and the enemy. H-Mart and other similar stores are both spaces where Asian immigrants and Asian Americans can experience the comfort of foods tied to our sense of ethnic belonging. They are also multibillion-dollar enterprises that benefit from neoliberal deregulation, weakening efforts at collective power for employees and enabling us to defraud our fellow workers. We cannot escape how neoliberalism provides us comfort, but this comfort is often bought at the cost of creating democratic spaces and communities where we can build flourishing for all, not just ourselves and our biological, cultural, or racial kin. 

I’m not suggesting that we stop shopping at our favorite ethnic supermarkets or supporting our favorite culturemakers; I also think that while stopping your Prime subscription or boycotting Target might feel good and be a meaningful exercise of discipline and principle, that is not enough. Above all, neoliberalism produces in us a poverty of imagination in how we relate to each other–of how we organize and create solidarity, building a vision of the politics of love, of the “common people.” To do so means taking the time to gather the threads of community together across differences, of learning communal histories and insisting that flourishing and well-being are not something that should be available to those who can afford to buy it. 

What does this look like? This answer is multi-pronged and complex, but here I want to offer a few examples of how we can create alternate economies of relationship. The timebank, for example, supports the belief that each member of a local community has talents to offer that might be valuable for someone else. Mutual aid organizations, like Asian American Crisis Relief Fund, focus on helping families in urgent need as well as longer-term advocacy efforts. And community organizing groups, like the Chinese Progressive Association or Clergy and Laity United for Economic Justice are built on shared visions that our collective futures are bound together through cross-racial and cross-economic solidarity. Perhaps your church community might consider hosting an Alternative Christmas Market, to support fair trade and global mission organizations. Mary’s imagination of a transformed world is real because God is Emmanuel;  God with us, all of us. Will we dare to dream with Mary?